my grip is slipping,
and falling scares me.
my world is fading away.
h      
          e
                     l
                             p
       m
                 e

h
          e
                    l
                          ­     p
          m
                     e

writing was an escape but even now words slip off the paper like tear drops.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Blue amorphous tones
waxing darkly.
Her lunge, a vaporous sigh.

And down poured the Pacific:
   callous, immutable, wild.

Everyone's having fun,
And i'm staring to gun.
Am i want to die,
Or living in the lie?!
I don't know really,
But this hard feeling.
It's killing me slowly,
Death seems so lovely,
But i'm just little coward,
Loser for going forward.
Let me sleep forever,
Let me sleep forever.

i just want to feel pretty
not the kind of pretty that people want to have *** with
but the kind of pretty that makes me feel happy with myself

laura

Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art

call me when things are tranquila, quiet
you cat call me, tell me you want me as your chica
something about a casa and boy, i don't speak spanish
let alone english to the perfection you seemingly don't require

you say bonita, you say

open up your corazón, set the love free on wings flying in the sun
your tongue knows the sacred place to wet the desert
my back and head lean back and watch the cosmos spin perfectly
one moment we were drinking underage and messing around
now i'm living in your house making changes to the framework
looking for some substance in this secular age

Can I call you ?
I miss your voice.
I miss our long calls.
I want to hear you say my name.

Can i text you ?,
unblock me!
I feel so alone.
I feel so foolish.

Can you come and see me ?
May be for the one last time,
Or Could you please hurt me some more,
And give me something to move On.
:(

I can make you feel loved,
I can take the weight of the world off your shoulder,
but only if you ask me to.
I can take you places,
fill all your blank spaces.
This love is silent,
so I don't speak a word
Because I am nothing like the moon.
My light will never be as bright.
I'm nothing that you'd admire from afar,
gazing at with wonder.
I thought I understood it.
That I could grasp the reality of it,
but you make it hard
because you're the stuff and dust dreams are made of.