Heaven & hell faded from my conscious.
Wake me up,
for I've been dead for years.
She danced her way inside my comatose.
She sings "the meaning of death " she sings "is the value of life"

Wake me up when the reapers here.
Tell him I've been dead for years.

Why is it that at the end of every sentence I write.
There's a man with a knife piercing it's blade into the back of my brain.
My mind feels colder this year.
Minutes die faster but hours live longer.
Half-empty water bottles like my goals scattered across my room.
I wrapped a noose around concequences neck and kicked the chair he stood on.
I watched his legs dangle like dancing ballerinas on top of a frozen creek.
His face went colorless.
Then I buried him beneath my bed.

I've always been the fool,
Whom walked through bodies of gardens with hovering hands.
Touching petals with the tip of my fingers till I picked the prettiest rose.
Blooming in the garden of the ugliest inner rib cage.
Impatient hands forcing the fold of fingers.
Grasping mistake after mistake again.
Till my eye caught the glistening black of aesthetic beauty at the ends of your throat.
Arm stretched, down the mouth of the abyss.
Finger tips caressing torn petals,
Thorns settled into my skin.
I pulled the scarlet blood rose out your throat and I fell in love with the withering.
They say that no one loves a flower when it withers away but I loved you.

I'm like a vacuous worm laying in bed
Squirming uncomfortably.
Watching myself impassively rot
from the inside out.
My books are collecting dust of life's are no longer live.
My chairs accumulating clothes of personalities I no longer wear.
I'm holding my unresponsive eyes in my hands, I feel blind, I can't see my wood floors.
It's covered in inscrutable ideas, on blank pages, ripped out of my notebook.
Ink spills but nothing's written
Inspirations, emotions, and feelings are lost somewhere within the air.
But I can't inhale the oxygen they contain.
My eyes try to peer a view of the world
through ***** curtain cracks.
Im tired of staring at the ceiling.
I turn my head left to stare at the chipped painted walls.
Simple words splattered in color crow black of all the humanly advice I've ever heard.
Yet it doesn't resonate inside of me.
I turn my head right to stare at the wall peeling like my thoughts trying to crawl out of my brain.
It's funny,
how vacant this room feels;ghost memories fill the emptiness inside this empty space.
when I have everything I ever wanted to make me feel alive Inside here, or so I thought?
She said
"Where lies the beauty in being buried alive"
And I responded
"I don't belong here anymore"
Struggling to keep myself intact
like my fingernails being bend back till they snap.
As I watch a detritus love deteriorate, in a gradually decomposing disintegrating way, and perish like it never existed in the first place.
Like trying to constantly feed life into the lifeless with any kind of progress.
My teeth are corroding from all the words stuck in my mouth
I fell off my bed, crawling on top of  wordless pages.
Dragging myself across what seems to feel like a hollow abyss, with a floor made out of hands filled with thorns.
Trying to find peace inside the hollow selfishness of my psychotic Self implanted misery.
And through my rebirth of dead departures of selves
I found God in myself....

Truth is just as they say;
Love is a lot like a shipwreck
Or folding origami paper.
Trying to find the perfect fit as the corners start to shrink and fold in.
He had the perfect wife
but the perfect wife found the perfect fault in their chronological love.
She grit her teeth and didn't look back
I guess that's why it's called cheating.
I'm astonished with overwhelming sadness.
As the only thing that still holds the broken sails together is the son they've spawned.
In the belly of a dangerous sea.

Two vessels afloat,
Lost at sea.
Fading beacon of fragmented promises.
Shun and shine among the raging waves.
Awaiting to get washed away or break among the corroding rocks.
Whom hold history of a ghost traveling through the past, present, and lingering in the future.
Waiting to collide
Shipwreck, shipwreck,
The sirens sing .

I cut into his limbs to find the weight of the hold.
Carved negatives into his back to find a positive outcome.
I held a gun to his thoughts
As his brain fed on a taste of fiction.

These Pages are thinner than the finer lines of her lies.
Words melted by choice,
Not by honesty.
She swallows her tongue for as long as she lives,
So she doesn't have to  face truths decaying face.