******* for calling my art “rants.”
For not being able to see past letters I paint on a canvas.
There is a certain spot where ***** like you will never be allowed,
and that’s between the lines of the words I write.
I’ll write all you ******* off as I write of all your ******* sins,
and I’ll wear another mask just like you want me to.
I build a home and you burn it.
I build a reputation and you stain it.
I’ll be a ******* carpenter of confidence, and you’ll still be my villainous vandal.

So *******.
And your scummy scandals.
And your insidious intentions.
And your daggers of delayed and destructive dialogue.

I’m over you.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's you?
Maybe it's us,
In a coffee shop,
Telling stories and trading smiles.
Never thinking too far ahead,
because the now is so **** perfect.
And never caring about mistakes,
because I'm too focused on your freckles.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's in your writings?
You make me sound,
So ******* loved,
You have no clue how much that means.
You write of the me that you know best,
the boy who hurts but loves to smile,
I feel so real from your point of view,
and I love that I'm always on your mind.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's when your in my arms?
Holding the stars,
and the flowers,
and pressing them close against my heart.
Keeping my world safe from harm,
while finding comfort in your touch,
Keeping my fears locked away,
because you scare away the dark.

You asked where my happy place was,
and I couldn't narrow it down to one,
So for now I find joy in three places,

Your smile,
Your art,
Your touch.

I’m not going so say it again
But you know what this is about.
I don’t know why I keep feeling this way.
I wish I could stop

One of the most unbearable pains is needing to cry but never being able to.

I build castles on flesh and carve moats into my skin,
I wage war with myself and I know I'll never win.
I whisper secrets into rivers and let water wash them away,
I'm too naive to leave, but I'm getting scared to stay.
I think of death too much and I miss you so often,
It's nights like these where my bed feels like a coffin.
I'm coping with a pain, and I can't tell you when it started,
"I'm sorry" is etched into my skin, the words of the broken hearted.

I'll follow you anywhere, even if I'm scared
I'll follow you anywhere, though I know you never cared

Kingdoms keep secrets, and hearts grow heavy,
I was broken long ago, I want to cry but I'm not ready.
I think I'm going crazy now, my home feels more like a hell
I'm trying to get back up, but I'm so far from where I fell.
So I repress, try to protest, all of the miles I have regressed,
And I digress, I confess, but I still feel so ******* upset.
If I keep your letters by my bed will it help me sleep at night?
If I keep you words in my head will it help me feel alright?

I'll follow you anywhere, even if I'm ******* scared
I'll follow you anywhere, because I know you'll always care

I'm listening to your record on repeat and thinking of times we had together. And I can't help but feel sad. Longing for your touch.  For your comforting brown eyes to be looking back into mine. I miss your hugs. I miss your soft skin. Love certainly accents the loneliness.

"Are you still writing of death?"
Yes...
Is that bad?

Just because I'm sad, lonely, and a wardrobe of black,
doesn't mean I want to die.
Nor does it mean I admire death.

It just comes easy to me.
Fear comes easy to me.
If you look deeper you will see that I write of other fears.

Being left behind.
Other peoples perception.
Negativity winning.

so to answer your question, yes.
Confronting fears is why I write.

The pitter patter of rain fell onto the cracked cement,
as it mockingly aplauded our attempts to mend our selves again.
Outside of the coffee shop where the lovers go to cry,
a strong headed velvet stranger wiped the memories from my eyes.
While puddles formed and dams broke I found saftey in the unknown,
while storms raged and hurricanes sang I saw that I wasn't alone.
The street was a winding river that carried me miles and miles from saftey,
but this rainy coffee shop day dream made me feel a lot less empty.

Put a gun in your mouth and then ask if I’m okay.
It’s hard to speak, isn’t it? When death is in your head
And by the way, no.
I’m not okay.
I’ve had a gun in my mouth ever since my grandfather died.
The gun keeps me from talking and sounding insane, but I still write of death every single ******* day.
And It’s not because I’m suicidal.
It’s not because I’m edgy.
I’m just scared.
I don’t want to leave nothing behind.

You fit so perfectly in my arms. Holding the world together was never so enjoyable. And your coffee colored eyes look so beautiful when you stare back at me. I try to count your freckles, but I get too easily distracted by the millions of other things that make you so ******* stunning. The collision of your kiss leaves me so breathlessly happy, and I look dumb as **** after. I think of you during storms. I think of you all the time. And I can't think of a better way to daydream without you waltzing into my mind. You are my blissful summer nights. You are my adorable best friend. You are my coffee shop daydreams. You are my everything.

Dear, Nobody.

That’s a lie. Just because I can’t narrow this down to one person doesn’t mean it’s to nobody. “Nobody” isn’t an emptiness, it’s a pseudonym.


                                                    ­      I

I've been acting cold hearted to make myself seem stronger, but I’m cracking under the pressure of goodbyes and silence. I get scared that you will hate me for being so awkwardly introverted, because you only thrive if you’re having fun. I don’t think I’m enough, but I know that I can be, I don’t think that I’m there yet, but darling, just trust me. I’m working so hard to overcome these fears, I’m treading these waters and I'm trying not to go under. I keep on telling myself that I can be enough for you and the only hard part to it is simply believing. I’m sorry if I ever hold you back. I want to be a companion, not a burden, I want to fight the dark together, and I know you're kind enough to help me. I don't think you know just how much that keeps me going. I will catch up. I will be fine. I will come through, and I will not drown. I just need you to hold on to me for a little bit longer, because there is no way in hell I can do this alone. "At this moment, you mean everything." You mean too much to me to drown alone.

                                                         ­  II
                                                          
You are growing distant as you are getting older and it hurts me like hell. I can't help but feel proud that you've made it this far. I miss you a **** ton, but I'm glad you are growing up. I will always be there for you, even when you're ****** at me. When you get in trouble for being a *******, or when your heart is broken into a million pieces, you can always come back to me, no matter how distant you are. You don't desert family, and I sure as hell won't desert you. After all, you are my blood, and if your lost or all alone "I'll go with you". You never have to worry about facing **** alone.

                                                         ­ III

I've accepted the fact that you will never sing for me. I don't know if it's out of fear, or if you just want to **** me off, but I guess I understand. It seems like a small thing to be upset about, but it bugs me because I love you so ******* much. You can always tell when something is wrong, despite if I tell you "I'm fine." You're distant but I know you will come back. I'm sorry for being a **** during the first half of this year. You deserve better, and I can give it to you. I'm sorry for hurting us, but I know we will be fine. I will always be "stitching up the seams" of every pain I've ever caused you. I hope you will let me.

                                                    -  -  - ­ -  -  -  

So, Nobody, I promise we will be okay. I promise I will be okay. At this moment, you mean everything, and I will always go with you, to stitch up the seams of the pains that I have caused. Distance will never break us, and you will never be alone. I won't drown if you are there. I won't leave if you are hurt, and I won't cause you any pain.
I love you.

Sincerely,
                    Your no longer desperate friend

I spent this morning telling myself that I meant something to someone.
Saying to myself that I could handle today.
Saying to myself that I could handle my thoughts today.
I don't like to lie, but It helps me stomach breakfast.
These self therapy sessions over coffee aren't helping me at all.
Sipping on the bitter truth leaves an aftertaste of self doubt.

But I still tell myself that everything is okay.
Because one day, maybe everything will be.

Writing highly of you is almost becoming competitive.
Its must feel good reading poem after poem about how perfect you are.
I hope that mine live up to the standards that they have all set.
They all talk of how you radiate joy.
Of how your little actions mean the world.
They aren't wrong.
A smile from you leaves me longing for the sight of you all day.
A giggle, and my heart skips a beat, fluttering to the tune of your joy.
The melodic words that spill from your pen seem to be tattooed all over my body, running along my sides and up and down my arms until the strands of black ink meet on the spot above my heart.
The breathtaking collision of your kiss sends my fears and worries and little insecurities away to a far off place, never to be seen when your smile is in my thoughts .
it’s safe.
it’s bliss
it’s everything.

Thank you

I've been running, I've been hiding, I've been praying to stay alive,
I've been losing sleep and frost covered ground to the Ghosts of January

And they come knocking, they come crawling, they come hunting for my blood, They make the summer nights feel cold and drive fear straight through my bones.

I've been singing, I've been wishing, for you to pull my pain out with your teeth, but my frost-bitten fear goes deep, and the light of smile wont cause a thaw.

So I sit behind locked doors and scream a question with hopes of a response, pleading to a God I don't have faith in, and a mother who's lost her son.

"Is heaven still an option if I drown in my own blood,
if the crimson pouring from my wrists was a result of what I've done.
Is heaven still an option if I take away my sorrow,
will the ghosts of January haunt me if I take away tomorrow?"

These heavenly florescent lights split my head open and send waves of hatred through my aching bones.
I keep telling myself that I only have two years left of this ****, but it only gets worse from there.
I wish I could compare myself to a ghost, but some people still choose to have faith in a poltergeist.
It's getting harder to wake up every morning knowing that I have to go back to war

And I know that you will be there,
And I will tell you "I'm okay"
And I know you wont believe me
And I will be fine as long as you stay

So whats another ****** day on this journey to "finding yourself" in crowded hallways and fake smiles
I'll raise my glass to friendship at a table in the morning, smile as I lie, and drink the poison that it holds
I hate the people I love most, is something wrong with me or do I surround myself with two faced companions
I'll sing songs to cope with my own failures and I'll blame it on others, and I don't want to be alone, but I'll isolate myself anyways

And I know that you will be there,
And I will tell you "I'm okay"
And I know you wont believe me
And I will be fine as long as you stay

You're the line between my Sanity and loneliness .

I can’t tell you why I’m writing this.
I can tell you that it feels right.
I’m listening to your record to get a feel for you and I’m lighting coffee scented candles to help me miss you more clearly. I’m scared to write.
I miss you so much sometimes.
Even when you’re right next to me.
It’s annoying.
I always doubt myself around you.
I think you think I call you pretty too much.
You are so ******* pretty.
I feel distant, but then you look up at me and I’m reminded that I am an idiot for missing someone so near to me.
Then I think of how ******* lucky I am.
And how perfect you are.
And I go home and light candles and write of how I wish I had the guts to say “I love you.”
And how I wish I had the guts to believe that you would say it back.
You can call me a coward for putting it in writing, but it’s still true.
I love you.

I think that coffee helps.
It’s still really hard.
The only thing keeping me going is not letting you down.

I'm not a fan of people who fail to see past the smoke they exhale.
I don't enjoy the constant "I don't care" mindset, and I don't think it helps.
I don't care if you ruin yourself. I don't care about your health
but the second you hurt the ones I love I swear to god I won't hold back.
Do you know there is more to life? Do you know that you can have both?
You can be here for a good time AND a long time. It's not impossible.
You can’t just brush things off like it’s nothing at all.
And there is more to life than ***, drugs, and alcohol.
You talk of how perfect it is and write of how awful it is
I hope you get better.
I hope you change again.
I hope you start to see that there is always more to life.

I think you like me a lot less than I like you. I'm trying to balance my feelings, but I get really happy around you. I think it annoys you. I think you're mad at me. I'm trying so hard to get you to like me. Maybe that is why you get annoyed. I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry. I just want you to be happy.

As most of you know,

I am catastrophic.

And as most of you know,

I feel alone.

I see cobwebs collecting cluelessly in between the lines of your poems.

They age and sit and stay the same,
those poems from forever ago.

But aging is healthy, and time can be good,
what makes me sad is the static.

There are only ever old poems. Never new thoughts or feelings or the same thoughts and feelings strung and wrapped in different words.

It’s just cobwebs.

I used to read your poems religiously, I used to ponder what they meant.

But now I think I have my answers, and now I’m sure I’ve lost a friend.

What used help me cope has now become just a bigger reminder,

That everything I love will leave me in some way or another.

But I still read and I still write and I still think about the past

like a ghost in an old library reading only ancient texts

and I can’t conjure up the courage to say anything face to face

so I put it in a poem and I pray that you will find it.

Even if you do not write I pray that you still read.

Even if we do not talk I still put pieces of you into my words.

Even if we hate each other’s guts I still hope that you are happy

and I guess all I can really do is just keep on writing:

Another way to say I need help is to say “I’m fine.”

I want to feel the pain I see in your eyes.
I want to know what bullets feel like.
I want to memorize every little thing that breaks you.
I want to see the monsters in your head.
I want to rip your pain out from your chest.
I want to hide you in my arms.
I want to strangle your demons and make you whole.
I want to be your reason for smiling.

Please keep in mind that I'm a mix of ****** and depressed, but despite the mixed emotions, I promise I'll try my best to repress the negativity brewing coldly in my mind, letters to lovers, letters to friends, all just memories left behind, I hide behind the backs of friends right before the stabbings start, growing stronger and more painful, warping tightly around the heart, until it reaches a point of anguish where the skin starts to burn, and it seems like your love has left to the point of no return.

And tomorrow we all forget.
And tomorrow we all get along.
And tomorrow we all hold hands.
And sing our stupid ******* song.

Sometimes,
i think i need a therapist
i think i need to stop taking Adderall
i think i don't deserve my friends
i think i'll never make it
i think i need to relax
i think everyone around me just wants me to smile
i think i just want people to want me to cry
i think my parents don't want anything i want
i dunno
it's wack
that's life i guess

I wanted to be a ******* inspiration.
I guess I’m just not good enough.
My hands shake when I write now.
It wasn’t always like this.

I want to tell Jaxson I love him.
I wish I could write like all my friends.
My bones ache when I’m near them now.
It wasn’t always like this.

I want to hold Bella close to me.
I wish I could say those three words.
Fear gets to me so easily now.
It wasn’t always like this.

Things haven’t been the same.
I can’t tell you when it changed.
But I miss when everyone loved me.
Now I’m at the bottom of everyone’s list.

You reap what you sow into your bloodstained velvet robes,
and you don’t have power just because a crown of thorns sits on your tortured and beaten mind,
You have power because you need control.
You have power because you make me weak.
But one day i’ll strip you of your robes.
I’ll rid you of of your crown.
I’ll stand up to you.
And I won’t be afraid.


I won’t be afraid.