I taste your name on my lips when I talk of happiness.
Its not just you though. Mom says that joy comes from within.
I realized that it wasn't so much about finding joy as it is killing sadness.

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

Does it ever bother you that pictures can be lies,
how a smile can be faked and nobody will ever realize.
The photos of you that I hang on my walls are starting to feel distant,
I hear a pain in your voice, as if you could break in an instant.

And it's a whole lot easier to burn a picture than it is to burn a memory,
And I was kinda hoping that we would never reach this treachery,
And you're falling under quickly and I can't do a ******* thing,
And I'm writing songs to cope but I don't have the guts to sing.

I think you're better off away from me.
I think you're better off alone.

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

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

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.

You can wear my hand as a necklace

I'll take it off once you're out of breath

I'll watch your face turn different colors

And watch you struggle to your death.

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.

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

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:

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.

Watch as the stream of melancholy spills from my bruised and blackened heart and flows through the veins of the ones I call friends. The ones who I need to call me friend.
And look closely at the seams that run along my chest from the cuts I made when I gave you my love. The scars, the reminders of my naive actions that keep me awake at night,
And it's okay to feel fear when you look into the portrait of macabre that I paint of myself. Will I ever be okay? Will I ever be whole? If I write poems crying for help will I ever get a ******* answer?
So now I stare at unfinished letters. Thoughts of recovery left behind. And the echos of a heartbreak never sounded so ******* pathetic. I can't seem to cope with hatred, I can't seem to cope with grief, I can't seem to find comfort in the "safety" of my memories.

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.

The worst part of when I upset you is you telling me that I never hurt you.

We were so focused with ending the world that we forgot how pretty the flowers were

You are so ******* perfect.

I know what you are thinking.

"Oh, look at this, another cry for help disguised as a poem"

I wish I could say you were wrong.
But I wouldn't continue to write if my cry was answered.

This is for the people who leave me on the floor and judge my judgment as if theirs is any better.
This is for the people who can't see things from my eyes but see with their own that I am in pain.
This is for the people who ask the three dreaded words and believe the lie that I tell them
This is for the people who tell me I won't make it as an artist or a revolutionary but instead become the nothing that I have always feared.

But mostly, this is for me.

I judge these people just as hard as they judge me
I see these people through my eyes but fail to look through theirs
I beg these people to ask and I get mad when they don't have faith in my answer
I push these people away and then blame them for not helping.

I know what you are thinking,
but I don't want to say it.
This poem is brutally truthful enough,
I don't want any more pain.

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 getting better, but it's in little steps. Steps that travel the petty distances between us.
And as long as my little steps keep bringing me closer to you, my love,
I know I will be okay.

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

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 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.

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.

Summer slits throats so sit up straight while I sing songs of sadness to suffering souls and saints of speaking minds.


Alliteration is consistency, and I need that in my life right now.