Peculiar and particular
Is how many describe my taste
For if you are not
Perfect
You are a ******* waste.

Maybe to disassociate
Is the only way
"Like maybe that's alright
Maybe it's okay"

But
Then it all hits you at once
Speeding bullet subway train

Your body has been void for years
Your organs have already melted, rotted, and withered
away

And when that happens
There's no going back

You wake up in the morning
Every morning
and
Instead of brusing your teeth
You look in the mirror and ask yourself

Who the **** am I?

And your brain goes empty

So.
utterly.
*******.
bleak.

I miss
The taste of his neck
And the
sound of his smile

The lightness inside his breath
The smell of his sweat
The way the sunlight shone
Through
his hair

I miss him more than
Anything would ever miss
Air

Six years gone
Six years waiting


He still doesn't care.

Black circles darken my eye.
There are notes to play,
but my vocal cords are cut,
and I am drowning in
a steaming pile of
my own guts.

There is a group of people
They sit in a grey room with no windows and
Try to piece together their grey puzzles

It is silent.

sometimes they
take pieces from each other
only to find they do not fit and are more confused than they were before

Stuck on pride

There has been only one puzzle the whole time

It is true we are our own worst enemy
But
Can you even find where that piece hides?

She wishes she were a tree
She wouldn't have to think
She wouldn't even have to breathe

The birds start to sing
The sun starts to rise
Everything starts to feel hollow

I wait for my candy house to melt
The ceiling drips and
The walls are getting thinner
I can taste them on my lips

I bathe in remembrance

Then the sugar starts to boil
B u r n i n g
It hardens on my skin