Dear You,

It was March 22, 2013. It was a cold, wet day and I decided that rather that risk frostbite I would go online, maybe go on twitter, check some stuff, little did I know this was the day you would tell me it was all over, that after 12 years. 12 YEARS. That is 144 months, 4383 days, and a **** ton of hours and minutes. That there would be 1 paragraph, 6 ******* sentences telling me it was all over, you were leaving me to fend for my self in this dark cruel world.

You said that you were just a concept, an idea, I was strong enough to carry on without you,... Well I call *******!

Cause you were there for me when no one else was, you got me, you understood how much society freaking ***** and you kept me strong.

Maybe I do scare the living **** out of you, maybe you just stopped caring...

You tell me to “look alive, sunshine” But how can I look alive when you leaving left me so dead inside?

Yet, I still hold on to the hope that some day you will come back to join us in the black parade, and lead this army of killjoys.

Until then, however, I am not okay (I promise)

There's something missing in this heap of hearts.
i'd happily admit he'd fall apart
without his special taste of what was to come
after every horror night he'd slept,
beauty truthful, I wish i'd seen
his glory days, our glory days
we breathe as one, and there's music to come -
but an unstrung guitar would yearn for it.
Something like diamonds or vague metaphors
like years of friends and friendly enemies that struck a bone like a tattooed hand a chord
something like that which fills the soul of rueful smiles and before they left -
he knew that was where he took his breath.
One day I'll come to understand why deprivation is my vice and virtue
and why good things come to those who forget -
but for now its grief for ghosts and phantom hands left unheld
that keeps us both waking during the night.