I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

The Hallowe’en decor
has been put away for another year.
Christmas lights line each house and door,
illuminating every single tear.
The day of the dead has passed
but next holiday is one more for me,
since I’ve got the ghost of Christmas last
following me eternally.

Because you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep grief from seeping through the windows.
The cold is the coldest of enemies
and it freezes you each time the wind blows.

The wind’s slapping at my face
and there’s a chill biting at my bones,
and in every snowflake; a feeling laced
“in our own arms we die”; all alone.
My mother was the spring,
just like it; she couldn’t stay very long.
The breath of fresh air she would bring
until her own breath wasn’t very strong.

Because you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep grief from seeping through the windows.
The cold is the coldest of enemies
and it freezes you each time the wind blows.

No you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep regret out of a locked door.
It has been that way for centuries
and it’ll be that way for centuries more.

I never think of life
As a wet on dry watercolor painting
Because its more similar
To wet on wet
You put a dash of color
Joy
Emotion
And it spreads
Like a virus
But a good one
Life isnt realism.
Life is abstract.
So treat it like that.
Imperfect
But in the end?
Beautiful.

smoking a bag full of memories
over the flame of your past
you get high on a girl
you no longer love
but can’t stop thinking about
and there’s nothing you can do
to change the way it went down,
only imagine what could’ve been
if you’d done things a bit differently
which somehow hurts more yet makes
you chuckle on the inside
and now’s she’s out there
with other people,
in other places,
doing other things
that don’t involve you
while you sulk in the corner
with the useless bottle,
the useless tears
and the useless fantasies
that you’ve never lived in.
I say relax kid,
if you look back on the entirety of yourself,
you’ve made it through drug overdoses,
car crashes, untruthful rumors, utter loneliness,
suicide attempts and the impeccable timing of bad luck
I’m fairly certain you’ll make it through this too,
it’s only heartbreak.

How can a world of
Hugging good books
Walking and listening to music
Dancing in the rain
Collecting shells at the beach and leaves in autumn
Helping someone get through an anxiety attack
Just smiling when there's nothing to say

Also have

Crying yourself to sleep at night
Sitting alone at lunch
Parents who aren't supportive of who their kids are
Parents that mentally insane and not good to be around
Ones that aren't even there
Homelessness
poverty
And war

*******! Predator！Where are you?
Hiding in the dark again, what are you going to do?
Too scared to see the big bad wolf?
Too scared of the big bad wolf blowing down your roof?

I will never stop!
Not even after you learned your lesson!
Till I pounce on you, till you learn I'm on top!
I used to be a ray of sun
That always shines
Now I'm simply just about cloud
No one, anymore, even visits my shrines
Just because of you

You don't care about the way you hurt her
I don't need therapy, I need ******!
I won't be okay until my knife is in your eye!
Maybe cut your tongue out so you can't tell anymore lies!
Lies you tell your friends as if they're mindless puppets!
You always labeled me as your personal pet!
Now I'm going to be the mutt to bury you!
Let people ignore your helpless cries
Making you a feast for flies!
Saying "Sorry!" After every stab!
Pulling out your organs after every grab!
Gouging out your eyes!
Branding my name onto your thighs!
You should've known I'd be back!
Just like a shadow, I always come back!


You're so silly thinking I'd let this slide!
Just like I'd glide
My knife across your throat
The same thing I did to your pet goat!
Then leaving you there for the maggots! ❤️

Inside my body,
And inside my mind,
There’s a little child,
A child with colours—bittersweet.

I know not if she’s sad or happy,
But I do know she loves to paint,
My body in a colourful tent,
So I let her be.

Now that my body has grown,
The tent doesn’t fit.
But I do not complain,
For I do not wish to see her eyes watery lit.

Every night I lose my sleep,
In wondering,
If she could have a world’s peep.
But alas! My darling,

Will never receive love akin to mine in the world.
Even if the tent becomes cold,
I must stay.
I don’t think I should ever let her go,
Despite my body’s dents.

Being smothered in a colourful tent,
Is better than seeing my darling woe.

Wreathe of lies
Adorn my body with your flowers,
Your flowers of lies—warm and afresh.

Pin them hard,
Till my skin becomes rosy,
And cheeks a little lake,
For the flowers must not dry.

Pin them with needles,
Close to my chest,
Where my treasure lives—
Alone and alive.

What have I become,
But a wreath of your lies.
The flowers withered
And the sweetness lost forever.

Unpin the needles,
Tear the flowers,
I’d still be bleeding,
For I held onto your thorns,
Knowing you’re a rose.