when your body burnt to ashes-

I stopped believing that God was real
If He was real, why weren't my prayers answered
Why wasn't all my tears on New Years Eve accounted for
Why wasn't I even gifted enough to say goodbye one last time

I stopped believing love is real
It wasn't strong enough to keep you from leaving
It wasn't true enough to make you last one more night
Everything I had grown to love was built on a lie

when my friend fell into pieces-

I stopped believing that strength is real
If you could fight all the years of pain, why was this one any harder?
If he was tough as steel, why did the tears run down his face?
Everything I had grown to believe was built on a lie

I stopped believing in promises
You said you loved each other and then you both hated each other
You said I would get better and yet I find myself thinking of a million different ways I could take away all of this
Everything I had tried to put my faith in, was a lie


This life is nothing, and I am nothing.
I have nothing to lose and I give up.

*Death, you win.

you're only hurting yourself,
putting in all this effort,
for people who don't give a **** about you

you would comb the earth
a thousand times over
searching for a pin
if they asked.

they wouldn't even bend over
to pick up a pencil for you,
let alone risk cutting themselves
trying to mend your shattered glass heart.

You can find me under a bridge, with a needle in my arm,
or at the bars where old men slide their hand up my thigh and I am pretending not to like it.
I like to play games like "which one of my boyfriend's brothers can I turn on the most" or "how many girls can I kiss in one night"
Usually the answers are -- all of them and the most I've gotten is 6

Two spiteful lovers in a raging battle
Fighting against the tides of war
Lost within themselves and images
Of the serenity from the ways of before
Not knowing how to come down from the high
Never needing much, just a little bit more
In love with the idea of opposites attract
Until it leaves them both lying on the floor

I am thinking of the dead
who are still with us
on their way in the rain
to meet lovers or brothers
and my sadness waves back
like grain in the fields
of lost summers and summers
before that, fireflies in the dark
still young and beautiful
like starry nights, but for them
there is no moon, and for us
the same news we do not receive.