Hey little lady sitting alone.
I think you need a hand to hold.
Hey little man staring at the screen.
I think you need to start living your dream.
Hey little artist with your head held high.
I think you need to let go and cry.
Hey little writer with your pen on the page.
I think you need to escape this cage.

They say that when an artist dies, God lets them paint the sky and lately I've been thinking a lot about what my sunset would look like

You are the scars on my wrist
you are the fresh cuts on my hip
you are the noose hidden in my closet
you are the letter telling my parents that it's not their fault
you are the lie behind every "i'm okay" i've ever spoken

I'll breathe you in like smoke
I'll get high off of your fumes
I'll lose myself under your influence
And I'll hear about what your love did to me tomorrow

There are galaxies beneath my skin that only your touch can unearth, you expose the universe to me using only your lips, leaving proof that your love is not a dream

When everyone around you is breathing smoke it is hard to keep your oxygen for yourself...and soon you are breathing their smoke while they are gasping for what little air you have left.

You deserve a girl who isn't broken
who isn't depressed
who isn't anxious
who doesn't slice her own skin to release her demons
who doesn't smoke just for the self destruction
who loves herself
But yet you still whisper these sweet words to me and make it your goal that I realize there truth
my only question is...
...why me?