I keep thinking i haven't washed my hair
My head seems to not be able to forget the grease
Maybe deep down i just want it to stay
(I washed my hair this morning
In the sink)

I keep thinking i'm doing great
That's what my therapist said too
But sometimes i wish i was dying more visibly
Sometimes i wish i made more signs
Sometimes i wish i hadn't gotten better

I don't want to stop
I want to want to stop
I don't want to stop

What?
I got nothing to show you
I got none to tell you

Remission is a weird state
Everything partial makes me uncomfortable
I just want to cling to whatever i had
Don't ****** away my ghosts
Don't ****** away
They come back anyway
Befriending me again

You murdered me,
during spring.

You said the words,
among elder forest.

It was space,
that divided the earth.

I in darkness kept away,
dying in black.

Light and luster far,
as the sun.

Hand only reaching,
to things and you.

You murdered me,
with space.

I can tell that
you can't tell
that you aren't
going to be famous.

You helped **** a kid
by selling him laced candy
because you were trying
to buy an acting career.

Your suicide threats
and cries for help
turn me on.
Because.
I would love
for you to die.

And if you were dead --
as dead as the dirt on
the graves you've helped fill --
I wouldn't sleep better or worse;
I guess I would just be happy
knowing that someone would
be able to sleep and wake up.

They put you on the evening news
and you laughed about it on twitter.
Because you are a river
teaching drowning lessons
but not taking responsibility
for the cornflower blue corpses
that haunt your dangerous brain
and contaminate nearby life.

You are a degenerate --
but not one with potential
or hope. You are not what
is beautiful about struggle;
you are not interesting.

You are written about
much like how cancer
is written about in journals.

I thought I kneww, I thought knew I Could escape the escape from this the prismiatic prism that scatters the living litmus of tasty languish. I was electrocuted but did not die I was hyptotized but had no thoughts of mine me oh my my crastle crashing westgate smashing
I weas blown up torn up ****** up I slipped up caught ciggarette hiccups blue smoke the green **** tar ton in my lungs whisper wheeze the crispy fleece of tubular micro breeze
I make no sense to anyone but myself and all this is just play
like,
vaporize the suit and tie dusty wish stuff made from mildew soft hush *** rush wishing wash upon a star starling colors bleed from mars upon my head the rain again again a grain from solar trains a chugga choo of clothes pin gentle wind smell that touch this soft light flutter white sheet skin glow rainbow window crystal glass slow mo tumble punch gut trouble crystal shatter toes and scatter scar sardonic stars breach the shift of rock ah roll ah cokeacola box ah living oh ah mocha coffee candy sweetly
sickly
Motion moving frames repeating the subliminal superluminal transfuckafying metamorphic metaphors leaky brain

mister, i have to say this
not to your face, just to get out
what was a medicine
now a poison

it's the longing, mister
that you fake, that i accept
because everytime we try to touch
we both disappear to each other

don't you notice?
you've been alive way longer
than me, mister

just
this is where i **** up:
i thought you were perfect