I won't go home, mother.
I don't have any.
And I'll only make you cry.
I'll only make you feel worthless.

I don't make you proud.
I can't love you enough.
I cannot love.
I'll only hurt you.

And most of the time
I don't care if I do.
And the other time
I care, and, that is why.

My bones keep destroying my kidneys;
If only I had any brain,
If only I could have any intelligence.

Sorry. It is my fault I cannot tell stories.
It is in my DNA.
Sometimes I do, but I do not do.
Most of my doings are based on disorientations.

I would pray for you, mother,
You had to give birth to me.
I could bleed, or sleep.
My mouth could marry a hurt like that.

And each prayer is a sin.
You've been forgiven but I can't stop.
Sorry.
It is my fault that you met father.

My body sits there and I'll someday see it
clearly running out of darkness. It'll glow
though not blinding.

My body lies there and I'll someday have it
moving on its own. Balanced chemical
would never go wrong.

I'll dance in joy. I'll sing songs about spring.
Even though I know not a thing about
spring, I'll try. I know flowers and two
seasons. Aren't they enough?

If you are enough, so are they.

I tell my body to cut it off. My body in
cheesy arrogance, my body in self
righteousness, my body trying to fit in a
broken vase.

"I need water, I need water!" One cares not
about another. Does water need you?
Please stop being so possessive.

Feeling like dying is so much like touching a girl's chest for the first time --- I tremble and don't know how to stop; I do not breathe but my lungs are doing fine.

When my hair was long, people told me to cut it. Now my hair is short, people are telling me to never have short hairstyle ever again.

I am too heavy I cannot be in high places. They cannot hold me. They would collapse. I am too heavy I cannot even move my legs. My feet are planted to the ground. I may well be a high place.

But buried alive I am.

I do not breathe but my lungs are doing fine. I cannot swim anymore. I do not have hands anymore. My stomach is a pool full of HCl. My stomach is tomatoes stomped by muddy boots. My stomach too large I do not wear it anymore.

In the morning I don't think of dying anymore. I do not think of it anymore. I am actually doing it. The dying thing.

I have wings like bats, I eat rats like bats. When I have no money in my wallet I can't sell myself because no one wants to buy me. I have legs like snakes, I eat rats like snakes. In a night like this I only want to be a tiny sea creature. It would be cold enough. It would be salty enough. It wouldn't be beautiful. Nothing beautiful fits to be perfect. I want perfect. I want flawless.

Good bye. I can't see you again. Someday when I hear your name it would always be the first time. Please just let me. Go.

Thank you it's ok I don't need your help
Please don't stick to me I am fine on my own
Stop talking to me stop telling me what to do
Leave me alone I have my own way
Stop trying to pretend that you know better
Don't help me I am fine with myself
Don't help me I am fine on my own

You speak the language of despair.
I can hear you calling out from the depths of hell.
I know because I've been there.
My dear, I understand all too well.
Slowly killing yourself, but nobody cares.
Truth of the matter is, they're just scared.

You're the manifestation of all their worst fears.
A reflection of their darkest desires.
Everything they try to repress:
(drugs, rock n' roll, ***.)
Dancing with the devil in fire.
They close their eyes to it.
No wonder they're so distressed.

But there's another class out there,
and of them, I say,
Beware!
They don't understand but pretend to care.
Their lives are such a bore that they'll drink from your sins.
They'll tell you encouraging words as you struggle to swim.
But you're nothing more than a jester to them.
If you ever make it to the shore,
they'll just push you back in.