Everything will always depart,
except what you want to leave.
And what stays
cannot bear to look you in the eye.
Because it knows it isn't welcome.

It just wants a home
to tear the walls down.
It just wants some flesh
to tear the soul out.

But who are you, friend?
Is your purpose to teach
something that earthly knowledge cannot fathom?
Or is your purpose motionless and hollow?
A boy sitting in the rain with a frozen gaze,
and no coat?

They say you must be a part of me,
not all of me.
But no matter how bright the days become,
no matter how many times you love me
(If anyone could actually loved me.),
you hold on with your bruised fingers
hopelessly interlocked.

The truth that I can't tell
and won't tell
(because I don't want to speak it
just as much as you don't want to hear it)
is that I actually hate me
more than I hate it.
Because while it flows through me
arbitrarily
like a black fog floating in the breeze,
I am sentient.
I have the power to stop it.
And I can't.

And so I must welcome it.
And once I do,
I still don't believe it will look me in the eye.
Because there's nothing to look at.

she is my inspiration.
motivation,
concentration,
my rejuvenation,
i will make a declaration
for this infiltration
of exhilarating exaggeration,
of our joining corporations.
while your vibrations
trigger my salvation of
sensational temptation.
like a starvation that you feel on
a beautiful vacation.
this flirtation of adaptation
that we take into notation
without any negotiation
of our confirmation that we
apply in applications
in calibration
with our wildest aspirations.
our conversations make me
feel dehydration
like my education is an exclamation
its not an estimation of our escalation.
this desperation
our correlation is stronger than any  confederation.
you're the most beautiful creation,
and you deserve one hundred standing ovations.
i love you

scraping salsa off a festive snowman infested paper plate
I asked myself about the meaning of life

my last tortilla chip cracked under the pressure of my thoughts
and I was left with salty finger tips and a half empty stomach

I guess when you’re living in personalized, small-sized pizza
of a school the food is never filling and questions are never answered

No matter how many times I tell myself I know what I’m doing,
I wake up every morning just as lost at the day before

cracking my dreams like chips, bitter as the salt on my finger tips,
I’ve become a half empty stomach impossible to fill

one of these days I’ll be a home-cooked meal—
mashed potatoes salted just right,

sweet biscuits that crumble, never crack—
iced tea with the taste of sugar, just enough to savor,

I swear I could go on forever about my idealized platter
that one day I will feast on in my confident contentment.

Thinking of you ,wherever I go,
Oh! dear Angel, in front of you I bow.
For a promise, you will be near,
With just as care and love forever.

You look beautiful just like your mind,
people like you are very hard to find.

Even if you are far from me,
I dont have to search for you.
You rest in peace, here in my Heart.
So, nothing on Earth can set us apart.

I wish one day I would be great.
If I succeed, for you I would dedicate.
These words from the depth of my Heart is for you
People who respect you like me are very few.

Thinking of you ,wherever I go,
Oh! dear Angel, in front of you I bow.
For a promise, you will be near,
With just as care and love forever.

I know you read my journal,
I see the hunger in your eyes,
At night, when Mom is working,
I hear your trembling sighs.

I say a silent prayer for you,
and push my ******* to the floor,
I pray you'll have the courage ,
to step in my room and close the door.

I'll pretend i'm sleeping soundly,
you'll drink in my youthful naked form
exposed and unprotected,
it's just the two of us...alone.

as if in gossamer mists of slumber,
i'll caress my hairless **** and moan.
Come a little closer Daddy,
Mother's not at home.

Shhhhhhhhh, pretend your not there,
standing by my bed,
your **** all hard and throbbing,
glistening pre-*** on its swollen head.

I'm watching you rub and stroke it,
your nuts are tight and filled with ***.
and now you see my eyes are watching,
see my cherub lips ...extended tongue.

I know you read my journal,
and I know you know I've known,
don't waste the precious moments,
when Mother's not at home.

Her lips, her eyes, her her hips, her thighs, the beauty she holds within, the touch of her skin
more addictive than ******.

Darling,
Don't you worry about the bad nights you're beggining to have,
Or the out of the ordinary strange thoughts you are begging to know more about,
Don't stress over the extreme headaches you're worrying about.
Honey, don't Blame yourself for the slightly suicidal thoughts that cross your mind now and then.
Because love, I'm pretty sure every teen out there isn't "all there" anymore.
Were all going a little insane.