The strings that make up my mind
Have all just come untied
I try and try
To put them back
But I can never seem to get it right
The blue one for my emotions
Is all frayed at the end
And the red is all just knotted
In a thousand tiny knots
My thought string used to be held in place
By a couple black push pins
But someone snapped the ends right off
And now my thoughts run all about
I don't know what I am going to do
With this giant tangled mess
I think I will just lay down
And figure something out

Nothing could save you
from your addiction
No one can save you
from your self

When you fell
You fell
straight to hell
You were gone
when you started
And nothing could
stop you...

from your addiction

Hell-bent for trouble
Headlong into tragedy
Drug induced psychosis
held you tight in its grip

Tighter than the clench
of a tightly gloved fist
The clenched fist of...

Your addiction

You bartered away
everything you owned
While incinerating
Your mind

Your heart and your life
cannot much longer
hold on...

against your addiction

No one could save you
from your addiction
Nothing can save you
from yourself.

-R.

(10.12.17)
-LA

It's going to take a miracle for me to feel again.

I don't get these people. These funny, funny beings.

Oh, I'm seeing things again.

Psychosis. Crazy. Eyes staring down from treetops.

Alien hands reaching out for you, for me, through the stark darkness of my childhood room.

Lights blind me: florescent and scorching hot-white.

He's always in my dreams. Watching me, somewhere. I search for him but he doesn't exist.

I know that.

I know that the trees don't have eyes and nothing wants to touch me.

Nobody ever wants to touch me.

Maybe it's better this way.

It's better to not be touched, or looked at.

Only imagined glances, passes, fancies.

He's right there, in my dreams again. I'm searching for him again. Imaginary love is as good as it gets.

It'll take a miracle for me to get used to the fact that I'm here to work, eat, sleep and die. Sacrifice.

At 25 I've grown old and fixed on an idea of perfection.

A perception that I can't feel breathing beneath my fingertips.

He isn't real.

This world is real.

I sure as hell wish I wasn't real, too.

poison ivy
the looks so innocent
so sweet

the raindrops like pearls
brightening your evergreen
looks

do you feel lost
staring out of the window
at a nature wall
into the depths of it

not knowing who you are

I will let you
hate me
if that's easier
than loving me...

I often think about escaping
from this world that makes me cry.
I often think about escaping
from this world that is filled with crime.
I often think about escaping
from this world that cuts my wings
and doesn't let me fly.
I often think about escaping,
and how it would feel to say
            goodbye
                            and
                                              die.

they tell me how to live my life
and do you know the funny thing about that?
the funny thing is,
is that they don't know the nights
the reasons
that's lead to the bags under my eyes