&
Each slow-alone-second
will bring me closer,
to the darkness.

Closer to the sun.
Closer, to my roots.
Or to something. Good.

&
When it sets.
I too, will blend
with the darkness.

&
****, will look
a
little better.

While I'm still here
screaming,
"someone save me from myself".

As I keep on run-run-running
a blood-red black.
Race-line, to the finish.
To hallways that need sounds.

In homes.
That you have had
to have been in at least,
once before.

Till, the next time.
I'm be swimmin'
until I can lie
about this,
no more.

But I think.
That the last line,
will
hurt
the most.
</3

Sick-sick-sick.
&
I'm staring
all starry-eyed
at my body.

From across the bathroom floor,
dissipating.

Disappearing into
the thick-thick
forget-me- not
fog.

Lost in looks
I use to call my own.
But now my conscious is looking
at my-itself in the mirror.

I see shadows.
Stalk-sulk-lurking,
behind me.
Too.

I'm just trying to
shed some light on the
situation.

So,
maybe,
they'll just leave me alone.

& we'll
just live,
the Adam's Family
dream-life.

In our
big-black-brick-death-mansion.
<3
Humbled & hardened
by times & all of her troubles.

Spiked with agony.
Splashed with misery.
But I'll love every minute,
of my
dark/******/serene,
day-dream.

You'll be,
Morticia.
&
I'll play Gomez.

No pun intended.
But after-all
aren't we just the replications
of sorrow from a beautiful sight?

Well......

Here's to the
blackest roses
with
the sharpest thorns.

That're long-lost
& lonely
in the dark part of the forest.

Now,
drink the punch
&
die.

Hello, "Hero" Dr.'s.

Are you having
fun;
handing out ****** hidden,
in little,
tiny pills?

Prescription.
Addiction.

Swimming in the fog.
Until it finally
swallows
you up.
&
Spits, you out dead.


Welcome, to the real-world.
**** gets better.

<3

In the moment.
In the money.

Cash speaks for itself.
If you have enough of it.

One gun, $600.
A round of bullets. $6.
Knowing that you have
a six-shot round.

&
enough money,
to get you
out of any kind of legal troubles.
Priceless.

Choose Visa.
Killah, it's your vice.

My eyes, will rain
tear-drops
of tequila.
When I think
about you too.

They'll run down my
dead-white,-
porcelain-poltergeist
cheeks.
To the crack,
tip of my
toilet-talk-tongue.

It should just be bitten off
& Bleeding, by itself.

Darling, you haven't been the same since you switched your scripts.

Baby,
Our hearts are soon to
be
hollowed out & holey.
Half-way gone.
Half-way to the moon-hearts.
This is not permanent but we're forever.

But the moon was full the night before.
So it has been nothing but fading with the sorrow.
&
Darling, I'll be howling at the half moon for you.
</3