don't try to tempt me out of bed with the promise of your body

your skin could never be as soft as my sheets

don't ever touch me, got that?

my body belongs in my room
in my bed

don't talk to me

don't even think about me

you all have filthy minds

don't taint me with your worry

I don't need you

all I need is my bed

I've lost my way with words recently, you know that
I mean, I stutter like a nervous wreck and the things I say are pretentious as all hell
but even so
you make me want to write something sweet and sincere
you make me want to shout ****** ******- my heart is beating so fast!
you make me want to laugh so hard we fall in the mud and even though we're filthy we keep on laughing like the morons we are
I want to be still for you, no more fits and no more tremors
but most of all?
I want to kiss you
and enjoy the simple pleasures of being two teenagers in love

There was ***** and stolen cigarettes
There were long nights in her bed
There was a 10 year old learning about things he shouldn't know
There was secrecy, "our little secret"

She made me feel special
She was older and mature
This stuff was mature;
Even if it hurt
Even if I bled
Even if made me sick

I learned that a child's body is a play thing,
Locked inside a damp, broken toy box until it was to be used again
I learned that a child's mind was of little value without its sweet and soft body

No child ever came out of that house, that locked toybox  

A child died in that house,
Mind damaged beyond repair
But thank goodness it's body is still in tact
An empty body,
An empty husk of a child,
It's much easier to use

Without that body this child is worthless

His body was the scene of the crime that he was never permitted to leave

The home battlefield of a surrendered side shown no mercy by the aggressor

If he looks down for too long then the memory of ***** hands pressing on his throat and spreading his legs open return

There was nowhere he was safe

Impurity had burrowed under his skin

his insides had paid the price

I live vicariously through artists more talented than me

I steal their words, their look, their fashion

Their trends and their beliefs and their lives

Because I hate myself and my art
I hate my look and my fashion
I hate my trends and beliefs

And I hate my life!

So I've found it much more preferable to be a shadow of a great

Than the shape of something small and pathetic yet original

There isn't a creative bone in my body

I just replicate things that are better than me