i have  become a collection
of  ripped pieces of sketch paper
and ink and paint and blood.
my head is a wasteland
filled with hazy drugs
that let me sleep.
i want to let gravity do it's work
and pull my fingertips to earths core
mix dirt into my veins
and take shots out of glasses
full of whiskey and ache.
i want to walk into the ocean
and fill my body with more water
than it was meant for.
i want to become the sand
so people will make castles out of me
and so i can laugh
when i burn their bare feet.

instead i am an incomplete drawing
and a poem that makes no sense.

*(a.m.c.)

i    am
  a     mausoleum.
these bones are where
the dead sleep.
i    am
  a     graveyard.
this skin is rotting
and dirt fills my mouth.
i    am
  a     casket.
oak trees and velvet
house lifeless figures.
i    am
  a     funeral.
there is no mourning here
because everyone else is gone.

*(a.m.c.)

things will start to get better for you
when you unhook yourself from your machines
lie on the floor and let saltwater drip from your eyes
let your insides melt away into your coffee mug
stained with orange lipstick and whiskey morning breath
you cannot simply contain all of your sadness
in the box inside your chest, even when your initials
are engraved on the lid in gold and coated in velvet
that is no place for weaknesses to hide
they should appear as ghosts in your crooked smiles
and racing heartbeat, shaky limbs and cold fingers
don’t lock them up with a brass key
but let them dance around on your windowsill
when the evening light casts shadows on the walls
they might make people laugh
with yesterday’s jokes and heartfelt kisses
don’t swallow them whole and keep them to yourself,
accept the wrongs and the rights
walk with them in the moonlight
and let them be seen

*(a.m.c.)

to me you are just a photograph
a five-by-seven rectangle
of glossy paper
pinned on my white wall
with a thumbtack.
all of you is crammed into that space,
a box that contains your smile,
two-dimensional and impersonal,
false.
there's a rip on one corner
where part of your forehead dangles
ready to be completely perforated,
because you have no control
over where i store you
whether it's in my arms
or just on my walls.

*(a.m.c.)

would it be cliche of me
to say your smile reminds me
of warm summer nights sitting on
the hood of my grandpa's pickup
truck looking at the constellations
in skies far away?

the wavelengths that your fingertips
cause on my skin are too much
for me to bear and the frequencies in
my mind are enough to cause
an early heart attack

would it be ridiculous of me
to tell you that your eyes are
music to my ears with symphonies
of string instruments and mozart's
sonatas playing constantly echoing
off of granite counter tops?

i photographed the way the veins
in your neck look like pine trees and
your cracked lips are rocky shores
where the ocean thunders into a storm.

*(a.m.c.)

they say that everything nice
ends up killing you
and i think it's true
because i am a cigarette
slowly filling your lungs
and blackening them with my breath
i am a sedative to your anxieties
i am deadly and dangerous
but lovely
i am a nicotine kiss on your lips with fire
i am your bad habit and your addiction
i'll drag you out of bed
in the middle of the night
and i wanted to believe in god
but i couldn't pray with tobacco-stained lips
and a bottle of whiskey in my hand

*(a.m.c.)

i sold your love to a man in a white coat;
and i used the money to buy red lipstick, Kate Moss No. 113;
so now when i wear it i can remember the time I ripped out your heart and ate it whole;
because my man eating zombie heart cannot contain you;
and my man eating zombie mind cannot contain you;
i was tired of being a fugitive in your arms;
the closest we will ever be is 50 ft because of the restraining order i put on you last thursday afternoon;
50 ft is the distance of the stars to the moon;
50 ft is not far enough;
i was tired of feeling your love wrapped around my neck;
my lips turned blue from your suffocation;
you’re not going to die because i am no longer able to staple my hands to yours;
and you’re not going to die because your ears won’t hear my voice anymore;
because life is more than your false identification with love;
life is about breathing;
and you’re still breathing.

*(a.m.c.)

i wasn't a full moon when you met me
and there's nothing to howl at here
i was in the midst of waxing away,
ready to disappear from the sky
and stop the ocean's gears from turning.
you could've fit me on the tip of your thumb nail
small enough for the change in your wallet
spent on dollar cone icecreams and donut shops
i was easy to miss if you just glanced over me
but for some reason your eyes stopped.
you fit me in the palm of your hand and kissed me
making my ***** mouth flourish into something big
i'm starting to fit into my twin-sized bed a little better
and because you stopped and looked at me
you've made me into a full moon.

*(a.m.c.)

my elbows are all tangled up and jagged
and i am not gentle,
but sandpaper, rough and coarse
eroding your skin until there is nothing left
i am sharp edges and serrated knives,
cutting myself open bone to bone
i am not pleasant or a summer's eve
but frigidity and mocking stares
whenever you walk
i am the concrete beneath your feet
with holes and cracks that break your mother's back
with no colors, just grey and monotonous black and white
i am a harsh line on soft paper
all diagonals and wrong turns
right angles and cut in two

*(a.m.c.)

when i was fifteen i was a lion-hearted girl
with strong bones and love for myself that crossed seas
i carried myself with sunshine and a smile too big
played melodies on the piano and loved people too much

when i was fifteen i was an ashtray
my warmth was used for kindling and my love to put out fires
my skin started turning black and my heart breaking into pieces
i was still wild-eyed and good

when i was fifteen i was a punching bag
fists touched my ribs most days and fingernails scraped away
chipping at my exterior and tearing my seams to bits
i became cold and unbearing and ruthless, with teeth like a tiger

when i was fifteen i became nothing
buried into soil and left not to grow but to be scavenged
bones broken and unmended, parched lips and stony feet
underground, beaten and crying, dead

*(a.m.c.)

there was a playful sound
calling on the other side
of the wall called life.
i asked for more soul
but no one responded,
even after i screamed for
someone to hear me,

give me soul or give me death

i don't care if i drown anymore

*(a.m.c.)

imitations of rose-red sonnets
sprung across your face.
the moon rises as you fall,
the tides still rise and crash on the shore.
planets are orbiting around my head,
brain spinning in a colossal daze.
the smell of salt is a cross-stitch embroidery pillow
in my hair,
your grandmother's words echoing
and dribbling inside your skull.
pause for the dead and remember their faces,
remember dirt rubbed into your brothers skin
and the butterfly wings painted
on your sisters face,
toothless smiles and calloused hands.
mothers and fathers rip open and scream,
flashing lights on the street,
sound of sirens,
"it's nothing, he'll be home soon."
he's in pieces on the road,
stop signs lingering in his conscious moments.
the last thing he remembered was
the girl with the long hair and crooked smile,
smoke entering his lungs
and inhaling with welcome.
your speedometer still twitches
even when you're static,
the stars still glow
even when you're gone.

*(a.m.c.)

it was a pleasure to burn
with ***** stained lips
and a cigarette between my cold fingers
i stopped eating to become a symphony,
swirling and elegant
with a game of tic tac toe played with a blade
across my angular wrists
when people ask me about the straight scars
i say they are tally marks
counting every bit of destruction
inside of my body.

*(a.m.c.)

i can still taste the lightning clinging to your lips
all of your sharp edges and corners
left me as a big red bruise
you are spark and i'm your ash
we used to sing to pink floyd and the strokes
but now my record player is the soundtrack
to my lonely bedroom
we were we were we were
did you know? i gave you my whole self
i told you to be careful and you promised
(a thousand of them) that brokenness is never
something you intend to give me
so why did you drop it?
you dropped me and i shattered
like my mother's favorite casserole dish
everyone says red is the most powerful color
and now i see why
you sang red songs and kissed red kisses,
you touched me with red fingertips
until i was a burning red sun
red is something that breaks,
you are someone who destroys.
i am wrecked.

*(a.m.c.)

have you ever had your torso treated like an ashtray
all cigarette burns and flaky ash
twist and turn and go deeper until the fire is inside your brain
the guy that's doing it is laughing, drunk
and you're twisting in your sheets
after a couple nights of pain you begin to wait for it
anticipating
not fearing
the fire that once burnt you now consumes you
you don't feel alive unless it's on your skin
turning you into the ashtray
you now wait to be

*(a.m.c.)

you, my dear, are absolutely insane
dreadfully bold and clicking your heels,
waltzing through struggle and skating on water.
your madness is alluring,
your strength terrifying.
you taste like wine and smell like thunder
i think you most certainly grew wings
last summer
         because
                you're
                      soaring.

*(a.m.c.)

the day of love is tomorrow
but the only thing i love at the moment
is the sleepy blissful feeling i get
every night after i take my sleeping meds.
because something that can take away your pain
and make you forget about brokenness
and self-loathing and suicide
is something worth devoting yourself to.
even if it's a liquid that slides down your throat
and warms your insides until you want that
lava to burn you up,
try not to drink the whole bottle.
or maybe you should risk it
because the tidal wave will come crashing down
soon enough won't it?
something bad is bound to happen
so you might as well pull the trigger.

*(a.m.c.)

people romanticize the pain they haven't felt
i could write about how you pinched
crescent moons into my skin
and how your fists turned my arms into
a canvas of blue and purple and brown;
blood bursting into a waterfall
but there's nothing romantic
about nightmares that make you sweat
there's nothing beautifully tragic
about abuse and mental disorders
the thing is,
pain is a wave that crashes over you
and a box that your elbows can't cram into
pain is flame and my wax skin is melting

*(a.m.c.)

quit holding up signs
in saltwater lakes
i'm trying to drown
can't you tell?
there are reasons behind
the holes in my oxygen tank
and you're ten of them.
so call it quits
or get a grip,
grab your lavender flame
and melt out of my hands.
i can tell the future
and your selfishness has
no room in this home anymore.
i'll miss you
but i'm not sorry.

*(a.m.c.)

the sky is green and i'm cold
telephone wires string above me
and fold into sheet music,
birds sit like quarter notes and treble clefs.

my throat is burning
from the taste of your name
i thought my acid reflex had been gone
since i was eleven.

i cleared my hard drive today
four point two gigabytes
filled with the memory of you
are gone.

in the blink of an eye
you
are
lost.

*(a.m.c.)

maybe the wind in your bones was the same wind rattling mine;

maybe the salt eroding your skin was also eroding my skin;

maybe our ghosts are haunting the same house (it's rotten above these floorboards);

and maybe that is what destroyed us.

i swam in your lakes but the current washed over and drowned me (it tastes like blood under here);

i've wanted to trod on you in dust with my new tennis shoes but you're still crawling on the shoreline looking towards the sun;

you have become a deep crater inside of me and it hurts like hell but the only thing that heals scars is salt water and burning fire (i tried to get rid of you but your grip is ice cold);

i think i'll continue to chase ships on the horizon until they are tiny figures in my palm (they only get smaller and smaller until they're gone).

*(a.m.c.)

when boys with rotten souls
tell you that they love you over a text message
five different times
you're going to feel used
and you're going to realize
you were only a drug to them,
something else to give them a toxic high.
become toxic to them,
do everything you can to distance yourself;
scratch, claw, bite, and chew yourself
out of their lasso around your neck
and do not look back
at their watery grave they dug for themselves
in the ocean among your lungs.
the saltwater behind your eyes
doesn't need to fall for broken love
and it doesn't need to fall for broken bones,
only let your tears escape
when you see a sunrise
because it's so beautiful that words
can't even express the emotions you feel
and the nostalgia of the time you watched the sun rise
with your best friend and a bottle of *****
in your hand.

*(a.m.c.)

you have
your nicotine fingers
running through my hair
and i have
frequencies reaching
ten thousand times my limit
because your eyes
are moons
and my mouth
is lavender
the flowers you picked me
are in a whiskey bottle
on my front porch
they haven't died yet
and neither have i
for i have been standing
somewhere between
salvation and corruption
and i don't know where to step

*(a.m.c.)

sometimes pain is easier than vulnerability;
than weakness.
it's easier to pour alcohol into your open wounds
than to allow someone to stitch you up,
anesthetized.

*(a.m.c.)

i wanted to document
the arches of your cupid's bow
onto a thousand polaroids
and plaster them on my ceilings.
i wanted to carve a renaissance sculpture
based on the image i had of you
imprinted in my brain,
make you out of marble
and put you in a castle.
i think that when i look into the sky
i see the same constellations
that sit in your eyes
and i believe that you have become
my worst habit,
worse than chain smoking
in parking lots
and worse than sleeplessness.
you are an addiction in a body,
a hurricane that swept me away.

*(a.m.c.)

I am as hard as a diamond,
my edges are cut sharp into cubical quartz.
I harden and I process; you can strike me against a rock
and I will not shatter.
I don't shine like a diamond, I'm as dull as an old razor blade;
the remnants of sharpness are there
but who wants to shave with an old razor blade.

My dandelion hair flows with the breeze,
and the salty sweat from my head
makes the fragrance drift
like tentacles into the air.

I sit in corners and sift my brain,
searching for gold that is not there,
but constantly thinking and thinking and thinking;
I go crazy and turn into liquid,
I am the ocean turning and the high tide crashing into the shore.
I drift until I'm calm,
until I'm a rainbow fish in the sea,
swimming under sail boats and sea gulls
and wrinkled fishermen upset with their love lives.

My hands are question marks,
punctuation that I cannot answer, I cannot understand.
My toes curl and I cringe as I remember who I am,
the person that cannot be saved
or brought in with a lasso around my neck.

I am a half-finished metaphor and your deja vu,
you must be a sorcerer if you can make me love
like the old-fashioned movie screen.
My voice is raspy from the attempts at screaming my own name
in order to hear something,
to feel something in this empty cavity of a body.

I will dye my hair aquamarine and magenta
and all the colors with the fancy names,
before I make up my mind to understand anyone else.
I will fold myself in like a thousand paper cranes,
and paper cranes do not fly.
I will write on the walls of my insides that I do not need anyone,
until my brain memorizes my own handwriting.

*(a.m.c.)

i am still awake at 5:35 am
and it's burning like a flame inside of me
but this time it feels so warm
and i'm grinning
with my dead teeth
and this cigarette high has lasted hours
i can't believe that god may still be there
my lungs may hurt but at least i'm feeling
at least i'm alive and breathing
even with broken lungs
even with mad eyes
and drunken breath
i'm alive
i'm breathing

*(a.m.c.)

do you think that astronauts get homesick and claustrophobic
or do they never miss their brick wall houses because home is always in sight
maybe they don't feel closed in because they are in the most open area
i am afraid to explore the galaxy
because i don't like to be put into a box
but isn't space travel breaking out of that box anyway

do you think that firefighters are afraid of fire
or do they breathe it in like oxygen
if they get so used to being warm
can they still survive the cold
maybe there's liquid fire in their veins
maybe they're unable to get burnt

do you think that the dreams we have as kids
are always ingrained in our spines
do we ever truly forget the things we wanted
when we were six years old
is there really any point
to our hopscotch romances
and fears of monsters under our beds
because even now
we still run to our sheets after the lights turn off

*(a.m.c.)

i'm wondering about you wondering about me
i'm killing myself just to remain interesting
cutting my skin to have a story to tell
smoking cigarettes so maybe i'll forget about the blood
maybe tomorrow night i'll leak oceans out of my eyes
and **** time instead of the people i love

i'm wondering about god wondering about me
praying prayers i know won't be answered
whispering lies to myself on the floor of my shower
naked and alone and afraid and beyond everything
i'm smiling at my friends while the voice in my head screams
shivering in the heat and sweating in the cold

i'm wondering about me wondering about you
why weren't you there when i took too many pills?
it tore out my insides and lit flames down my throat
do you ever think about what it would be like to be happy?
maybe like floating or like the sound of laughing children
maybe not like white noise and static

*(a.m.c.)

i am cold water on a ***** fist,
rinse me clean of this catastrophe
i am beaten and bruised, a raw being
stitch my wounds and bandage me whole
put me in your house made of books
and set fire to the poetry
scandalize this love affair
between me and the words
this romance only exists in my head
but it feels so real

*(a.m.c.)

sometimes if i listen hard enough
i can hear the sound of my bones
cracking under the weight of myself.
it feels too heavy to bring so much luggage
around with me to airports
always searching for a plane
to take me somewhere new.
i want to drop my bags and forget myself
i want oceans
i want to soak up waves and waves
of salt.
i'm taking too many pills now
that i am forgetting that i'm a person
and not a drone, that my steps
are conscious and that i can stop
when i want i can stop.
but i have to keep stepping
because what else is there to do?
what else besides walking
what else because if i stop
if i fall down i will never get up
i swear i am an airplane and
i am flying up in high altitudes
and i'm losing oxygen but i can't come down
because if i do i will crash and
nobody will pick up my wreckage.
i will be amelia earhart
i will be a mystery
i will be lost forever.

*(a.m.c.)

i kind of want to die
but i know that there are no
gold-tipped sunrises
in the basement of the dead.
mostly i dream in colors
that aren't black and white
because my head is full of spectrum
a copy of a copy of a color.
the only thing that keeps
my eyelids from drooping
is words on the pages
of the endless stack of books
in the corner of my room.
sometimes i think that
each letter is a person
and their figures join together
to form large crowds
that fill the spacious voids
around me.
my friends spill out of my mouth
and move around in my brain,
they are words,
not lifeless
but constantly moving.

*(a.m.c.)

the day i stole thunder from the sky
was the day the lord snatched up my grace
and pried it from my fists.
because you can't rumble,
and rage,
and storm
with the power of ten thousand volts
without admitting that the power isn't yours.
i guess the grace i borrowed
was something i needed more
than thunder and lightning.
so i traded in my electric hands
and begged to receive his grace once again.
although i'm anything but worthy
and although i've wandered into the deepest waters,
he smiled at me
and said "i've been waiting all this time. come home."

i'll wander from home every day of my life
but i find myself sprinting back
and he welcomes me like i'm his prodigal daughter;
lost
but found.

*(a.m.c.)

i want to be a great poem on the book of this world and i want seaside and sunshine and less of this melancholy because the earth is spinning way too fast and i'm starting to feel it in my brain, my brain is the sun and it's burning through and now i'm on fire and the fire will eat me alive

like you ate me alive in the shadow of your house on that cold winter day, you swallowed me up like a shark in the ocean and your hands were cold and your lips were cold and my body was cold it was all so cold because winter was coming from inside of me and it wasn't a season it was just me

being a season can change you, and since i wasn't summer i wasn't loved by children or school kids, i was death and i was snowdrifts and 9 am phone calls of car crashes from ice, i was wet that chilled your bones and put all of your fires out and i was there in the frost and windchill of 60 miles per hour

you drove me in your car to the hospital faster than 60 miles per hour that one day when i took too many pills and i asked you if it was okay for me to die and you said absolutely not because i was the reason behind your heartache and you didn't want it to be dull pain for the rest of your life

*(a.m.c.)

the first time, your fist touched my face
when i was checking the mail
the papercut on my finger couldn’t hold
against the black skin under my chin

the second time, your hand grabbed my arm
your fingers left marks
like toaster burn and clenching jaws
like you thought i was a wet rag
needing to be wrung out

the third time, turned into the fourth and fifth
my ribs couldn’t hold my lungs inside
and my wrist was torn of skin
claw marks complimented my arm
like a tattoo or a tiger’s rage

the sixth time was just like the first
all fist and cheek,
bone and tooth
this is not fight club
but we still do not talk about it.

*(a.m.c.)

you are getting so close to being you
it's like a word on the tip of your tongue
the smell of rain before a storm
electricity raising the hairs on your arms
you are becoming your own wonderful storm
and it's windy and it's rainy and that is all you
because you have the power to change everything
happiness is not a warm gun
but minty fresh breath and sunrise phone calls,
wandering on the beach on a sunday morning
and the sound of waves crashing onto your toes
let the rain soak through your sad bones
and wake up the life inside of you
because you have so much to live for
and so much you to be

*(a.m.c.)

i'm tired of feeling dead inside
and having a heart
like scrambled eggs with toast.
when people start asking me,
"do you ever feel--"
i have to stop them there,
"no."
maybe i'm a black hole
swallowing itself into nothing,
or maybe a tornado
is taking me to the land of oz.

there's no place like home
there's no place like home
there's no place like home

every time i cross streets
i see lights coming at me
but everything is fuzzy
and then it's a dance,
a fun game of dare.
"hit me."

*(a.m.c.)

we dumped our names into the ocean
and laughed about our futures
because wind carries farther than we know
so who else can hear the chirping?
they say laughter is the best medicine
but i believe it is your smile in front of a sunrise
and my cold hands feel a little bit warmer
whenever i'm near you
i could think of a thousand cliches
and silly metaphors
to describe your heart and mind
but i think i'll just put it this way
you are warm golden hues on this concrete world
with blue-streaked sky and starry eyes
and i believe van gogh would paint you
in front of his famous yellow backgrounds
and he would laugh

*(a.m.c.)

i am my own worst critic
writing rave reviews that no one will read
about my imperfections
and my failures.
i am salt and gamma rays and cancer cells,
downgrading and shredding myself
like paper.
using my nails as sandpaper,
i scrape until i'm clean
until the filth i feel around my heart
has eroded.
yesterday i gave myself two out of five stars,
the day before that only one.
when will i grasp that i am five thousand golden stars
i am ocean and cloud and mist,
mountains to explore and skies to fly.
i am a created individual
a masterpiece in a beautiful museum.
i belong on the king's chair
and on the farthest side of the moon.

*(a.m.c.)

i am only a collection
of banged up passion
and a thousand cigarette butts
because i didn't know
you were so big
and i was supposed to be
so small
i thought i could take up space
but apparently i am the liquor
in your bottle
only a fluid that you drink
only something to give you warmth

*(a.m.c.)

my mom told me once
that i built up a wall around my heart
but what she doesn't know is
the great wall of china was built inside my rib cage
and there's a house with weeds growing on brick
inside of me.

*(a.m.c.)

you have set me ablaze
in the most beautiful, red and gold way
i've never burnt this much
for so long
usually i'm just a mixture
of a living room fire on christmas eve
and the flame on your kitchen stove
but ever since i met you
i have become a forest fire,
dangerously close to home
bright and burning and warm
all you do is pour more gasoline
and fan the flames
until i'm destroying cities and buildings
with all my glittering sunlight

*(a.m.c.)

every day i'm a ray of sunshine
a bubble of energy, laughing with the birds
give me a little coffee and i'm dancing
in the clouds

every night i'm sleeping with ghosts
letting screaming symphonies drown my ears
curling my toes until my feet cramp
into twisted knots

*(a.m.c.)

like a spaceship through the cosmos
i am endlessly searching for myself
and being an astronaut in a new planet's oceans
i am drowning in the current
search my body and find me in the caves
with chipped teeth and three broken ribs
knocked out on the rocks of what i once was
my head is pounding and my dreams feel real
but i am not real
and this is not real
i stand on the precipice of who i am now
and who i used to be
and soon i'll be slipping on tumbleweeds and broken promises
soon to fall
soon to be falling
soon to be fallen

*(a.m.c.)

your breath tasted like the cigarettes
that your mom used to smoke in her mercedes
i could've sworn you quit trying to **** yourself
three years ago
but it turns out you just got better at hiding it.

remember that time i took you to church
and as we walked out you started crying
because you didn't think that the god
everyone was worshipping
would love you more than you hated yourself?

i tried to take you out
i tried to fix you
but it tore me up inside
because broken things sometimes can't be mended
and you were shattered glass that made my hands bleed too.

*(a.m.c.)

good things don't come to those who wait
they come to those who take the sun out of the sky
put it in their mouths and swallow it whole
drink your coffee and ice your wounds
heal the stitches in your chest
take deep breaths and tell yourself
it is well it is well it is well
your swelling pride will take over and
soon you will love yourself, i promise
some day kid,
you must love yourself

*(a.m.c.)

today as i watched a movie about c.s. lewis
and his wife was dying
a thought raced across my mind,
death is weird

we live a certain number of years
in solid masses of skin and muscle
with something called a soul.
we feel more than animals,
some worship a God who created,
we love and we hate other people,
who are the exact same as us.

and then one day,
a different day
and a different way
for everyone,
we just
stop

today as i heard the news
that a four-month-old named zoe
died suddenly
a thought raced across my mind,
death is weird

*(a.m.c.)

do not ask me how i am
unless you want me to spill
coffee all over your lap
unless you want burnt lips
and bruised hands
do not tell me i'll be okay
because do you really think
my ***** hair and broken glasses,
my chipped tooth and poison mouth
are going to be okay?
do not romanticize smoking
a pack of cigarettes a day
do not pretend skinny
is beautiful
do not cut yourself
for attention
it's not the same
it's not the same

*(a.m.c.)

why are sad poems
easier to write than
happy ones

*(a.m.c.)

i never thought i’d become
this hollowed out reckless person
this empty canvas and storm of a girl
i wanted to be a storm but not the kind i’ve become
because right now i’m destroying too much
of what i once loved
and i want to be rain that makes the flowers grow
rain that ends in a rainbow
rain that you dance in and kiss in and laugh in
rain that you pray for after months of drought
i wanted to be that rain
instead i am hurricane and tornado and destruction
and right now i’m killing off everything i once was
i don't want to destroy anymore
i want to make things grow

*(a.m.c.)