Falling in love
Is messed up enough
But when you fall in love with madness
It is a twisted sort of hell
It's not unlikely,
Oh no
Madness is a seducer
Holding the key to your soul
When you fall for insanity
You're drowning and gasping for air
Yet laughing and imploring
To be pulled further down,
Torn further and further
Away from your mind


But there is one thing you should know
Madness never will
Love you back

Wake up
Wake the **** up!
Resurrect your bones from the piles
Of ash and resin that make up the weekdays
Weak days are some days
Sunday's are when's day
Wednesday is today
And Tuesday I'm sleeping in.

When I rise
I'll slump into my costume
And try my best to illustrate a smile
That's a mile long
So I can coast on my makeshift happiness
For just a minute longer
Until I need to bust out the crayons
And start drawing again

I can feel the blood in my veins.
Like cold steel. It rushes. But no pain.
Only discomfort in my quiet disdain.  
And that trembling little voice sounds
so desperate, he might as well be praying.  

So as the shaking erupts violently,
my chest caves as I scream silently.
The world sinks, it seems finally.  
Just like they told us it would:
it all ends, in ways unwieldy.

I thought I saw you today,
Between wild waves of the sea.
I recognized your movements:
Untamed
Dangerous
But oh so attractive
Oh so very tempting.
The sea breeze touched my face,
Just like your kisses.
I never realized how cold they were,
Until you took the sun off my sky.
You were like grains of sand
Still found on your skin
Weeks after leaving the beach.
Needless to say,
I might never get away from you.

"I was perfectly fine with wasting my time on you."

All sound is muted
Vibrant colours overlaid with gauzy grey.
My skin, my hair, are damp,
As if those things were weeping,  but have ceased,
As if I am made of tears
Or, have bathed in them,
Yet, I feel nothing, nothing but numb
No pain, ah – well, a faint, dull ache
As if my etheric body were trying to escape.
I am lost within and without myself
All insular, enclosed
Boxed, redundant, closed away
Grey is the way to the end of today.

We were short lived
But ******* we were beautiful

People often use the term "home is where the heart is" as reference that home is a literal place. That you can touch it, feel it, live in it and it's physically there. But I just can't seem to wrap my mind around that. Because my heart belongs to a home that isn't there in a physical sense. My home is the way you say my name and draw circles on my lower back. My home is built and structured in between your arms and in the crook of your neck. I've never felt more at home then when we are skin to skin and I want to pull you even closer. No my home is not a building, my home is you and that's where my heart will always be.