You thought you knew me
                                                     But you didn't think right this time
                                                I was all you ever wanted
                                           But I'm not at all right this time
                                      My words have been twisted
                                 My lines burned into lies
                             I should have guessed it
                          I'm just a ******* fly
                      On her narrow chest
                   Her breath, oh yes it was haunting
               My chest oh **** it, i'm lying
           Again, again, again
      This is my life
  This is how I am
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Can you get stuck somewhere else
      Will I ever die, alone like the rest
           Like the others, the ones I've ****** so bad

Oh good for me!
Good for you, so good for my death
Live for the worst, long for the best

                                                           ­                                                                 ­                    Can't reach it yet

I avoid your crowd
You **** me dry

A slippery *****
A fake hill
A plastic baseball bat

                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                 I'm a liar

You're nothing to me
I'm a flickering flame
Your last call to a dying name

No friend to call
No name to scratch on the wall

                                                           ­ If I could just feel the skin
                                                            ­The sun and the breeze
                                                          ­  The last words you'll ever send
       To me opening my chest again

                                       I can't repeat another word

      -The speech has left me;
               my face has met the curb-


Bloodstain
Good thing. . .


                                                             ­                                       I                         G
                                                               ­                                       Left                
                                                                ­                                          You
                   ­                                                                 ­                I                         O
                                                               ­                                       Told
                                                           ­                                               You
              ­                                                                 ­                     I                         O
                                                               ­                                       Was
                      ­                                                                 ­                   No
                                                                ­                                                              D

It's four o'clock in the morning
My lips are frozen
And the words that I've chosen
Haven't led me there; entirely yet. . .
And all the T.V. shows
Have all gone cold
With static, cold static.
And I can't hear the breeze
Outside my window
Anymore.

I kissed you in the *dark
My love did it or did it not mean a thing?

The weeds that grow in between the times
All around the many states of religion and regain.

Confusion*, that's what I call it.
Believe nothing that the night will tell
You, you, you can only feel your way around the unknown things well
Enough. . .

Kiss me goodnight.
I'll lie awake in sweet nightmares delight.

(Your name here)
(It's alright)

The end,                                                                                                                                                        the end.

                                                                           It  
                                                                             doesn't
                                                                 always
                                                                             have
                                                                          to
                                                                              be.

When
                                                         ­                                                               wi­ll                                      *I

                ­                            




                                ­                      find

                               ­                                                         the­ true




                                                        ­                              meaning


of
       my
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                       









                ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­             *life.?