In the emptiness      of a deprived soul,
there is an ocean     without its water.

loneliness consumed you
while you were busy finding distractions
your eyes sunk deeper, your nights darker
you found a marker and wrote it out in black ink, you left half a cup of tea by the sink,
one final reminder that you could never clean up right, your scars were not quite healing
men came and went like hopscotch manic feelings, daily warfare, gentle as a tide though
you would let them in just to let them go
crafted a plan to **** yourself
because you didn't know anything else
but the bottom of a bottle you swore you didn't drink you spent 11 months sleeping on the brink of death
loneliness consumed you
you took the bad parts, shaped them into something you could swallow and fell in love with the high from your insides eating you alive now you're full of sculptures you gave up on years ago and maps of places, far away, where you'll never get to go
because you're bed ridden and tired, you're only 20 and you did it, you have carved yourself entirely empty

Be careful
I could not bury you alone
I’d have to join you in the earth.

Keep well
I could not hold your dying hand
Without a way to take the ill.

Be strong
I could not see you on your knees
I’d have to carry you from then.

Stay happy
I could  not blot away your tears
Without outnumbering them with mine.

Stay close
I could not end my given years
Without you at my side.
ljm

A simple excuse is what most need and they think
that justice is a synonym for revenge. They claim
that all they do is natural and not an act of distress.
So how can i quite this part of me that at any tipping
point someone will linch and act uncontrollably
achieving only to hurt those he or she loves.
I fear that most can not bear to lose any more and they
would give into a comfort zone, into zestless and
voiceless acts only leading to their ruin.
The world is a harsh place and there are those who
would see others suffer for their own gain, even
flay those who would try to help them.
Difficult to be stronger than our excuses but what is
worse from losing ourselves.

I took my chopped
and plucked wings,
coloured black,
off the shelf
I do so hope super glue holds them
as I can't,
and they're
Dusty

Solo, like Star Wars or women's soccer
I sit on a ***** chair with pure liquor
sealed from the rest of the world

Numb, like Linkin Park or lithium
they hold my wallet like it's a gun;
want to use it to gauge my meaning.

If you want a dollar, babe, then
you gotta work to separate
yourself from everything sane
or how else can you gain

the feelings you see on t.v.,
what E! says is reality--
because you're told that's
what matters, entirely.

Identity; conform to be something
marketable -- or, at the very least,
conventional. I want my insides
to be considered pretty, but
I'd have to hope someone
would give the effort to
cut me open and ignore the joy
that my bleeding out would bring.

My soul sees yours, clear as day
singing softly but as quiet as night.
a candle burning in the windowsill flickers,
as I come to the realization that no matter what I do,
i'll never meet another soul like you.
I see you,
I can't help but wonder if my eyes decieve me.
I would exhale my last breath just to fan the flames of our brief existence.
The memories just wont fade away;
sometimes I wonder if I hadn't met a soul like yours, would I be as insightful?
or blind to the fact that I'm no longer whole.
Somewhere along the way I got lost in the echo.
Just telltale sign of what might have been, a ghost left for all to see.