I cant help but look at the full moon and feel empty.
Maybe someday soon,
I can make myself feel whole again

If my Valentine you won't be,
I'll hang myself on your Christmas tree.

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

Maybe one day soon,
I will cut my wrists wide open,
And find flowers growing in my veins.
Taking root deep within my heart,
Branching outward, trying to gouge out my eyes,
Curling around my eardrums,
Around my spine.
Blossoming in my temples,
And in my fingers.
Stems wrapping around my throat,
Making it hard to breathe.

With fuzzy vision, choking breathes, trembling hands,
Maybe i can manage to cut them out.
Carve up my hands until i can reach inside and rip them out.
Dig into my chest and tear them from the roots.
Maybe i can stop the pulsating, as the flowers try to make me beautiful
Try and make me like them
Try and **** me
Like we try to **** them