And to be honest, i am nothing more than a lost soul in a large world, and there have been too many people who will just willingly sell me out and leave. My hands are spitting ***** of fire and i mistake your goodbyes as just as sad love poem with a happy ending. I have a name but i am no one still, nothing of me has become. I dont know where i am going but right now i dont feel lost. Im sad and excited because today he said i made him happy. But nothing lasts forever so should we just start saying goodbye now? I found my mom in the kitchen one night. But she wasnt cooking, asleep on the floor with her ***** spilt all over her, just 9 years old and i was cleaning up over my mother, dad was at work.. arresting the "bad ones" but even a police officer told me that there was no such things as bad people.. just good people with some bad mistakes.
My grandpa was in word war 2 and before he life here he would tell me stories but no voice will ever tell a story the way his hands and face moved with every breathe he took, and then he took his last one. and we all will too. I cant even start to imagine what im really here for because im just an open book on chapter 27 of nothing but "sorry". But my words are silent and im so loud. Mama thinks its weird that i like to go to the grave yard to talk to my best friend who was murdered in 2011 but there is nothing more enjoyable than laughing at myself as if she were there with me. and sitting in a place so dead has never made me feel more alive.
I have this thing for hands. I feel like you can tell a lot about a person by them. Farmers have dirt on their hands and musicians have long skinny fingers and the only ladies have spiders and i just want to feel beautiful.
But that wont happen until the day you stop hiding inside laughter, my love.
Let the storm pour and dont let it stop until you are here
I guess when im not sober i have some real thoughts, i found this in a notebook from last week and yeah goodnight