we walk in darkness,
faintly but agile,
whose gaze is uncomfortable
we play games
that we just can't win.
we try to bend the rules
but instead just bend ourselves.
we lose ourselves in art:
the only thing that's real.
because the connections we make
are hurried and fake.
affection is *** appeal.
we inquire and murmur
hoping the other has an answer
to our questions of self doubt.
we jump off the bridges we build,
and hope they burn with our regrets.
we search for souls
replete with love,
knowing **** well
love is an empty concept
to all the broken people
we both see red,
but my red isn't your red,
and the doctors tell me there is no "red" at all.
i'm counting the days.
my numbers make them numbered,
and i'm just growing number.
i'm calling on the angels
to have faith in something more than memories.
suffering from loss because i remember "me"
the end isn't far.
i can't tell "end" from "END",
but right now i would settle for either.
wait for the best day.
the best day
will only be forced to think about
once per year
(your birthday comes.
you eat cake and smile.
you drink, dance, and forget you're suicidal.
you wake up the next morning
back in the suicidal mindset
but knowing you have to wait
you wait 364 days.)
repeat until death
Home was wherever you were
Now home lies on treasure maps
"Ex" marks the spot
So I travel and I dig
but all I dig up is rot
Home is still a treasure
I've just lost the key
Someone or something hurts, and then walls.
So towers tall the ground around you
You're at the bottom of a hole.
Higher or digging depths, it's all the same.
You build beneath you.
I sparked a cigarette and painted my faults with gasoline.
I steadied my limbs and summoned the guillotine.
Never had I pondered that love was so subtle.
Never had I wandered so far from rebuttal.
It's funny how feelings themselves whimper when they're so animated.
Had I known any better I would have stayed for sedation.
Tell me something that echoes so profound.
Tell me something that forever makes a sound.