I am assured that I am not the best influence,
but I have great plans
that will become great failures,
and you will stop being proud of me
long before time calls me old.
With cuffs around my wrists that chain me to my own shadow
I walk down the only road that helps me stop staggering
drunk and blind
holding the hand of the devil
because I sold my soul to rock and roll
and the chances of what could have been.
What might be.
My worst fear is being bored,
and that's it.

I told her I loved her
She didn't understand completely how much, then again,
neither did I.
Love is such a cliche thing
overused and abused by false accusations and taudry
romantic comedies.
I'm not sure what
real
love is
but I do know what I feel for her is stronger than Nicholas Sparks and all the red roses in the universe
combined
Yet, all I could say to her glitter face,
All I was allowed,
In the most innocent way,
(For innocent, and as friends, is the only way)
I told her I loved her
And she said
"I love you more"
And I laughed
Because lord knows that is not humanely possible

You told me that your arm was numb and swelled
broken out from the stress of life.
You saw this as a punishment from life's misfortune.
I saw it as an opportunity to hold your hand
and tell you it's going to be ok.
You told me that your lips puffed up and hurt
like heartthrob.
You saw it as disappointment, as you couldn't wear your lipstick.
I saw it as luck:
The perfect moment to kiss you and make it better
without having the red color smeared all over my neck.

I was never aware that everything in this godforsaken world is pretend.
Everything is an illusion,
a time waster,
a sweet dream that may or may not go dark.
Everything is made up by people in lab coats
or philosophers with spectacles
or old men with top hats.
Everything is made up by dreamers and livers and do-ers.
So I can be anything I want
and that is such a beautiful thing.

Dull and rusty scissors,
a body decomposing: full of fissures.
Your apple core
that you didn't want anymore.

This still life
of death
is smeared all in-between my mind's strife.

Because

How can you know how to live
if you've never learned how to die?