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You're the kid that asks how the cotton candy skies got that color
except now it's all blood red

"I guess God killed all the angels" he said

and I think:
baby my wrists are rags, ripped up rags,
and needles give you bad memories,
and my minds a black, empty, hole but it's still so ******* heavy
just a weight that no matter how much you want to say you can, you just cannot carry

and you need to stay alive
because there's no spots for angels anymore when they die
but I just can't bring myself to say it

and he knows people only remember things about me
like the fact that I like whiskey, and my suicidal tendencies

a lining of  lightbulbs
infused on the wire in my brain

he says Jesus was like any other psychopath ,
just a normal schizophrenic
and if there's a God
we pray for him to fix the problem he's created

what if heavens just like hell in the form of a maze
golden maps leading you to places you aren't any happier

acid trips into abandon attics,
blonde babes with ******* hair
and yellow teeth
cracked out, veins

complaining that the life they hated ever changed

he says I ruined the calm after the storm that no one lives to see
the ending of the bible
that no one has enough attention in them to read
Here's a poem I wrote after a conversation with my brother in which he told me that Jesus was just a mentally ill man and that Christianity would've never been spread if Constantine didn't become a Christian, which got me into thinking about my own mental illness and believes on religion. The first line came from my English teacher using the term blood orange to get us to vividly imagine something.
Come back, coffee eyes

I need to tell you the story about the blue bowed baby
I boiled up in blood
and never got a chance to see smile
because I wouldn't let her into the world long enough to flash in my memory
I couldn't handle giving her an identity

Come back, coffee eyes
and hear why I hate ***
why I walk around undressed
so no one really wants me

pretty boys with gentle tongues trick you with their nervous sweats
they say they'll hold your hand
but they're gone before you're done lifting up your hair
wondering how life got this way
I almost made this up, but I didn't
And then we had awkward first time *** on the floor next to your bed
and I promised I wouldn't stop loving you no matter how far you get

And I'm as bad as breaking promises as you're as good as breaking hearts
so I guess that makes one of us ******

I keep crying over all the stupid things we let ruin us
and how ******* stupid we were to think distance wouldn't **** us up

everything you do ***** me up

you hate to see me cry but can't help but love to be the reason
and I'm always happy for you but I hate to see you leaving
I wrote this when I realized I spent eight months fighting with someone over every little thing and not speaking to him and ignoring the fact that very soon he'd be leaving and how I wish I had a better grasp on the concept of time.
I hate how old people look when they drink water
I hate when a girl with Irish skin makes my chest hurt because she’s not mine
And I hate not knowing how I feel

I hate how pretentious all my ******* writing is

So here’s something honest
About loving your lips
And the way your head fits on my chest
And loving to kiss your wrists
But still not loving you

I ******* hate how much I love the Smiths
And how I can’t tell the difference between drugs and mental illness
And how scattered my brain is
But she’s still so stuck in all the pieces

I hate the back of your car
And the way it makes me vulnerable

And I hate when my mom cries because she’s watching something she created die
And she can’t help save him

And I hate when babies are boiled in blood
But I’d hate not giving woman a choice with their body

And I hate God for not being real but making more rules than politicians who just manipulate money and religion

And I hate to complain, but I do it anyway
This is a poem I wrote about a mind that isn't right and the thoughts that go through it, and not loving a boy anymore but still wanting to be there for him, while at the same time loving a girl who was in a relationship.
"You can't write about anyone else" he says, and he is right.
When I talk God I mean:
The first time I felt my heart flop on a filthy floor was when I hit 6 months without seeing your face
but still heard your voice overtime I turned a corner
and it was the tone that gave me new feelings, not the tone that scared me

there's more days to come without you, and I could try but I probably won't succeed
you make me weak at the knees

You used to hate your hands but let me hold them because my eyes were brown like mud, and you like your girls *****

I laid in bed paralyzed the night you left
I thought the tides pouring out of me would be powerful enough to bring you back

but all they brought me was gagging and a $12 dollar flask
***** burns too bad

I swear you gotta cute voice
I wish I had it recorded
one day my head will stop making it's own noises
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