" Don't listen to pop punk,
Don't listen to rock,
Those are the words of the devil,
Those aren't words you should be saying",
The mother lectures.

If only she knew,
The way Sleeping With Sirense churned my emotions,
The way Roger Rabbit gave me confidence,
The way Who Are You Now gave me perspective,
The way With Eyes To See and Ears To Hear made me feel okay.

The way Pierce The Veil messed with my thoughts,
The way Hell Above filled me with anger,
The way Million Dollar Houses filled me with hope,
The way King For A Day boosts my energy.

The way All Time Low brought forth my happiness,
The way A Love Like War made me feel so alive,
The way I Feel Like Dancin' made me feel like dancing,
The way Therapy, gave me therapy.

The way My Chemical Romace inspired me,
The way Welcome To The Black Parade gave me faith,
The way I Don't Love You ignited strength within me,
The way Teenagers made me feel normal.

The way You Me At Six enlightened me with joy,
The way Stay With Me made me feel whole,
The way Lived A Lie made me want to punch a wall,
The way Crash made me feel like crashing.

The way Mayday Parade poked daggers through my soul,
The way Miserable At Best lifted up my sunken ship,
The way Terrible Things made me feel like I was going to recover,
The way Stay made me want to stay.

The way Linkin Park generated electricity in my veins,
The way Numb made me feel numb,
The way Castle of Glass built me up all over again,
The way Breaking the Habit gave me the resilience to get up and fight.

to love a poet, kiss him when he bleeds, kiss him deep,
make love to him when he is dead, so passionate that he shall chose to rise,
and then he becomes your dog, and you his home.
that's more than that can be asked and that you'd know

My stomach is a lake of red wine and pills that are supposed to make me feel better about my life.

They didn't.

My hands vibrate and clench themselves into fists that are sometimes full of my own hair.

My eyes are heavy and decorated by deep purple half circles from lack of sleep.

But

Sometimes my stomach is filled with butterflies,
and I silently hope they don't drown.

Occasionally my hands are in another pair of hands.
They're held like a prize.

Some nights my eyelids are kissed lightly to sleep.
My pupils dilate from the drugs,
and from that boy's love.

The white circles I swallowed every morning are supposed to make me feel better about life,
but I don't think any scientist, pharmacist, doctor
ever once anticipated the thought of another human being like him.