She said she found a nice boy.
He’s probably, let's be honest, much cooler than me.
Probably wears better leather jackets
And listens to more obscure indie rock than i do.

I should be happy, right?
Thats what im feeling?
Why on earth would i want someone to be alone?

Yet here I am,
Listening to Brand New
Thinking of you,
And how we drifted apart.

Was it my fault?
747 miles doesn't seem so far when you take a jet,
But missing you feels like forever,
And my cup is filled to the brim with shameful regret.

Is it wrong that i care about you just enough to nag at the back of my mind?
That with every playthrough of Deja Entendu and Science Fiction,
You seem to claw at the dark, uncharted corners, where i was most blind.

How do i tell you that i'll be fine, when we both know how i've been,
And how that is a far cry from the actual truth?

How do i tell you that i've been obsessed with knowing that you are happy,
Because it secretly kills me to know you are doing great without me?

How ****** up is that?

I need to know you are ok so i can't be.

Seems pretty backwards.

The sort of home you want to be in,
When all you can focus on are the buttons of his suit,
Tightly woven into the fabric, brand new

Is not the same house you were in when he was alive

Its 3 AM staring at the floor, begging for the sleep to take you,
Anywhere
Even nightmares are better than this, nothing.

The solemn stares churn my stomach,
Somersaults with acid, my body lurches
Doubling over in the pain that is grief.

When the eyes in a room all fixate on you,
It's difficult to hide in a box inside your own head,
Because they tear the walls from your fragile shelter,

And their rain is a burning flame,
You are the match that refuses to be put out,
But wants desperately to feel nothing.

The sort of home I want to be in is
Roses, the thorns cut clean from the stem,
Green tea, just the right temperature
And an old console with his favorite game loaded up

But that house is abandoned,
Left like last week's sawdust,
Swept under the rug in a pile of books,
And i am the can of kerosene in the corner of the room,

Waiting to be used in the most vile of ways.

I am an unlit candle in the midst of a hurricane,
The shadow of the night sky blotted out by the moon
I am the fading smile of remorse,
The pang of guilt,
The sorrow of loss

I am the broken inside of you,
The one that eats away at you until the shell is broken apart
And you are all that's left
In the dictionary, i look up sad and expect a picture of me,
Depressed is myself in my room, alone
Suicidal is the knife i once picked up,

Daring to question if my own beating heart was worth the blood

My House is boarded windows and jail cells,
The crawlspace of cobwebs and creaking stairs,
The leaky roof and patchy ceilings

I am all but a finished mess,
And my foundation is cracked and split.

There is always vacancy,
Because who wants to stay in a house like that?

I’d rent out the rooms, but i'm paying for their rent
if they choose to live inside these decrepit walls

I only wish someone would see the shambles
As a start, and not the leftover parts from a failure,

If these 4 walls housed opportunity,
Instead of destruction.

My house, is a home that i long since enjoyed.

If I could buy a rope,
To pull the heavens you search for
Into the palms of your outstretched hands,
I would max out all my credit cards
And go broke

We look to the sky in hope,
yet down into our hands while we pray
And until this moment
I never stopped to ask why

Maybe it's because heaven is hard work.
Faith is a job with overtime without pay
Religion doesn't have hour lunch breaks
Or water cooler discussion

My resounding resilience to religious rhetoric
Has been shaken by the stirs of sleepless nights and
The calming feel of drowning in my own sorrow in public

Perhaps we look down because we are ashamed
I’ve heard that's catholic guilt.
Or maybe it’s because
Looking up to that savior stings
Because we know we will never be so mighty, so incandescent.

I think heaven isn't just a place.
It isn't just those two golden gates that greet you next to
Gabriel and Michael, and the saints of the church

Heaven is in your pocket.
Heaven is the sand in a rotating hourglass
Heaven is the smile you never get tired of seeing

It's the last breath you take before falling asleep
And the sigh of relief as you finish a day's work
Heaven is the place on earth that you can't wait to be

Maybe one day, i'll find the heaven in me.

The fleeting dream
Is dangerous

Her lips
Curl into a perfect smile
Followed by that quiet laugh,
sweet like honey

In my mind,
We are in the backseat of my 2000 dodge,
Hands on each other and my lips pressed to your exposed neck

Instead, we are sharing stories about how ****** up our lives are
And how complicated situations can really get

She asks if i want a hug,
For her to embrace me slowly,
Her arms wrapped around my sides tenderly
as she tells me all she ever has loved
Using only the softness of her touch

If things were simple,
We would be at your house, in your bed
Reading neil hilborn and
Exchanging actions on these repressed feelings

The fleeting dream
Is curious

I wonder how many opportunities
To kiss you,
Ive missed?

I wonder if you feel the same way?

Are you as guilt ridden as me?

To want something off limits, and know you should never have it,
But like the succulence of the forbidden fruit,

You had to, just once?

You were my one and only sin,
The temptation i was falling into fully aware, and not dragging myself back from that ledge.

5 Reasons I stay awake at Night:

Escape .

From the monotony of waking up and taking the same crap from the same life, no matter how many times I shuffle the deck, these are still the cards I've been given
From the nightmarish dreams of reliving my best low-lights and missteps, and coming to terms that I might never be all that I've wanted to be

From the cold reality that these sleepless nights hold the only comforts I truly have left, inside the pages of a yellowed journal, battered and bleeding ink from its blurred lines.

Distraction.

Binging another series on Netflix always sounded more appealing than taking another night to cry into my already soaking pillow until I pass out again

Playing through Pokémon fire red and naming my rival "******" was fun when I was 12, so why stop now? Even though its my.. 132nd attempt.

There is always another more obscure indie band that might somehow understand me better, and I cant leave that unheard.

Fear.

I am so afraid that when I sleep, I might never wake up from that slumber. Not that I'm afraid to die, I'm scared of how badly I want to at times

I'm terrified I will see familiar faces in my best dreams only to wake up and remember they are still gone, and I have to go on without them.
I'm afraid of tomorrow. So maybe if I stay awake past the point of sleep, far beyond tired, I can always stay one step ahead...right?

Loneliness.

How am I supposed to crawl into a half-made bed, alone when it was made for two? Your body should be here next to mine, but I cant remember the last time I felt that.

If you were beside me, It would be easier for me to drift off through the atom bombs and revving chainsaws that are my addled mind.
I'll lie awake and stare at this pure white ceiling, and think of how Michael Collins must have felt on the dark side of the moon. Sometimes I envy him.

Me.

I know inevitably, my hollow and tired bones will have to shatter as I crawl on top of the broken shards of glass that is my mattress. As I grab the blanket made of flames, I pull it up to my throat, feeling its scalding touch steel the oxygen from my lungs, the asphyxiation slowly taking me under again.

As these shards seep deep into my now lacerated skin, I feel the heavy chains of my bed frame grab me and hold me in my broken solitude, as that sweet mistress of death floats above me, gently reaching out to me.
How beautiful she is, she leans in for that sweet kiss of the end of all things, my lips tremble as I meet up to greet her, but these chains keep me just close enough to feel her cold breath, never enough to feel that serene deadly poison she offers.

But how bad I want to on days when my bed holds me hostage, to kiss her in my bed until everything turns black.

I saw you again today, but i didn't
He looked just like you, except he wasn't
now the tears that roll down my reddened face
are from the shattered love i can't replace

The old cars on the street remind me of you
when we were in the garage, like we used to do
now the wrenches are replaced with books,
and the tools taken off of their hooks
but i won't forget the times we shared
working on trucks in need of repairs

My life has become a joke
once you left everything went up in smoke
i try so hard to keep my head up high
but it's impossible to actually fight the sky

If i believed in God, or thought he was real
maybe my family would understand how i feel
if they stopped saying i'll see him again,
maybe i wouldn't miss my best friend

Reality is the cruellest of sisters
it turns you like the strongest of twisters
tears apart your life, like a house with no nails
or drags you down to the sea,
like a boat without sails

Maybe one day i won't feel the pain,
when someone nonchalantly mentions your name
though i highly doubt that would be true
Because dad, i ******* miss you,

So let me stuff my pockets with roses and daffodils,
And walk up to the soldiers sitting on the hills,
And let them cry as I place those flowers in their rifles, and the dead grass beneath their feet will fill with a brilliant green, and the tears down their face will know the pain and suffering of
war.