Never cry in your bedroom.
Because a place of comfort
Should never contain sadness.

She hid her heart with fallacious layers of 'don't worry' and 'it's fine',
And she pleaded them not to try and reach her soul.
But their words tore through her defences,
And they cried as the onion girl bled slowly into oblivion.

And love is really important,
even if just for one night.
It can chase away your biggest fears,
it can get your through your toughest fight.

Don't let society make you feel cheap
for only needing love in small, temporary amounts.
Your value as a person
isn't derived from your *** partner count.

Don't let them make you feel ***** or small,
because some of us need this to survive.
The night of love we get from strangers,
we use just to stay alive.

Because relationships can be messy,
and hearts are so easily broken.
But through nights of whisky and hotel rooms,
we find words of peace that were never spoken.

And some of us don't have hearts,
as they were stolen long ago.
From men called "Dad"
and men in suits,
and men who we've never known.

And maybe the word "****" makes the people feel okay.
This type of labeling has been going on since the Biblical days.
Maybe it makes them feel better about their own sinful ways.
Maybe when the Earth crumbles, they'll have a price to pay.

Because they don't know what it's like to be empty for so long,
That the thought of being full terrifies you.
They don't know that you'd rather be wrong,
than risk the pain that being right can put you through.

But I do, my dear.
For I am one of you.
I've felt closer to heaven in the arms of strangers
than I ever have kneeling on a pew.

I know what you dream of, darling.
I know that you dream of lasting and healing love.
I know that you feel prisoner by your demons,
I know you hope for a sign from above.

Don't let the world bother you much.
I understand you; I know you're doing your best.
For now, it's okay to find comfort in a stranger's touch,
to let love fall from your mouth.
To let pain flow from of your chest.

You're so addicting
You're like a drug
And *******,
Am I ever hooked.

And I'm stuck.
Not necessarily in a place
That is bad- just inescapable.

I'm lost in you.
It's quite lovely
to be lost in you.
So I'm okay with being stuck.

I see you in your dream ,
I meet you in your death.

Once I have you,
No one would hear you ,even if you scream .

Deceive me  , and I walk beside you ,

I’d find you , and do what I do best .
I’d have your soul , and mystry  is the rest.

Palms on the ground
     Sweat dripping down I know this is it
Never or now
                 Time's slowed to a drip
    I can hear laughter
     Such an overwhelming sound
    They won't laugh after
         I pick up this gun
    Life's had its run but now I'm done
          My mind has been won
    By depression and corruption
    Repression and reduction
        I've come to know and hate
      This bed that I woke up in
            Makes me wanna say **** this
        Tuck this in my backpack
And when one more ******* kid shoves me
          Then I'll attack back
      I'm tired of falling down
     Sweaty palms on the ground
          I can't take anymore
                Its never or


*RIGHT NOW!

I stop in my tracks,
Listening

A hollow clinking in the darkness
In an alleyway, somewhat familiar
Vacant and forgotten in the twilight hours
Except for the lingering cigarette smoke
And the scent of dehumanizing hate

And a clink
Low and somehow beneath the dense, dank dark

A sound disillusioning and honed to a fine point, like that of a blade meant to harvest death

A clink
And another clink

                                    There is a man sitting near the end of the alley
                                    At the back of the throat of Hell itself
                                    He has his head down
                                    But through the thick black smudge of night
                                    I can still see the base of a brown glass bottle tap the bottom of an upper row of teeth

He stops, and looks up at me with eyes that resemble mine a little too much for my comfort

                                    He brings the bottle down, and lowers his head, gazing at it as if for the first time
                                    Suddenly he snaps his eyes up to mine, instantly staring into the deep void that is my soul
                                    He smiles a knowing smile, and thrusts the bottle against his teeth one last time.


              It does much more than clink.

Theres plenty of fish in the sea.
But at least take the hook out of my mouth
before tossing me back in the ocean.

Every time I check I phone
I expect to see a text from you
And every time there isn't a message
I set my phone down in disappointment
And accept that I am not worthy of your time