If I were just a number you wouldn't love me
I'd be just another future dead body
I know you'll break some day
I've been waiting for it, still am,
And I'm hoping it doesn't hurt like a mortal wound
It probably will, but that's okay
I'm hoping that it'll **** me
I'll just get the cynder blocks, the rope, and visit the bridge overlooking the lake
My heart will beat fast with the last breath I take
I'm hoping that you'll **** me
You're the only one I wouldn't mind murdering me

Raven, the crow
Born white of sin
Born pure of pearl
Where do you go,
For your feathers to be ruffled?
Where do you go,
To learn such sweet songs?
In the throng of the clouds you've cleaned off any impurities that has caressed you fondly
Trying to turn your ruffled feathers black
Trying to burn you with shame
Where do you go,
To learn such monstrous songs?
Where do you go,
For your feathers to be perfectly groomed?
Crow, the raven
You have turned corrupt
By hiding your sins so sweetly
At least the color black is intriguing

Some things never change
    


      The circular stains on the ceiling above my heart shaped bed didn't exist under that rule

  Sometimes they *seemed constant
           And sometimes that made me feel ok
            
        But other times, as I lay in bed,
            Somewhere near the halfway point between laying down and falling asleep,
       I stared up at them and they moved
         Left and right
Ellipsing each other,
    Becoming ovaloid in shape

Sometimes they simply flitted away, vanished


    I thought them gone,
But they continued to return.

They would not be so remorseless as to leave and not look back to see the blank space they had left.

     So my little circular stains stayed for a while.

    I was happy looking up in wonder at something I could never understand but never dared question.

   Until one day I simply wasn't. My interest in the stains steadily faded until I began to drift off on my side staring out the window, searching for owls I could hear but not see. These sounds made me hope.

They made me open the windows I had locked tight.
They made me breathe.
    
    Those sounds lull me to sleep even now.

*And I've stopped looking for the circles completely

He asks, "define emotion?"

In my own state of carelessness,
I give him the answer he never wanted

Happiness, is driving 115 in a 65 MPH zone
Not caring,
Because a part of you wants to die young anyways
A part of you is dead already
But that is your secret
And no one needs to know,
All the aspects that you will never show.

Desperation, is the feel of a sharp knife,
Gliding against ****** skin like an experienced lover
Giving release without slicing too deep.
A smear,
A mark,
A badge of ******* honor
Because you flirted with death and made it out alive.

Stupidity,  is the freedom found at 16
Driving through a coastal city
As the first cold front shimmies it's way through the trees  
Illegally smoking cigarettes
With a half bottle of ***** rolling around underneath the seat
It was always *****,
It just had to be

Pleasure begins in a clever little pill
It was almost too much,
Sublime in nature....
Dangerous in reality
But it made you feel good
And for once
Everything was ok

Reality is the writing of my transgressions
Like I haven't a care in the world who reads them.  

I'm flawed...
Why is this such a surprise to you?

© 2014 Peach