I want my lungs to refuse oxygen
I want blood to stop flowing through my veins
I want my heart to stop beating

I want my body to be motionless
I want my body to say goodbye
I want my body to decompose

I want to leave this world
I want to no longer hear
I want to no longer have a voice

I want to hold a gun in my mouth
I want to pull the trigger
*I want to **** myself

What do you call it when all you feel is pain?
When your loved ones look at you and all you feel is shame?
When your tired of living and playing this game?
When you know your life is meaningless and your the only one to blame?

What do you call it when the hurt is in your soul?
When you smile and laugh but you know its all a show?
When you feel like you have hit your all time low?
When nothing makes you happy and the darkness around you grows?

What do you call it when you feel so alone?
When your in your house but it does not feel like home?
When you look back in your life and every choice you made now seems wrong?
When the wait to die seems too long.

Random texts, confused conversation,
and practically dying of this anticipation.
Secret glances, embarrassed blushing ,
and trying to calm the heart that's rushing.

And it's okay
if you flinch
every time he moves
his hands too fast

because in another time,
you were just
defending yourself,
and that is all right.

And it's okay
if you still skip class
every once
in awhile

because in another time,
that was the only time
you could catch a break,
and that is all right.

And it's okay
If you stay up all night-
making friends with
your bedroom walls

because in another time,
sleeping meant dreaming,
and all you really wanted
was reality,
and that is all right.

It will all be okay
in the end.

The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.

When you walk like you have 12 gage shotguns for lungs,
Your very breath is a weapon.

When you walk like you have pistols for hands,
Your very touch is deadly.

We did not ask for such a violent biology.
But we were born in the tide of oppression and forged in discrimination.
We did not ask for this.
This skin is a painting we do not get to wash away.
This story does not end when we wake up.

We live with the audacity to think we belong, knowing.
This was never out fate

I can still remember the way I stood shaking and screaming into the mirror clawing at my own skin, trying to make it all stop. Looking into my own eyes and seeing nothing but blurry lines of red and hopeless hands grasping my chest trying to catch my breath because I was getting light headed. I remember stepping into the shower and flinching under the hot water but only then turning it up even hotter and just standing there counting the goosebumps on my arms and the bruises on my thighs and in that moment I went from feeling everything to nothing. My breathing returned to normal and my tears evaporated into the stream of water bouncing off my skin. My heart stopped aching and I stopped scratching my own skin to try and get the feelings of you off of me. I remember how when I got out of the shower I stood again facing the mirror and raised my palm up to my chest simply to make sure my heart was still beating and when I looked into my eyes I didn't see anything. I didn't see fear and I didn't see her and I didn't even see myself. It was as if I was watching my reflection dig my grave as I ran the brush through my hair and dropped flower petals on my casket as I rubbed lotion on my skin. The first time something died in my hands it was myself because of you. You had pushed my heart and soul and willpower to the point of absolute destruction and despair and with that last breathless sob ripped out every piece of me to keep in your pocket as a keep sake. You knew. As soon as you saw me you knew. You knew I wasn't alive anymore but rather a shell of a person put on to keep up appearances and you ******* hated it. You hated that I wasn't seeking your approval or begging you to stop touching me and you hated that I didn't flinch when you said my name. It drove you to lengths I still can't comprehend and left stories I still can't force myself to recollect. The day I left it still drove you crazy that as I hugged you goodbye I didn't smile or cry or even say a word. I hugged you. I limply wrapped my arms around yours and didn't move when you whispered how much I would regret it in my ear. It drove you insane. It's still driving you insane. If only you knew that before I was two miles down the road I started sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe and screamed so loud I scared everyone around me. I just kept screaming your name and asking why and I pulled at my hair and hit over where you had already left bruises and I tried to comprehend how you were even worthy of living. If only you knew that still to this day I flinch when people touch me and cry when I hear the first verse of a certain song. If only you knew that despite the fact the first thing I ever held in my hands and watched die was my own heart, the first thing I watched break itself down into unimaginably small prices was also myself and the entire time while I watched I looked in the mirror at my eyes and screamed your name because it's been years and I'm still not ******* over you and I'm still not alive but I'm not dead either and I'm sitting in the inconceivable purgatory trying to forget the way your hands stung against my skin and your words cut into my soul. C.a.l