Lost at
sea,
all the broken home kids
sail far, far away.
Too.

Making up  
memories.
Cause the real ones are better left
unsaid.

I just want someone,
to grab my hand & tell me,
I'm beautiful.

We all need a reminder
of our value.
Every now and then.
Feeling worthless is a popular trend.

******* is the only thing getting shoved down our throats.
I'd rather have some viccoden. Please.
You don't need a masters degree,
to lie like a professional.
Just let your words slither off your
tongue
like a snake in the grass.
Constrict the situation.
Boa constrictors can teach you anything.
I swear on your god.

When you are
sitting in an empty room,
waiting for a call,
that you know is
never gunna come.

When you're  
sick of having
to hurt yourself
just to feel anything at all.

When you are literally,
a butterfly-heart
staring into a spider's eyes.
Caught in the web of
a mess much larger than
your deepest fears.
Remember, **** gets better.

**** this,
**** that,
*******
and every ******* lie.

That slid through your
crooked/cracked teeth.

My fists,
consumed with an
angry adrenaline.

Knock out em' out.
You're going to need
an oral surgeon.
Next line you drop.
And Pow.

Talk ****,
get hit.
No, get electrocuted.

You're a real
****.
Let's just
straighten
you out.

Grab a
hammer
and pound
some sense
into your
hollow-wood-head.  

No,
I'm not giving you any.

Go ****, yourself.

Snails leave their shells
when their bodies have
out grown them.
People leave their shells behind too.
When the soul
outgrows the
body.

People are like snails,
slimy and gross
on
the
outside.
Hopefully we're better on the inside.

The Goods kick it
on Easy Street.

One day,
I'll be a little less
broken.
Some day,
we'll be a little,
closer.

There's a calm before the storm.

But Katrina, never gave fair warning.

Be prepared.

Cause
it
will
rain
until
all the angels
feel a lil' bit
better.

She misses
me
too.

</3

Sit-slit-slip-away
into
the sunset.

Frozen in the feeling
of "time" ending,
in it's own way.

But yours,
is just another
crack in the mirror.

Alas, 7 more years.
Then you'll be.

Freedom forever.
&
Youth eternal.

Welcome, 2 the cult.

Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.

Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.

On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.

But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.