BLANK CLEAN WHITE SHEET OF PAPER YOU THINK YOU’RE
BETTER REMEMBER YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD TREE,
WHO’S BEEN PUSHED AROUND A LOT BY OTHERS BUT
I THINK IT’S BETTER TO BE AN OLD TREE, ACTUALLY…

MAYBE THE COPY PAPER STANDS OUT BETTER IN A FOREST
FULL OF WRINKLED BARK, BUT IT’S STILL A COPY. OTHERS MIGHT SAY:
“WHO CARES IF IT’S A COPY LOOK AT IT IT IS SO **** CLEAN AND PERECT”
BUT **** THOSE OTHERS, THEY’VE PROBABLY NEVER CRIED IN A BATHROOM

YOU AND I BOTH KNOW IT’S MUCH MORE BEAUTIFUL TO HUG ASYMMETRICAL
THERE’S ALWAYS A SPACE TO FILL AND THE LINES ARE LANDMARKS OF LIVING
PEELING BARK TELLS MUCH BETTER STORIES THAN A FLAT DULL SHEET
IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT NOBODY COUNTS TREES BY HOW MANY RINGS IT HASN’T,

THE BEST PART ABOUT THE BRANCHES IS THEY’RE NEVER THE EXACT SAME
that way every single leaf falls somewhere new.

Touch me.
Caress my skin till it sheds off and I am nothing but bones.
Force me.
I want to be yours. Completely yours. Let us become one. My body is perfect and it needs you.
****** yourself inside me until you break me. I want to be shattered under you so you can put me back together..slowly and with great care.
Never let me go. Never get off me. Make me feel something.
Explore my naked body and devour it.
Drink me.
Engulf me.
When I say stop, don't you dare. Keep going until you are satisfied. I want nothing but to satisfy you. By doing this, I am satisfied.
Touch me. Discover every inch of me in your bed.
Choke me. Choke me until I am grasping for air. When my face is the color of cherry, squeeze tighter. The closer I am to death, the more alive I will feel.
Don't hold back on me daddy.
Ever.

Is anyone else in the dark? Does anyone else feel trapped in a bleak space in which they themselves created? I must ask, why am I letting myself go? Mentally, that is. Why have I let my strength grow weak? Why must life be so cruel yet so enchantingly beautiful at the same time...

Someone help.

What do I believe in?

What is truth?

I know that I believe in myself. I believe in my most delicate and intangible feelings. Everything is intangible in the end though, is it not?

My most precious liquid mustn't spill.

They are all my feelings, no matter what. Alone. I am alone.

I am always and forever alone, no matter what.

Why is it that I have feelings? Things aren't really happening- and yet, I constantly play a part for which I feel guilty. Why do I feel torture? Why the **** do I feel less of a human being than others? I have always felt in a way that I am "sub-human." But, why?

Make no more promises.
Make no more explanations.
Remember you have everything but the discipline and technique which you will learn & seek on your own.
You must start to do things out of strength.

You must suffer to loosen your dark golden leaves when you're covering your strength. Bear the pain & the joy of newness on your limbs.