You wonder when you will stop bleeding.**
On the night of the accident, there was so much blood loss that they didn't think you'd make it.
You still wonder how you made it.
You haven't bled like that since and the wounds have scarred over but
whenever you drive past where it happened,
whenever you see an icy patch, or a blue Honda,
the scar tears a bit.
You've tried to avoid those things, but you can't forever.
And so you wonder when the scar will fully heal.
You wonder when you will stop bleeding.

Love is not the way your father slams doors,
or the way your mother stays locked behind them at night.
Love is not the way your brother loses his temper,
or the alcohol disintegrating your grandfather's brain.
Despite what you have been raised to believe,
love is not waking up alone on Christmas morning,
or the hand that hit you wiping away your tears.
Love is not the screams of rage on Saturday night
and the singing of hymns on Sunday morning.
Love is not leaving a light on for someone who’s never coming home,
and love is not the empty trust fund with your name written on it.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.

Forever is a punishment
That even I once loved.
The thought of being with you
The thought of living with you.

Everything is not as it seems.
I fell in love with a rose,
And didn't realise
The thorns would ***** me.

The path we chose wasn't easy.
We vowed to fight.
Till death do us part,
Till the very end.

Everything seemed right,
Through the rose tinted glasses.
The romance,
The love.

But when reality hits,
And things really change.
The glasses are off
And I see your true face.

You changed,
Like a chameleon
On a branch or a leaf
You changed so much,
That I don't recognise your face

Iv fallen for a monster,
That ***** the life from me.
Yet still I love him so,
How can this be?

If forever is a punishment,
With him I'll tolerate it.
Live through the days of pain,
What will ending it gain?

Forever is a punishment,
That sounds so sweet
The truth behind it all,
I am yet to see.

I see lovers
holding hands and giving each other the look that can only be described as
"the look"
because only those who are out of love are bitterly aware of the sickeningly admiring gaze that one partner gives to the other when they speak  
and only those who are in love are oblivious to the fact that they are giving the look

And I see friends,
friends in love with friendship
friends in love with being with each other
in love with the adventure and the memories
and the comfort and familiarity that comes with knowing each other like the back of your hand

I see individuals
completely, and utterly in love with themselves
the kind of arrogance that is almost admirable
in love with their passion,  their ambition
with their goals and their futures
in love with the potential they know they have and in love with the hope that maybe one day,
they'll be an All-Star
or a politician
or a beautiful poet
or a parent

I see all of these people who are in love and I wonder, are these people really as in love as they claim to be?

And if so, when is it my turn to be in love?

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...

i hate

this feeling

of         my head

pounding                      against my skull

        i hate

        looking at
     my
          deformed figure

      and thinking
                       i am not good enough

                                i
                hate
                                        my bones
                                        my smile
                                        my fingers
                                        my skin
                                        my shape
                                        my self