my skull and bones remember my crush
when I pushed the nails through my tongue
and told me to "wait for it
wait for it
wait for my love
because I don't know how to feel without cuts."

I haven't talked since
and my bones are still shattered
and only my own life can save itself, I know
I am trying.
I'm trying to balance love and hate
but I can only remember the slicing of my flesh
when hate licked up my chest and bit through my lips
my hair is tangled and covering my sight
the only escape is through my own mind.

I am trying and hiding
and hiding
and hiding
and ripping my bed sheets apart
so I can suffocate in them
but I never let me because
life is beautiful
and I can be beautiful,
but my spilled blood is not.

I am lost in a space I cant claim
with shape shifters playing some twisted little game
and I have been pawned into the unknown
Far from any sort of counsel
With silent watchers eyeing my back
Sizing me up to see what I lack
As if I've been put to a test
I cant tell if I've been granted some sort of pass or sentence
As I cling to the fringes of my past
Holding onto the false security I never truly had
and love is lost in midst of this war
Is it myself or someone else trying to settle some score?
Is this heaven's gate or the fires of hell?
What's one without the other?
My skin bloats and swells
As the sea lightly salts my skin
Will I be eaten alive or am I learning to swim?
The question is where I'll go from here
Does the path lead to clarity or am I forever caged in confusion?

I can't stand this fragile state of mind
A blinding vision of how life is supposed to be
Seeing nothing but what's between the lines
Stuttering twitches from a peripheral fantasy
Rising every morning with a new friend to find
Death exists in sleep and dwells in lifes' design

We're walking in our own shoes with someone elses eyes
Mirrors gaze back with a hysterical laugh from reailty
A weakening sight that the proud could never realize
Or the smirking girls who get off on their honesty
We're all hung up on something that helps us play this game
An overwhleming emotion that paints our visions frame

Tainting the meaning of individuality through a fronted scene
Re-shaped compositions built from our iconic halucinations
Living behind a hollow imagery with a profound fixation
Of a subjective self portrait on an illuminated petistel
A last hope for some sort of unconditional comfort refill
These words live in place of who I once had been

sometimes i feel
like the sound of when you wake up on a saturday morning to find no one home.
an empty sound, full of nothing;
and you wonder why no one bothered to rouse you from your sleep.
they didn't want to bother you or disturb you,
so they say.
sometimes i feel like that