I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the ***** whale, and the ***** whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.

I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.

I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.

I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.

Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.

Life will never end when you are in it.”

how do you get rid
                   of the nightmares you get
                          with open eyes

Does anyone notice that I don't really have headaches? That I just blindly take these pills, wondering, as they slide down my throat, if they can possibly numb this dull pain inside my chest?

Why is it even possible to be this unhappy? I don't think I've ever cried so many times a day; so many days in a row. My eyes are never dry anymore—I'm always on the verge of bursting into tears. Meanwhile, the teachers think I'm wearing sunglasses indoors just to be rebellious.

It's a terrible feeling when you greet your parents and your mother ignores you. It's also a terrible feeling when you come home from hell (read: school) and she looks at you in disgust and even ignores your friend's "hello", forcing you to explain that it's not you she hates, it's me. I'm sorry. All this because you made one mistake. I should have died at birth. I wish I had. Perhaps then, I wouldn't be such a disappointment to everyone I come in contact with.

Would it really be so bad if I killed myself? The thing is, I would make an effort to stay alive, but I'm just so ******* tired. I'm tired of all these tears, letting everyone down, being so insecure, being treated like complete **** and then being expected not to be fazed by it. I'm just ******* tired. I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired. And I'm hurt.

Suicide could be the answer if I let it be. I just want peace.

We're a generation
of bad habits
and hypocrites
that'll do whatever
it takes to be happy;
whatever it takes
to supposedly
remain free.                
        
         Because
         the truth is;
                  we're all addicted
                 to something.

And   we     let       it       get
       the    best    of      us

i have lost the will to move from this empty bed.

all i want to do is sleep, but my mind quietly begs you to come lay next to me.

i know you won't, so i torture myself with thoughts of you with her instead.

Hiding in the bathroom
Laying on the floor
Weeping from the heartache
Begging, "Please, no more"
I cry out for help
But nobody tends to listen
You spark the words
My name in vain
I question life
Am I even sane?
Nothing is ever what it seems
It's just a tragic fantasy