Where expectations are rooted
disappointments will grow
We either always forget this
Or are too stubborn

She put her favorite dress on
then bite her own skin
and throw herself out
to the shimmering stream

Inside the cold water
drown with a sinking feeling
into the euphoric liberation

A triumphant farewell
from her desolation realm

It's perfect

He threw compliments at you
until they stung.

He kissed you
until there were violet bruises
blooming across your arms.

The fingers he traced
up and down your back
turned into thorns.

His words morphed into
bombs.

It's perfect.
Until it's not.

I died yesterday
and the day before that
and the day before that

To what do I owe the pleasure?

i just don't think there is any metaphor,
i don't think i can censor or hide this

i don't want to die,
i just wish i never existed in the first place.

I'm alone down by the river,
but that's quite alright with me.

I'm alone down by the river,
where it's calm and clear and free.

I'm not much of a city boy,
I hate the smog and crowds.

It's busy and it's hectic and
it's chaotic and it's loud.

I'm alone down by the river,
there's a gentle summers breeze.

I'm alone down by the river,
there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

She was the finest of vintages,
and of her love, I drank deeply-
-knowing that my drunkenness
would be worth any hangover,
for a sweeter wine
I have not tasted.

there is a feeling
that is not a feeling

it is everything
it is nothing

it is here
it is gone

what is it
where is it
why is it

but this feeling is there
or not