The orphans are
mounting an assault quick,
grab your knives and your guns,
we'll show those parentless ******
that we also
know how to
have fun.

Bereavement
Means
"seize by violence".
As you were torn
away
So violently —
It left a wound.

My mom don’t like it when I drag
She thinks I look like some big hag
With deep dark circles I swallow each breath
& tire myself out while thinking bout death

My love of thinking has led to the analysis of everything.
   Every single word anyone has ever spoken to me, I think of at least twenty-five things they could mean by saying each of their words. I think of all the ways they could have said it and what each of those would've meant and if it would have been better or worse for them to say it each different way.
   I do this to my own words too. I try to get into people's minds and figure out if what I'm saying means anything to them.
   I ruin myself by searching for hours for answers to unanswerable,  impossible questions.
   I watch the way people walk and figure out what type of personality people have and their backstory,  and what they like and don't like by the pattern of their steps.
   I watch the way people smile and decide whether it's genuine or fake by the amount of wrinkles it creates around their eyes.
    I listen to people's laughs...and study them. I count the amount of breathes they take in between each laugh and create a pattern with every noise they make.
   I watch the way people eat because it shows how they grew up; what kind of people they were raised by.
   I watch how people make decisions to find out whether they are a leader or a follower.
   I figure out what people do when they lie. I figure out what people do when they are angry and what they do when they are heart-broken. I look in people's eyes when I talk to them to test their confidence by whether they look away or not. I can't stop. I can't stop thinking. I can't stop analyzing every. little. thing.

When my sun is down
But you're feeling up to something,
I'd catch the closest train
To take us to the world.
A world away from here

Or I'd build a fort in the living room
Complete with a damsel in distress
Only if it meant that
Your fingertips
Could save the words I
Could not speak

Or I'd float above the ceiling
To a cloud by which holds
the name of Ten
Ten, Ten. Tender
To the touch

I am no great
literary piece,
but an atom in a world
full of molecules.
Attracted to the valence
of allure

Would you catch my dreams
Somewhere in your arms?
Be the ocean for my raindrops?
Find me a picture
To smile at
In the cotton ball sky?

Be the rustle in the trees
and the stone that created
a perfect skip?
Be my glass of wine
at the end of the day
or the perfect blotch of paint
that makes the picture whole?

Because I find a beauty
Somewhere in your stranger heart.
I've imagined every life
except the one I have.
As you pass me by
I'll never have to guess what
Could have been.
I already know.