crime, staring competitions, tears.

these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.

your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.

i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.

but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;

but we'll never forget.

there are always so many questions.
there are so many answers, but they never line up.

your atmosphere is humid, sticky.
repugnant.

in the belly of the forest is where you roam, sometimes i hear you calling for me.
calling for me to come back.

you tell me you're dying, but you always were.

"help me. i need you."

an ego to feed, a mental disorder to ignore.
a natural born leader, an attention seeker.

you relished when we called you god, you bathed in the fact that we followed your orders.

and i hate admitting that i believed you for so long.
i hate admitting that i trusted you.

you're nothing but the mud you lie in.

sticky.

repugnant.

the silence becomes the loudest in the middle of the night when safety is no longer an option.

it becomes the enemy when you're trying to sleep, push everything away to get some peace.

it's the thing that turns you from blue to red in the blink of an eye.

turning you into a whole new mechanism.

an animated, drooling, beast of rage.



you can try to claw your way out, but there's always something in the way of getting rid of the revolting, wet, anger that boils in the cavity of your sternum.

if i said that i wouldn't die for you, i'd be lying.
such a naive thing to say, i know.
but it's my honesty.
it's the rawest thing i can give you.
i'd **** for you, i'd do anything for you.

an open letter can become a treasure chest if you open it the right way.
a technicolor dream of gray, a projector screen of pink.
a hallucinogenic vision i dreamed about a year before i saw you.

this was meant to happen.
all of the things in my life have happened for so, all of this is supposed to happen.
i was always supposed to feel this way.
i do.
i have.
and i always will.

i don't believe most of the things she's said about you.
most, because somehow she'd like the truth to be told.
because you're wonderful, but she'd rather make the bad things noticeable by lying.
maybe she's angry that you don't love her.

it's the miles deep pain i feel in my abdomen that shows me the truth.
it's the heart attack i experience when your eyes light up that shows me your real heart.

it's the knot in my throat when you talk, that shows me you're alive.


and so am i.

it's funny how you preach, scream, riot about keeping the peace, but when it's your turn to keep the peace, you keep a grudge instead.