Take a drag of life,  
it cleanses.  
Peaceful, nutty and tasteful,  
we are all dying.  

Death kisses our necks daily  
but life rapes us all.  
A sweet embrace of  
smokey taste-  
the clouds are my god.  
I **** myself every day  
just to see if tomorrow  
I will awake again.  
Crackling in my hand-  
when did this begin?  
Birth?  

Like leaves  
we all crumble.  
I am the universe's compost,  
golden sunlight, toes, fingers, tongue  
and all.  
Exquisitely dark we all expound  
to minerals and dust and singed fingertips.

My heart is a library.
Not a large gaudy intricate room, with
Spiral stairs and frumpy armchairs;
It is more of a smallish nook
The walls covered in shelves of
The people I have loved,
and lost opportunities.
But you sit in the corner,
The only person I have ever let in-
the only one with a library card:
Temporary handling.
You can read the books, smell the bindings,
Flip the pages.
Maybe one day, there will be one written
Of you

Weak.
Weak is surrendering
To the alluring voice of chocolate
And devouring rice by the spoonful.
Weak.
Weak is.
Adipose dangling from your armpits
And jiggling thighs each step
Strong is
Perfection.
Inhaling ash and smoke while
The mortals simply gorge
Wispy arms and jutting ribs
Empty inside. Pills.
Strength is weakness.
Too weak to stand
Waking up from hunger pains
Blackened vision.
This is how you become perfect.

i don't care
i don't care
i don't care
i say with a straight face
as i click past pictures
on facebook
i don't care
i don't care
i don't care
but it hurts
alittle
that feeling keeps biting
how can i make it go away?

In each small moment
we can choose
life or death

I can still hear you walking,
stomping
Hoping you don't hear me talking,
stopping
realizing I'm talking to myself
cause there is no one else

You know, I used to get sick of the way
I cover everything up with laughter
I got it from you
And I used to wish I never had
It makes it hard to deal with things
Because I don't
I just laugh until it doesn't hurt
And sometimes that's worse

I used to hate how nervous I get
Before leaving the house
Always searching for something else
Always feeling like I'm missing something
It's not that cold,
but what if my car breaks down?

But I miss how smart you were
And how humble you were
When asking how to spell simple words
I **** at spelling, too
I got a lot of bad things from you
Or so I used to think

But now, it's as though all my flaws
Have become pieces of you
Laced through different parts of me
How could I ever hate them now?
I'm still learning to love myself because of you
I'm still growing to love the way you taught me to
I love myself even better now
And it's all because of you

Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The clock strike rings.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
and death rides swift,
on silver wings.

All eyes upon the midnight hour,
when elation shall forsake all souls.
Shrouded in an endless shadow,
and all the Devil’s servant.
 
Shimmered falling specks of sand,
rising to the hallowed end.
Caged in furies chains,
never to break free.
 
A silent mournful tick,
from the rugged father clock.
All join hands and take their bow,
together as the final curtain.

Accursed reprieve for eleven’s hated hour,
halting death on her swift wings.
All struggle to but make amends,
as the glass runs smooth and cold.
 
Surface cracks and hell breaks forth,
to devoid the world of purity.
Winged messengers raise arms,
and stall the coming of our judgement.
 
Tick, tock, tick, tock
the final strike of that old clock.
Revered sound of shattered glass,
and the ending of this world.