I’ve run my car into a lot of things and I’m thinking it’s becoming a kind of Russian Roulette, just waiting the crash that kills me. Speaking of death, you think you’ll die young--how do I die young, too? I don’t understand why everyone says the person they love makes them believe in God. Because you make me question everything and want to find the answer with my hand in yours. The more I believe, the less there is to find with you. Why do we need God when we can decide our own fate? Who “needs” anymore?

We go through this together. If you don’t like something about me, you can say so. I’ll only agree. I probably won’t change because I’m the purest form of a loafer you’ll ever know, but I’ll sure daydream about making an effort. I think fighting with people is silly because I don’t care about them and they don’t know it. When you look at me, do you see anything more than a body? It’s ok if you don’t; I don’t either. That uncomfortable feeling you get when you’re somewhere you don’t want to be, don’t quite fit in, is the feeling I live with every second and it’s clingy, comes on a little too strong for my taste; a best friend I’ve grown tired of.

Love is not real;
Neither were you.

It's the feeling you get when your eyes happen to make their way up to the stars and their beauty holds you there for the seconds that seem to be hours. It's when you put the fire out and realize that the smoke that comes with the death of the fire is more captivating than the flames themselves. It when you feel so much pain you forget to breathe, and the breath you take after it's over feels like your first in years. I don't get to see you too often. But when I do, you are the stars. You are the smoke. You are the breath.

Pain brings out the best of me, so that all that's left is an empty disappointment. Don't try to tell me you don't look at the stars and think of me. Every time I drag a smile across my face, I feel my thoughts tug down at the corners of my mouth. Funny how you beg to hear my voice, but you never pick up the phone. Why does everyone treat me right but you? My enemies kiss my hand before they slit my throat, but you prefer to waltz in unannounced and rip my sanity up shred by shred. You broke everything I ever was. I've cried for hours over you. You **** me inside. I hope we end up together.

You beg for your hands on my body; I prefer mine on your mind. You pray to kiss every inch of me; I wish to kiss the pain away. You want our bodies entangled; I'd rather untangle my thoughts. Jesus Christ, just open your eyes and shut your mouth and maybe you'll see the metaphors I do.

Jet engines could never compete with the voices that bellow my flaws and echo off the walls of my head. Dropping your mother's China will never compare to the feeling that is my body's way of telling you it's aching for understanding. Sometimes when you squint at the sun, you realize it's nothing compared to the burn of the look you get when you tell someone you're drowning in yourself. If you don't read my words with the voice of gods on fire, are you reading it at all?