My monsters mate then they duplicate
I offer contraception; but it's too late.
They wish to reproduce, I only wish they'd reduce,
and it would be truly perfection if we could call a truce.

And my demons dance, what a sweet romance,
I turn off the music but they move to chants.
They wish to cause a stir, but I would prefer
if they wouldn't abuse it; it's meant to deter.

Play a song and put on a show,
they wish to belong but I want them to go.
There's no escape, there's no debating
that they're in great shape and the monsters are mating.

My monsters mate after their date,
I provide protection but they won't take the bait.
They crave sweet intimacy, just like me,
but the affection is laced with toxicity.

And my demons dance almost in a trance,
now I'm going deaf from my own rants.
They wish to cause a scene and I'm not too keen,
turn right cause on the left the grass could always be more green.

They sway to a loving bloom,
and they're banging hard in my head.
So I tell them to just get a room
and they say I should go to bed.

Play a song and put on a show,
their love might be wrong but atleast it creates a glow.
There's no end in sight and my nerves are grating,
day always turns to night and the monsters are mating.

I can't see anything but you
so I'll force myself to blink,
but I know it won't do
you're the first thing of I think.
Then I greet you before sleep;
I think I'll pour myself a drink,
But the cup never seems deep,
though in the depth I could sink.

Tell me a story
that's full of glory
and never sees heartbreak.
Make something for me
and please say sorry
that this was all a mistake.

Take me back in time
back to the sunshine
before the skies turned grey.
Please show me a sign
that this will all be fine,
and now this time you'll stay.

I can't see anything but you
so I stare directly to a wall,
but the paint of it is blue
and in time it's going to fall.
Even rubbing at my eyes
only causes it to stall,
we've been sharing the same skies
and listening to thunder's call.

Tell me a story
that's full of glory
and never sees heartbreak.
Ignore the gore scene
and all inbetween
even if the ending's fake.

Take me back in time
back to the sunshine
before the skies turned grey.
Ignore the bold line
this life is not mine
it wasn't meant to be this way.

And I can't see anything but you.
Ignore every other shade or hue.
I can't see anything but you.
You're stuck in my mind with glue.
And I can't see anything but you.
You're forever in my view.
I can't see anything but you,
but that's not something new.

We sat upon our hands
and watched the world go by.
Counted the seas and lands,
measured from ground to sky.
The ownership was not fair,
potential to be a billionaire,
without setting up a trust
gold can't stay but can it rust?

Life grows from a seed,
we take inventory and stock.
It's more than you'll need,
who sold the last free rock?

They plant a waving flag,
and make the ground their own,
they saw those who held just a rag,
and told them it was now on loan.
When will they tax the air?
Potential to be a billionaire,
who even signed the deed,
to sell the world for greed?

Both money and tree;
they share a shade of green.
This world should be free,
who sold the last free scene?

We sat upon our hands,
and watched the world go by.
Raked in the dollars from sands,
and made money by making trees die.
We did nothing but stare,
potential to be a billionaire,
who even decided the price,
and then doubled it twice?

Now borders and walls,
on lands we all should own.
Tax lakes and waterfalls,
and see how their stock's grown.

Happy belated birthday Mom,
I'm sorry it's two days late,
but I've been a bad daughter
and an even worse person.
You always told me not to go to your grave or put flowers on your headstone;
"I won't be under that ground," you'd say,
"and don't waste your money on flowers, I'll have no use for them where I'm going."
I still visit sometimes, and I do still bring flowers, but not nearly enough.
I know if I had been the one buried, you'd wear the grass down with your feet and then have the courtesy to plant some seeds.

Almost eight years later I still think about you everyday
and not a minute goes by where I don't miss you terribly.
What a cruel thing it is, to live a life where you're always missing someone.
To have so many things to say and receive no reply.

You would've been fifty seven this year.
I wonder how you would look as you got older, and sometimes, rarely, I forget what you looked and sounded like when you were here.
That's probably the worst part of it.

The first time I visited your grave was about a month or so after you had been buried,
the graveyard drowning in so much snow I actually visited the wrong headstone.
I'm sure Mr.Brown enjoyed the talk, though.
It was only after digging my bare hands through ten inches of snow and ice that I realized I was four spots down.
I then recognized your grave from the moonlight reflecting off the glass vases of yellow roses we had placed there during your funeral,
wedged in place with the snow hugging them tightly;
the roses frozen in time,
it was both beautiful and aggravating.
Good things funerals cost so much,
they should be able to have someone clean up the plot after the service.
I threw the roses out and gently tried to remove the vases:
the one with "wife" shattered in my hands and my frostbitten fingers picked each shard out from the snow.
I still carry a scar from that vase.
The one with "mother" on it remained in tact, I was just as gentle with it but it did not shatter.
You told me near the end that nothing in this world, nothing was powerful enough to ever have you taken away from me.
That vase sits on my dining room table to this day, nursing a reluctantly dying plant just as you'd want.
I don't think I'll ever have the green thumb like you did.

But I have everything else from you,
you always told me Kate was raised by your sister and that she was too much when you were so young,
"But you, Emily, you're MY daughter."
You said I was a godsend of a baby, never crying, content just to sleep,
and that I carried an old soul.
You laughed at how I always excelled at being alone as a child,
and you were so intrigued by my sense of imagination and creativity.
You always said you were the same when you were a kid.

So tell me, now that I'm older and I feel so alone all the time,
am I still you?
Were you this isolated and alien at my age now?
Did you carry the empathy to cry at little things you saw on the street or in a commercial,
so much so that you believe this world to be lost?
That you saw life as one big slap in the face?

I still try my best everyday to make you proud,
It breaks my heart constantly to think I didn't when you were here.
But life is cruel like that, and I was young and stupid and arrogant.
I know if you see my daily life,
you know I'm not 100% better,
and I know I probably never will be.
But I work hard, and I always say my "please" and "thank you"'s,
and I live by your example of always trying to help anyone in need.
It might not make up for the demons that I struggle with,
but atleast I still fight them, right?
I lost some years there where I should've died, and sometimes I wish I had,
but I didn't. I'm still here. I'm still trying.
And to be honest, it's not for me, or for my family, for love or sunsets, or dogs or any of the things that bring me up to a solid "content."

It's for you, because you taught me that's what you do in life.
You fight. You fight until your last breath.

I've thought this a million times in my head, but I'll say it now,
you were always right about everything.
As teenage girls, we challenge our mothers at every turn and decision,
convinced we are mature and capable of making decisions,
and then we say hurtful things when we don't get our way.
So you deserve to hear it, you were always right.

I wish I could tell you face to face.
I would tell you how much I miss you, more than either of us could've ever predicted.
I would tell you how blessed I feel to have had such an amazing mother.
I would apologize for judging you for the drinking,
I would tell you it took me forever to realize, but eventually I accepted my mother was human just like everyone else,
and just like everyone else, myself included, you made mistakes.
Above all else, I would tell you that I love you more than you'll ever know.

I'll be turning twenty-nine next month,
which means I have one year left of smoking.
I didn't forget my promise to you, I'll quit on my thirtieth birthday.
I'll continue looking out for my sister to the best of my abilities,
even though she can be impulsive and brash on occasion.
I'll continue to show empathy and kindness to as many people as possible, just like you would've wanted.
And finally, one day I hope to keep the promise I made to you so many years ago:
I promise to try and be happy.

You lounge on my pillow
weaving your dreams into my ear,
and whenever I feel the wind blow
it's your name I always hear.
This final boss I just can't fight
even when on the easy mode,
up up, down down, left right, left right,
B A, B A, select and start; that is the contra code.

I won't compare your eyes
to the ocean or the skies,
but instead to my own veins.
I've always hated goodbyes,
but "see you soon" is always lies,
but I always return with the rains.

You lay in state upon my bed
stretching out into my dreams,
we're held together by a single thread
that's been stretching at the seams.
If you be my ears then I'll be your sight,
we can equally share this heavy load,
up up, down down, left right, left right,
B A, B A, select and start; that is the contra code.

I won't compare your eyes
to the seas or a sunrise,
but instead to my own veins.
I've always hated goodbyes,
but was good with cutting ties,
yet the cut strand still remains.

I'm searching for an extra heart
to gain myself some life,
'cause I gave up both long ago.
I want to reset but instead I start,
I want a sword but I have a knife,
I want to be high but I am low.

You fight to stay up till dawn
on my shoulder and in my head,
and while I shrug off each yawn
you exaggerate them instead.
In the darkness I'll be your light,
I'll guide you down each path and road,
up up, down down, left right, left right,
B A, B A, select and start; that is the contra code.

Shake; don't stir, run through the pattern,
I was always Jupiter but they all prefer Saturn,
it's got a ring while I'm all explosions,
that's just the thing with these silly emotions.
In outer space the stars are your only friend,
and you're feeling out of place but these days that seems like a trend.
When the moon seems too far away,
the sun will come soon but it will never stay.

Xannie's my favourite girl,
she's got me spinning in this crazy world,
so I add some blue to the swirl,
with the red it makes purple pearl.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
So I jot some shots to my list.
I can only dream of that peaceful bliss,
and the ancient years of which I miss.

Shake; don't stir, follow the lead,
you see flowers occur but I only see a ****,
toxic it grows until all it consumes,
everyday she mows but I think it needs fumes.
Down in the dirt where soil holds the leaves,
I buried the hurt but a heart still grieves,
and when the moon is covered with sheets of grey,
the sun will come soon but it will never stay.

Xannie's my favourite love,
she fits my heart tight like a glove,
and when it comes to push or shove,
she's all that I've been thinking of.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
"If this can even be considering living."
I'm waking up to a dark abyss,
it's taken all and now it's giving.

The thoughts in my head,
buried under the dirt,
those words left unsaid,
the ones that cause hurt.
But tomorrow might not come,
this whole thing could be done,
and I've bit my lip since I was young,
I'd hate to also bite my tongue.

Xannie's my favourite girl,
she's got me spinning in this hazy world,
warming my body until I curl,
now all routine is a deadly burl.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
"Maybe I don't even want to live at all."
Every single second I just reminisce
of the days before I hit that wall.

Who would've ever thought
that during those teenage years,
I believed each day I fought
against loneliness and my fears.
But youth was just a brawl
adulthood is a ****** war,
back then I really had it all
but resented that I didn't have more.
This realization has caused madness,
and irony has a thick glaze,
'cause the youth that I wasted in sadness
was really the "good ol' days."

I wonder what it's like to be somebody's wish,
the one thing they want whenever they open a gift,
A prize that they see would be worth every risk,
A five star entree that makes you pass the side dish.

And day will bleed in to night,
and I'll tie my shoes too tight.
Think in the dark and ignore the light,
scribble all the answers out of sight
but it'll be alright.

I wonder what it's like to be somebody's goal
A thought that consumes all their ambitions whole.
That they see me as priceless but still go bankrupt to pay the toll,
and I complete them, left arm to their right and a heart to their soul.

And day will bleed in to night,
and I'll tie my shoes too tight.
I'll feel the restless stirs kiss and bite,
And I'll be too short for the ride, regardless of my height,
but it'll be alright.

I wonder what it's like to be somebody's dream,
I'd be their ocean instead of a river or stream.
I can be the needle to stitch their  seam,
Be the summer in winter and every season inbetween.

My soul was consumed
so I can tell you for what it's worth,
It was as if sadness has bloomed
and hope failed to give birth.
I'd never wish that onto anyone,
with all the loneliness I saw,
so many things had come undone
except my wired jaw.

Now I think little thoughts that are so petty,
like why didn't Archie ever pick Betty?