Let the water run till overflow, it seeps to the floor,
so you can master tiny oceans that trickle past the door.
In the next hour you will find it has turned to ice,
freezing a perfect moment you wish you could live twice.

Feel the silence drop into comfort, along with all stale stares,
thrown up in catastrophic unison along with worries and with cares.
Hack away the impending distance, so subtle how it does slice,
thrashing out at unclaimed ghosts, only hoping to entice.

The brushstrokes don't do justice, when painting a blue sky,
and my words of ink could never penetrate the walls of a sigh,
shaking and trembling, I fall to my knees,
scared of all the "wants" and terrified of all the "needs,"
weighing selflessness while still considering greed.

As I choose you over air, I choose you over trees.
I choose you over mountains, I choose you over seas.
I choose you over darkness, I choose you over dreams.

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.

I have never considered myself weak.
Physically, I have nothing to fear,
I believe myself capable of defending myself from any violent attack that may ever come.
Believing in your own strength is half the battle, after all.
I also rest on the assurance that I will die fighting if need be,
where not many would risk that chance, or persist to have to ****** someone.
I will die on my feet, I will die fighting,
I am afraid of nothing that can hurt my skin.

But,
and there always is a but,
I am terrified of that which can hurt me internally.
You can’t fight feelings,
you can’t hold your own against
love, or sadness, anger or betrayal.
I loathe being vulnerable,
especially when no one attempts to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Atleast they haven’t lied about that.

I have had women who have left me abandoned in glass boxes,
who have turned on a tap and let the water flow and fill up the space,
promising me they would return when the water touched my chin.
Acting as if it was an a show of affection, providing me with a warm bath to soothe my soul.
But they’ve left, I drowned,
and once discovered, not one could bother to administer CPR.
They gave no condolences to what family I have left,
nor show up to the funeral,
they did not even shed one tear.

But yet, years later they seek out my headstone,
hesitating at the wrong plot because they couldn’t bother to learn the correct spelling of my name.
But they would dig me up, pry open my coffin,
and gently part my decomposed eyelids so they had someone’s eyes staring only at them.

If you **** someone,
atleast have the decency,
to let them rot in peace.

I had a conversation with the devil
off the books; it wasn’t recorded,
the correspondence was something to revel
but it can never be reported.
We sat across from eachother at perfect level
but I still felt small and distorted.
In his presence I was disheveled
but I wasn’t the one who was sordid,
it appears he intended me as a vessel,
viewing it as I had been rewarded.

I had demons on each side
striking a bargain over my shoulder,
the heat in the room magnified;
I started to smoke and smolder.
Then they began to attack my pride
while reminding that I’m getting older.
I couldn’t run nor hide
as their weight began to feel like a boulder.
Their evil grins stretched wide
freezing me in place; my soul grew colder.

The third course had arrived
a pound of flesh disguised as an entree,
and I was very quickly advised 

to be mindful of what I say.
As though I found it deprived
it would be wise not to give that away.
I knew the victim hadn’t survived,
and my stomach turned at the hue of grey.
They asked if I had been baptized
and if I did, how frequently did I pray.

The devil licked his lips
and he whisked his wine,
more aggressive became his sips
as he frequently eyed mine.
Providing helpful quips
like the year, saying it was divine,
and dolling out some tips
one being that it was rude to decline.
He told me that he held all the chips
and that I only had a vine,
and he was determined to have me in his grips
regardless of the strength of my spine.

I finally came to the conclusion
that it was my turn to speak,
but amongst great confusion
I made no sound, not even a squeak.
It had to be part of his illusion,
I refused to feel so weak.
He implanted the delusion
but each word began to leak,
and with each pull and each extrusion
I voiced of the havocs he would wreak.

He asked if he could reply
as he was just misunderstood,
and though I knew it a lie
I told him that he could.
So he began to fake cry;
swore his potential to be good,
while pointing up to the sky
blaming his flaws on childhood.
A story I knew better than to buy
paired with an excuse that I never would.

Now dessert, finally at the brink,
anxiously waiting to get up, away I’ll slink.
He told me not every soul is equal no matter what I think,
and the apple is poison but I should try the drink.
Held up the worlds suffering and made sure I didn’t blink
and said “you can fall deeper even while you sink.”
But the conversation was done, I realized I’d been hoodwinked.
He just grew in size, I was never the one to shrink.

I got up and I rung the bell,
announcing we were done, no need to dwell.
Extending my hand out to meet his cold shell,
I was no longer under anyone’s spell.
He bought my false thanks, as far as I can tell,
and I informed him he should return to his cell.
Meeting his eyes I pushed to wish him well,
I may not believe in Heaven but I have seen Hell.

Good day inspiration,
I've been looking for you,
I've lost all motivation,
at a loss for what to do.
I used to be so self secure,
but now I've found a stranger in myself,
I'll never claim my soul was pure, but now it really needs some help.

Can you tell me how to feel?
I've seem to have forgotten,
I thought this all was real
but it's a subject I was never taught in.
I have two paths ahead of my feet,
an angel and devil on my shoulder.
I've always been a fan of extreme heat,
but it seems the world is just getting colder.

Good evening dedication,
you've been in my heart but out of mind,
now I'm in need of medication,
for the nirvana that I want to find.
I want to always be beside you,
I'm desperate for a sun in my sky.
I've voiced silence but every word true,
that I had left you was my only lie.

Can you show me how to live?
I don't think my heart holds a beat.
I don't have much left to give,
but I'll look for you on every street.
I have two paths ahead of my shoes,
an angel and a devil at my ear.
They plan to win the game I always lose,
they never miss their time of the year.

Goodnight my true love,
I've been waiting forever for you.
You are all that I've thought of, there hasn't been much else to do.
The light of the moon should show you to me,
and you can be led to me following the stars,
I'll be in the same place that I'll always be,
and we both know that's never too far.

I'm going to paint your image so beautiful and bright,
that one day everyone will know you're pure sunlight.
I'm going to paint your image so beautiful and bright,
that one day everyone will worship you with these words that I write.

When I was young I remember
forever being distraught
and oh so sickeningly devoted
to a new girl every year or two.
I remember believing myself
better off dead than living
in the shadow of another.
It bothered me, and broke me,
that I was never a priority
or first pick for any of the girls
I believed myself to love.

In all reality, I did not even know,
truly know, what love was.
I see now it was infatuation.
For in youth love is a pretty face,
a decent personality,
and shared laughs.
Sometimes not even all three.
Now I know love does not
have requirements,
or tiny boxes to check off for standards.
No, love is an unexplainable,
completely enveloping,
unbreakable connection and completion
that you only know when you know.
You can’t ignore it, and you can’t **** it,
God knows I have tried in every way imaginable.
But not anymore.

For while I may write, and feel,
and break apart often,
about how badly it can hurt
to love someone so much it physically pains you
and not have that solidified....
I am thankful.

It’s very easy to tell someone
“all I want is for you to be happy.”
But it is incredibly hard to mean it
when you aren’t that source.
But when I said it to you the first time,
the words rolled off my tongue
so easily, and so genuinely,
it surprised me when I thought
I could never be surprised again.

Love is finding a smile
when you have barely even glimpsed happiness, let alone taste it,
because you know a part of her is happy.
Love is stabbing yourself,
and burning yourself,
every single day and ignoring it,
to offer your hand out to her
when she needs help up.

It’s living with the knowledge
that you will never taste her lips again, or feel the warmth and comfort of her arms around you,
sufficing for dreams at best,
and finding a way to be content
to just know she exists,
and she’s safe.

My mother thanked me before she died, not for us loving her, which we did,
but for being alive and letting her experience loving us.
I always thought I knew what she meant,
but sometimes I believe myself wiser than I truly am.
But I know now, for there is nothing better
than loving someone with every inch of you, past, present and future,
and not expecting the same in return.
Love is meant to be selfless,
and I thank you for letting me feel that.
Now when I die, I know I will leave with a faint smile,
and I will give my last thought to you.

The sun will never again shine bright,
I’ll live my life without that light.
Now I won’t speak another word,
It’s not like they were ever heard.
There’s nothing worth saving left,
You’ve sentenced us both to death.

We’ll continue acting in our show
I’ll enter right and left you’ll go,
the production wasn’t well rehearsed;
it was just another script that was cursed.
There will be no standing ovation,
you’ve opted us both for cremation.

Only silent applause and locked jaws,
on opening night and you take centre light.
There was a solid script you carelessly ripped,
there’s no going back, this is the final act.

I left the only roses on the stage,
it called for it on a lost page.
A whole production with no lines,
‘cause words are just like land mines.
You play your part and play it well,
you’ve sentenced us both to hell.

Only silent applause and locked jaws,
on opening night, the subtext is trite.
There was a solid plot that all the critics bought.
There’s no going back, this is the final act.
The method could not crack, this is the final act.
Closed curtain and fade to black, this is the final act.

I’ve been struck down again,
fully aware it’s my own doing.
Do you have a heart you can lend?
Mine’s drying from the taping and the glueing.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
are you smiling or are you snarling,
more importantly are you mine?

Outside the window seasons blend,
the temperature holds no meaning.
I notice the change and the trend,
to ignore the withdrawals from weaning.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
you’ve been avoiding and been barring,
but you can’t severe this line.

The stronger the initial fear
usually means the most is at stake,
and trying to prevent a single tear
can lead to the worst heartbreak.
Those who leave the best memories
usually leave us with the most hurt,
you know we can’t just live life with ease,
there needs to be some blood on a white shirt.

You can try to completely forget someone,
but putting that effort in means you’re actually fixated more,
and after all is said and done,
honestly who do you wish to be behind that door?

Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
is it cleansing or more harming,
to live in denial all the time?

Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
when it’s finished it’ll be starting,
and I’ll stand under the Montauk sign.

For those who need to hear it.
Life is not easy. It's never easy, actually.

And when it rains, it truly does pour.

Sometimes you feel as if you are drowning,
or that you're surrounded by literal ****.

Then it rains, and it pours, and the **** is soaking wet.
But, it's up to you with what to do with that ****.

You can either step in it and complain in disgust...
or you can grab a shovel, a rake, maybe some seeds,
and maybe, just maybe,
you can it turn the **** into something beautiful.

I read a disturbing truth someone questioned on the internet,
“the world didn’t end in 2012, but since then have you truly felt alive?”
I don’t wish to presume, but I would be more than willing to bet
that you feel the same, that you’ve fully lost your drive.
Marking calendars like clockwork, each box an imposing X,
but you’ve lost your absolute and essential favourite red pen.
We live as NPC’s but I’d like to believe we’re far more complex,
though we make the same mistake over and over again.

No sun burnt out, no moon fell,
but I swear the galaxy has changed,
we’re dazed and living under a spell,
our lifestyle’s completely deranged.
There was deviation from the reservation
that fate held out for us.
Abandoned salvation for sedation
the golden pastures have turned to dust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

I know there’s growth in destruction
instead I loathe interruption.
Can silence be considered a confrontation?
I know there’s redemption in healing,
but I take each hit without showing feeling.
Can violence be considered mediation?
Decipher every word’s meaning
while performing spring cleaning
we’re all the same; we just want a good purge.
Ignoring every clear right sign
but complain about the fuzzy line
the one that’s crossed when you can’t resist the urge.

No sun burnt out, no stars died,
but the dimensions sure are blurring.
Auto pilot’s on and gravity’s been defied,
and no one sees this all occurring.
There was deviation from the reservation,
that fate held out for us.
I trade motivation for inebriation,
the golden pastures have turned to rust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

Time isn’t so strong when you can break the clock
you know it’s possible to push back the hands.
For fate is chosen but destiny you can mock
from the deep seas to the hottest sands.
The past is already written
the ink is already dry.
The fire’s already been lit and
the flames are reaching towards the sky.
I’ve explored every emotional cave
and I’ve trekked through every lonely field.
When you’re scared it’s the only time you can be brave,
so grab your sword and don’t forget your shield.

No sun burnt out, no seas ran dry,
but the world suddenly stopped turning.
the world’s a game and life’s a lie,
but we must keep internal fires burning.
There was deviation from the reservation
that fate held out for us,
I replace meditation with self deprecation
the golden pastures I no longer trust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

She walks away, colours tend to fade,
blending and mixing to a dreadful grey.
In another day, all decisions will be made,
With nothing left to do or left to say.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'll feel a little bit stronger,
regardless of what I lack.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to say goodbye.

I march along, to a beating drum but no song,
where everything is neither right nor wrong.
In another week, I'll lose the will to speak,
only listening to the floorboards as they creak.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
my memories will become fonder,
even though the past I'll have lost track.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to lie.

We continue on, as if there's nothing that is gone,
waiting out the night to see the dawn.
In another year, I'll still be standing here,
and honestly it's my hope but biggest fear.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'd put hold on my honour,
for too long the sky's been black.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to try.

If you'd stay a little bit longer,
until the sun comes back,
I'll feel a little bit stronger,
regardless of what I lack.
And a part of me will always die,
whenever I'm forced to say goodbye.

Speaking in code, chanting in tongues,
a heavy load; it drains my lungs.
Tell me a secret, 'cause I'll never tell,
I'll never leak it and I'll never sell.

Stumbling while still, my feet are not mine,
you've had your fill but I'll have another line.
Tell me a secret, 'cause I'll never tell,
I'll always keep it even when burning in Hell.

My blank pages are your swirling oceans,
I've been moving through stages
and drowning in emotions.
Breaking all the promises
like you're breaking out of chains,
when you've had nothing; there's nothing to miss,
only the void ever remains.

Ripping at my skin, it's not an itch but scratching frustration,
and my day wants to begin but I've lost all motivation.
Tell me a secret, 'cause you know I'll never tell,
even when I'm defeated, even when I have fell.

My silent replies are your swirling oceans,
I've got the hollow eyes, from going through life's motions.
Breaking all the promises
like we've been breaking bread,
and I only saw a glimpse of bliss
from those few words that were said.

Staring at a broken phone,
there's no contacts, I'm so alone.
A broken heart is not a broken bone.

Staring at a broken phone,
there's only silence, I miss that dial tone.
A broken heart is not a broken bone.

Most first words between lovers start
as a "hello," or a "nice to meet you."
We did not have a first word.
Instead we had a first look;
pure eyes gazing sunlight for the first time.
We also shared a first smile,
maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of awe, most likely out of finding completion.
If time could actually stop, it would've at that exact moment,
because, as self involved and narcissistic as this seems,
you and I meeting caused all stars and planets to align,
and destiny let out a sigh of relief,
for we had found each other
and in a way, by doing so,
found ourselves.

You refuse to believe that every spare moment I have is spent thinking of you,
and even the thoughts I can't spare, you slide your way into my head just where you belong.
You would never believe the light I see you in,
not when I almost bathe myself in self inflicted darkness,
but your light I shine on you and you radiate naturally yourself
guides me from the shadows I try to drown myself in,
and while sometimes you hold my head under the water,
your soft fingers could tangle in my hair and drag me back up from the pitch black sea
and make me believe it was always too shallow to drown myself in to begin with.

I've written endless novels about your beauty,
and sonnets about your mind.
I've sang songs about your heart,
and poems about your soul being a match to mine.
I hold the pen but your existence writes the words.
You are what all poets write about,
and you are what every romantic longs for.
You are inspiration.
You are heaven personified.

How many times have I reminded you that I have an impeccable memory?
That I am both blessed and cursed to remember every word you've spoken: good or bad.
Every look we've shared:
close or far.
And every touch that set every fibre of my being afire,
and how much I long for it every waking moment when you are not connected to me.

We are two parts of a whole:
blue skies and rain,
sun and moon,
you and I and I and you.
I love you with everything I was, everything that I am
and everything that I will ever be.
I will love you even when I can no longer force a beat from my chest.
You are my oxygen and I will never adapt to breathe anything else.

My biggest fear was always living my life without you,
but now it's tied with you never knowing just how breathtakingly perfect you are just by living,
and just by naturally being who you are.

A song from the birds,
I'll translate to define,
I'll say the words,
I am hers and she is mine.
Until no songs are heard,
until the sun cannot shine,
I'll say the words,
I am hers and she is mine,
from this day until the end of time.

When the darkness comes
and I unravel, undone,
I know only you will get me.
When I’m fully consumed
and swearing I’m doomed
I’m sure you’ll wish you never met me.

How can you give a ****
if you don’t know who I am
and all the stories that are my building blocks.
Take the time to cram,
assign roles of lion and lamb,
but apparently it’s a wolf now in these talks.

And the pictures were colour
yet all the same they seem black and white,
maybe they faded as they sure seem duller,
or maybe there’s just not enough light.

Everyone pulls away, I sadly know the drill,
it’s impossible to stay, or even just stay still.
Throwing punches and slanging slurs,
tell me is it impossible to draw a line?
I gave her a heart but she never gave hers,
I’m surprised she even wanted mine.

I’m stupid enough to keep my word
and foolish enough to keep a promise.
Dissecting and analyzing the absurd,
intelligence is the mortal enemy to total bliss.

I think it’s far past the time,
that I go and change my full name.
It’s not that I’ve committed a crime,
It’s just I’m done playing this game.
It’s a waste of my time and energy,
and I’ve become aware there’s a closet in my skeleton,
it’s moved from where it’s meant to be,
I guess it’s not just my will power that’s made of gelatin.

I took a power drill to my right temple,
to create a hole and install a switch.
To erase my thoughts I ignored the detrimental,
but every memory slips it’s way through the stitch.
Sometimes it’s not the change you want,
but maybe it’s the change that you need.
Don’t hide your wounds, they’re battle scars you should flaunt,
and praise that you still have the ability to bleed.

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
My worst enemy is my own mind,
and I’m plotting havoc against my brain.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
The best I can do right now is just wait,
and hope one day I can be blessed to forget.

I tried to go back home but the doors are all locked,
and someone’s in my parking space.
There’s a sea of debris on the roads that I once walked,
my existence in my own home has been fully erased.
It’s almost so tragic that it’s comedic,
that the only two things I want slipped through my grasp.
A concept is invisible, so how do you beat it?
If you never held it how do you reclasp?

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
I’m tired of being ******* within this bind,
like a cartoon character on the tracks awaiting an oncoming train.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
Am I starving even though I cleared my plate?
Am I swimming in riches while drowning in debt?

Eternal sunshine of a spotless mind,
speaks more to my state, praying to become blind.
Atleast I wouldn’t long and yearn,
for the spot where I once stood,
‘cause how can you ever return
when you know how it used to be good?

And I raised her up on a pedestal so high,
that her fingers could brush the heavens.
She replaced the sun and became the sky,
and I wished for her at all eleven-eleven’s.

Long years going strong, and the empty pill bottles take up too much space.
Was I right? Were you wrong? It was someone else's medicine I was made to taste.
The trite blabbering needs to stop, there's an issue here that's coat heavy with silence,
but I don't want the topic to drop, I just would rather not end it in violence.

Take the mountains away, and the sun from day,
turn every painting into a Dorian Gray.
I read into a verse, and my mind only makes it worse,
I think the ability of thought isn't a gift but a curse.

The hours all blend in with smoke, and blank filled far out stares,
I'm not like the common folk, who live their lives with trivial cares.
I used to be so ****** smart, now I stumble on every single word,
was my soul torn apart? I wonder if you even heard.

Take the mountains away, and the sun from day,
turn every painting into a Dorian Gray.
I read into a verse, and my mind only makes it worse,
I think the ability of thought isn't a gift but a curse.

My eyes have changed colour since that day,
but they soften when I remember thoughts of her.
Twirling pools of green, blue and grey,
and I'm not sure which shade I prefer.

In that moment it had occurred to me that for my entire life I had been breathing in a toxic, poisonous gas.

One that had been draining my life and destroying my soul.

The first word she spoke, the first smile that I witnessed grace her lips; that was fresh air.

She was oxygen.

I may not have much. I may not be worth anything of value.

But she owns every ounce of my soul.
Every thought in my head.
She owns my entire heart,
and hopefully, every second of my future.

Goodnight to all, it's time to die,
I'm going to join the stars in the sky,
you'll see me if you truly stare,
even when the skies are bare.
Just think of me, and I'll be there.

Bring me home and don't cry for me,
I was the weakest branch in the family tree,
and it's time for new life to grow,
you'll feel my arms in the wind's blow,
yes you must know, it's hard to go.

We did laugh, we did cry,
we gave each day our best try,
but as the moon relieves the sun,
everyone has their time come.

Farewell to the girl I love,
you made my life all I ever dreamed of,
and within you I found my home,
you made darkness gold and sadness chrome,
but now it's time for my soul to roam.

But we did love, we did live,
we gave eachother all we could give,
but as the moon relieves the sun,
death makes exceptions for no one.

Goodbye to all, return me to the earth,
to the planet that gave me birth,
you'll feel me in all of the seas,
you'll find me in every tree's leaves,
so you see for me; you need not grieve.

We did laugh, we did cry,
now it's time for my goodbye,
but as the moon relieves the sun,
it seems my time is finally done.

We did live and we did more,
but there's no chance for an encore,
'cause as the moon relieves the sun,
mortality's a battle never won.

Every year I get older,
always marked by the same date,
but this year I'm feeling colder,
lacking heat even with my hate.

Every year I get older,
I'll be dead in years by this rate,
and there's so much weight on each shoulder,
have I just shown up to life too late?

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,
we've got no social games, so what else would I do?
It's my party and I'll die if I want to,
"It's all downhill from here" oh god, was that true.

You know it's just my mannerism,
to have an annual aneurysm.
You know I was never one for optimism,
so here's my annual aneurysm.

Every year I get older,
that's just humans fault and fate,
and we all get bitter and bolder,
well, maybe that's up for debate.

You know it's just my mannerism,
to have an annual aneurysm.
I was never good at criticism,
so here's my annual aneurysm.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,
tears change my eyes from green to blue.
It's my party and I'll die if I want to,
just 'cause I'm growing doesn't mean that I grew.

Hello ghosts of my old conversations,
I hope you’re doing well, I hope you’re doing swell.
I’ve held off analyzing and questionable relations,
I know it’s hard to tell, I let it drop after it fell.

So pardon me for the pity party,
but life’s put me in my place,
it provided me with it’s greatest gift
and saw me put it all to waste.

While I’ve been battling consciousness,
you can only see a glow in the darkest nights.
So I walk along to escape what I wish to repress,
and continue on with a saga of streetlights.

Hello hauntings of my old meaningless mistakes,
I see you’re standing tall, I see you’ve found your call.
I’m lacking heart and still it yearns and breaks,
I should no longer stall, I’ll think I’ll construct a wall.

And oh how those ellipses, how they cut when they clip me,
I’m feeling blue, falling into you and play it off like I’m tripping.

While I’m picking prisons instead of flowers,
I close my eyes cause I could never set my sights.
I waste the minutes but it feels like hours,
and I’ll continue on with a saga of streetlights.

Life is like an empty box,
no, not a box of chocolates.
Lately I’ve been creating static with my socks,
and sticking silverware into the sockets.
And I went to lock the door
but I couldn’t turn the **** just right,
I froze up just like before
and I clenched my fists too tight.

So while I’m battling different versions of me,
I won’t hope to win, I’m too experienced with fights.
With a broken leg and a notoriously bad knee,
I’ll continue on with this saga of streetlights.

I'm looking for you on the crowded streets,
that are all full with the car's blinding lights,
and the wandering souls that aren't complete,
well, they just pass right through my sight.
The voices all turn to a slur, each word seeped in pure dread,
and my sight begins to blur, I need to get this all out of my head.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt is always there,
I know there's a happy place, I just have no clue where.
When the words hit like a shot, the wounds won when I fought,
I'm giving it all but there's not much that I've got.

I'm searching for peace in an empty room,
the walls echo and bounce back my ragged breath,
and the blue skies still seem to hold some gloom,
as life will always have it's death.
"It's the release I crave," I always say to myself,
now it's time to be brave, and put fear on the shelf.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt is always bare,
I've got a million problems, if you need some I can share.
When the words hit like a shot, the wounds bubble from the spot,
I'm going against everything that I was taught.

If she stays by me, I should be alright.
The sky's ablaze I see, and it shines so bright.
If she stays by me, I should be alright.
With the days passing, I always pray for night.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt becomes a prayer,
My mother always told me that life is never fair.

She’s always been the apple of my eye,
once on a branch far too high.
Both the sun and moon within my sky,
I’ll love her until the day I die.

When she walks on me she walks without shoes
and when she puzzles me she still gives me clues.
She takes my blacks and makes them blues,
but does she have as much as me to lose?
And in every life will it be me she’ll still choose?

She’s my everything and more;
the only one I scribble these silly poems for.
Almost in my blood, she’s in me to my core,
the only one I could ever adore.

When she talks to me she talks without game,
each word she says is soft, I love the way she says my name,
it’s nothing noticeable but noticeably not the same.
She sets me ablaze from a simple flame,
a breath of air that I wished for came.

It’s something that no one could understand
and each day it only seems to grow.
I could cut off and sever each hand,
and still not manage to ever let go.
I wake up and cherish every single day,
and I’m thankful for each past and coming year.
My love I could never drift away;
I was always meant to be here.

If I could do it all, know that I would,
but I can't, and I'm not sure what to even do,
but I've figured out that you can't be misunderstood,
if everyone knows they can't understand you.

A tango of two souls
and they’re dancing in the stars.
She spins around and down black holes
while my left foot backs onto Mars.
A tango of two hearts
they waltz back and forth within the flame,
each forgot their parts
but they carry on the same.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m feeling that three is company.
Two to tango, two eyes to see,
I’m surrounded fully but I’m completely lonely.

A tango of two souls
and they’re dancing in the dark,
hiding all their freckles and moles
unaware they’re simply just a mark.
A tango of two hearts
they waltz back and forth within the flame,
subsequently all ends with all that starts,
and we’re just shuffling the blame.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m realizing I’m not who I used to be.
Two to tango, two eyes to see,
the horizon is in the distance but the sun is lacking.

Hearts hold no dancing shoes
but mind hears only song,
against both I must refuse
both choices equally right and wrong.
I would see all distance erased
and forms pressed tight together,
but the beat is too fast paced;
I swear next opportunity I will do better.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m accepting I fail to view clearly.
Two for tango, two eyes to see,
that I was never cut out for this type of dancing.

The sun and the moon; two halves of one,
perfection and ruin, both towards and away you run.
The light and the dark; a balance to complete,
spotless save for a mark, not every goodbye is sweet.

They say you can't **** the future,
it's the future that ***** you.
Not every wound needs a suture,
some things are destined to bleed through.
I'll reveal every reason, a list to only create pain,
it's the end of the season so let's feel the August rain.

The ground and the sky together they create a world,
laughing while you cry, emotions always seem swirled.
The bright and the black; a balance to complete,
a code you can't crack, a win that feels of defeat.

They say you should never waste a day,
because there just might not be a tomorrow.
Not every instinct can be held at bay,
some lives are destined to bathe in sorrow.
I'll treasure every thing about her, she's the one to keep me sane,
but it's the end of the summer so let's enjoy the August rain.

The heat and the cold, they so beautifully compliment,
the young and the old, the strength of detriment.
The colours and the grey, they exist altogether,
but nothing gold can stay and nothing good lasts forever.

Nothing is perfect in this world,
but there's always a balance of symmetry,
the only thing Holy is my girl,
and a prayer was answered when she chose me.
So let's usher the cold harsh breeze in,
and lets feel the heat slowly drain,
'cause it's the end of the season,
so keep me warm in the August rain.

No matter how many times
I burn my hand upon the stove,
I can’t help but be completely entranced by it’s radiant and beautiful glow.
And oh god, how I need the heat it emits so effortlessly.
While I gaze at it longingly,
wishing to graze my fingers upon
it gently,
I was never strong enough to not get burned.

You asked if you could see me before I lost my mind,
I pushed back 'cause I was busy and it turned out that you went blind.
I know that speaking can still be a medicine,
but if the boat's leaking you don't let more water in.

Daily I read the news only to seek out the star signs,
today's lit a fuse literally and inbetween all of the lines,
and I must've read it over and over, about half a million times,
took the paper into a folder and made it into rhymes.

Now I'm living as a shell,
casing in an outdated ghost.
Stuck in a purgatory hell,
sailing back and forth; riding the coast.
But if I balance on the tightrope,
I might make it to the other side.
Clench my toes and then pray for hope,
and hold on for the slow painful ride.
I've been starving at a king's feast,
while the sun's been setting in the east.
I've been rioting while keeping the peace,
while the sun's been setting in the east.

If I stand still long enough I may fight the urge to shake,
I need a pill to make me strong and tough but it's the pill that makes me break,
and if I ask more favours of this world it just might turn to quake,
but I'll sit back and let it savour before I start to ache.

But you can see the snow piling into overload,
and you can tell yourself the sky's still blue,
but if you slide and drift through an open road,
your mind might not tell you what to do.
You'll feel your heart rise than drop,
as you struggle to stop.

Now I'm living in a shell,
casing in an outdated ghost.
The story's longer than I could ever tell,
but the message behind it is what matters the most.
But if I balance on the tightrope,
I might make it to the other side.
The string rises on into a *****,
I'll just pray my foot doesn't slide.
I've been starving at a king's feast,
while the sun's been setting in the east.
I've been only getting what I need least,
while the sun's been setting in the east.

I fail at persuasive entanglement
and negotiations almost masterfully,
as I try to strike a deal with whatever entity, or deity, that encompasses the life force around us.
“Show me a way,” I murmur,
pure exhaustion laced within what
passes for my voice today.
“If you can’t throw me a bone,
then throw me air; I swear it will suffice.”
Just once I would like to experience the gratification and overall relief and completion
at getting one of the few things I wished for in life.

And if it’s will sees it fit that I have neither bone nor oxygen,
then I plead that it atleast grants me the smallest grain of wisdom,
all within the right moments,
so that if life truly is circular versus linear,
that when I get pushed down the wrong path, open the wrong door,
and make life altering mistakes,
I can atleast try to gather the strength to force myself to prevent them.
So maybe one day, even a day repeated, especially a day repeated,
I might know what happiness feels like
when it isn’t artificial or ripped from my hands swiftly.
I held a soft grip once out of wishing to provide comfort, protection and love,
when maybe I should have been digging my nails deep,
and holding on for dear ******* life.

We determined our future in a game of M.A.S.H
but the outcome we could never measure,
and you know what they say about one person’s trash
it ends up being someone else’s treasure.

My eyes are black and blue,
bruising that came from you.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
I sewed my mouth closed, next time I think I’ll use glue.

Her heart strings were pulled just too tight,
they would snap and break with any given pressure.
And she could never hit the notes just right,
but one person’s disdain is another person’s pleasure.

My eyes are black and blue,
bruising that make up shows right through.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
We played every board game but never stopped with clue.

I’ve never been one for odd numbers
unless it’s the number seven.
Numerology really makes me wonder
is there a mathematical equation to heaven?
My birthdate became a date of rebirth
as every year I killed a part of myself,
it’s not that I believed myself to lack worth,
it was just a challenge to see if plastic happiness could bring health.

My eyes are black and blue,
representing every shade and hue.
Like a serene painting of morning dew.
I’ll keep spinning it until it becomes true.

“He was a painter who only painted in red.”
There’s that connection between art and bloodshed.
I hang all those pictures on the walls inside my head,
‘cause they’ll never match the colour of the room with my bed.

My eyes are black and blue,
but even the swelling can’t block my view.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
I’ll have to accept there’s somethings you can’t construe.

I grasp a taste of purity, and I want to set it aflame,
as the past is blinding me and highlighting the blame.
I try to block it out to forget what has been done,
but it still screams and shouts, it’s something you can’t outrun.

I view pictures of violence, and I want to set it aflame,
hearing the empty silence always calling out my name.
I cut off every limb and hope that the blood still flows,
my veins are neatly trimmed but my tainted flesh regrows.

I sit with lifeless lampposts and attempt a peaceful dwell,
but running come the ghosts, pushing me back down to Hell.
They line up and take numbers, listing my damaged pride,
I have to bite my tongue until the darkness fades inside.

I lie under the last tree; its leaves were set aflame.
The fire burning free, no one on this earth could ever tame.
The wind drags it out and the ashes fade to dust,
I used to pray for drought, but the Gods have lost my trust.

I see her sad eyes and her life was set aflame,
I cry out to the skies, begging the clouds to rain.
I cradle my soft soul as it changes in its hues,
the story is already told but the ending was left skewed.

My memories; constantly haunting me,
except the good ones, those thoughts always run.
Need a canvas that's blank, to paint new lessons to teach,
that ship already sank, think I just need some bleach.
It's always out of reach.

My soul is soiled, my heart is broke,
my taste buds were boiled, my lungs only choke.
From temple to ruin, whole body to breech,
death will come soon, think I just need some bleach.
I'm through being a leech.

Losing sight, losing hope,
losing the fight against the rope.
Losing sleep, this is my niche,
I'm in deep, and craving bleach.

I carry a cross; one on each shoulder,
it's strengthened by loss, weighs down like a boulder.
Each carries a name, but I'm not like to preach,
I'm dreading the blame, think I just need some bleach.
I volunteer for impeach.

Losing sight, losing hope,
choosing plight, and fail to cope.
Losing sleep, silence to screech,
the stains will keep, still wanting bleach.

My memories; constantly haunting me,
except the good ones, they all are done,
need a new start, a day on the beach,
thread's been ripped apart, think I just need some bleach.
It's always out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

My love;
you’ve told me you wish
to curl up inside my brain
and live amongst its thoughts.

But,
I am utterly convinced
that you constructed it as if
it were the great Pyramids,
and my thoughts as company;
would just be
a million copies of you.

I walked into that room and saw you’re body lying there,
I barely recognized you; lacking life, muscle and hair.
I looked into your open eyes like I never did before,
and spoke looking at your face instead of averting gaze to floor.
If they asked me to identify or claim, I can’t say that I could,
I never truly knew you or felt the connection that I should.
You were given the curse of cancer,
but gifted the knowledge and time,
but did you ever even think that the answer
could be to reach out your hand to mine?
I had so much I never said,
maybe you had the same.
I’ll remain running the sentences in my head,
but never question if I should feel blame.
For a child to not know a parent is easy as night and day,
as much as I should’ve known you, you should’ve known me the same way.
Now my sister and I are the only ones here,
the only ones with your name and blood,
and it shouldn’t even be a question or fear
if we were ever truly loved.

Within the first breaths
of the early morning hours,
I lie in the dim abyss of my room.
I can’t help but feel a cold, empty
and heavy void in the entirety of my abdomen
as I wonder
if I will ever have a chance to have
someone, or something,
know every inch of me
like my pen does.

My light eyes only see the dark
immune to clear blue skies,
indifferent to a bright spark,
and the bloodshot lines in the white
reveal my own confessing script,
the things I couldn’t say that I write,
I couldn’t walk away so I tripped.

You’ve broken me into small parts
reflections of which I no longer resemble,
I’ve looked for replacements in cars, boats and go carts,
but there’s no use to try and reassemble.
If you have my mind, my heart and soul,
tell me what does that leave over for me?
You know I showed you my scars but hid my mole,
but I still don’t know exactly what you see.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
the primary colours were made to blend
but I’m lacking all creativity.

Your blank stare is elusive as the wind,
sometimes I question if it’s even there
but then I think I catch sight of a grin.
And while I’m drowning in your eyes,
trying to catch the ocean in a glass,
I’ve underestimated the size
and forgot the impact of the last.

I’ve been plagued with a sickness
one that’s lacking any small remedy,
poetic justice sees complete bliss
always inevitably evolve into tragedy.
My eyes are shrivelled, lacking tears
something had to overflow the canal,
still the boat floats and it steers
avoiding reasoning and all rationale.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
and I’m too beat to pretend,
that I wouldn’t ’t rather be lost at sea.

Life, life has always been too long
but it seems forever with you is too short.
While I reflect on the choices I made that were  wrong,
I’m told it’s now too late to abort.
Life, life has always been too long
but I only started living when I found you.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
you’re word was broken, it could never bend,
but it seems I’m the only one that’s still fighting.

Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
there’s nothing in this world we can’t mend,
but I think it’s time that I stop investing.

You said you wanted to play a round of Sorry,
but that you didn't know the game,
instead you used Pictionary to draw for me,
but every scribbled messaged looked the same.

You said you related to Snakes and Ladders,
I guess because you like to go up and down.
You hope that I fall off and my leg shatters,
and the snakes eat me on the ground.

So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
so go on and play nice, I know you've mastered that dance.
We don't need anyone else to play,
the two of us can share the blame.
So what do you say? Let's play another board game.

You suggested next Monopoly, your greed would help you win,
I think you just wanted to beat me, then wanted to rub it in.
I asked if you liked Risk, though strategy was never my strength,
your "no" came out very brisk, you never liked games of length.

You said you would love a round of Battleship,
I guess so you could shoot and bring me down,
watching me sink within my crypt,
right until I reached the ground.

So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
we can play the same one twice, you'll keep your winning stance.
We can do it all your way, rules can keep things too tame,
so what do you say? Let's play another board game.

As a child your favourite game was Trouble,
but not because you're a living cliche,
you claim you liked to pop the bubble,
hoping each time it would break away.

Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.

If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

This is the realest I've ever felt, each day it intensifies,
for you cause my heart to melt; my body heat is on the rise.
Even if we're close you're still too far, but at least we live under the same skies,
and Darling I've heard even the stars are envious of your bright eyes.

You own each beat in my chest, every thought within my head,
you own ever single breath and without air we are dead.
Completely I am yours, there is only you in my sight,
the skin down to the pores, you are the day to my night.

So only with love I'll try to give you all you ever need,
and I would rather die before I'd ever watch you bleed.
While for now, in fleeting view, my heart's roads always lead to Rome,
and finally meeting you was just like coming home.

You are truly a work of art; you're more than I ever dreamed of,
you hold my entire heart, I have never been so in love,
and you may think I'm silly that I'd stay up to watch you sleep
but Darling you would too, if you saw what I easily see.

Playing a game of cat and mouse
but we both lose track of the bird.
My scorched soil I failed to douse,
I’m filled with such fuel; it’s so absurd.
I linger always alone in an empty house,
speaking two thoughts but I left out the last word.
They were meant with love but I turned to grouse,
either way they never seem to be heard.

I wish I was licking stamps
instead of licking my wounds.
My letter to you gifts my fingers cramps,
I hope one day you decipher it soon.
The one thing that I am best at
is always being a bad example,
I can elaborate on how to keep looking back,
but not on the best way things should be handled.
And I hope one day you’ll see your name
woven in each line and all my stanzas.
But I think when you see it that way, I’ll just explain,
not to go buying me green bananas.

When I was 15 I chose to sign up as an ***** donor,
but all are probably damaged, and the vital ones are no longer mine.
I offered them as tribute to a Queen I adore,
she collected them and added to her shrine.

My tongue is tied tight when I try to express
importance and just what it all means to me,
but if you listen closely to my chest
you’ll hear my heart beating steadily.
And when you’re dressed to the nines
I’ll still be in left in my pajamas.
Waving my arms to direct the signs,
just don’t go buying me green bananas.

I accepted your world became my cage
but I was loyal; I didn’t need a lock.
I reasoned it as the final stage,
I didn’t need a chain just for you to mock.

I’m not angry, I’m not sad,
no resentment from me, don’t go feeling bad.
I’d still take this dagger as long as it’s your hand that grips
I wouldn’t escape or try to stagger,
sadly I’m done with my trips.

I concede and admit that I’ve gone mad,
welcomed with hallelujahs and an amen.
I’m having trouble stripping off my plaid,
but I figure it’s finally time to change stripes again.

Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's where I go to meet the future and the past.
Embraced by trees and kissed by the sky,
it's where some come to be free, or maybe just get high.
Or to just chain smoke, until your lungs turn black,
and when you start to choke your voice will only crack.
Oh, summer shines brightly, but my true love is the dark,
I visit the moon nightly and meet the stars in the park.

Well if you're looking for the path,
to lead you away from devastation,
it's just like solving simple math,
or just showing some appreciation.
No, there's no place like home,
but in truth, we are all alone.

Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's a secret oh so sweet, though no one thinks to ask.
The wind always whispers, and the lights bleed afterglow,
was she here or did I miss her? I guess I'll never know.
Aside from hunting footsteps, there's no one else passing by,
it's a question I should forget as the answer is a lie.
Oh, summer shines brightly, but my true love is the dark,
the depths that hold me tightly and kiss every scar and mark.

Well if you're looking for the answer,
or maybe just a solution,
to beat a disease like cancer,
or a problem like pollution.
Well, we're all free to roam,
but in truth, we are alone.

Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's where I'll go to greet my hope; it is my last.
The stars play my friend, the moon and all her charms,
but they say in the end we all die in our own arms.

Well if you're looking for a safe passage,
or maybe just an escape,
the concept; you can't grasp it,
it's blocked off by caution tape.
Oh, how it eats you down to the bone,
but in truth, we are all alone.

I aspired to draw a line in the sand
but I ended up carving a square.
It birthed a perimeter that wasn’t planned,
enclosing the emptiness of what was there.
If I could find the will to move my legs
I’d still plant my feet on either side,
but they’re dangling off each limb that drags,
dead weight bumping and bouncing along with the ride.

Stagnantly cushioning careless decisions
and finding loose lint among the remains,
stitching is falling behind the constant incisions
but surprised the pleasures match with the pains.
I’ll be going over, while falling under,
come run Red Rover, abstain or plunder.

I noticed the devolution of my skin,
in the irregular margins I jotted scribbled notes.
We could cut the cost with aluminum foil versus tin,
it could mimic barriers like our winter coats.

See my mouth refuse to further consume
my teeth are made solely to crunch numbers,
checking every inch within each room,
I can’t comprehend the routine this encumbers.
You supply the war
and I’ll supply the headlines.
We’ll follow the same pattern as before,
but now watch out for land mines

I poured the tears into stale water
and traced my hand upon the sun,
burnt fingertips but I thought it would be hotter,
and the brightness could blind if not stun.
Walk off the wounds from imagination
and get in the ring to face reality’s wrath,
I’ll take comfort in knowledge of my destination,
I never rerouted my destined path.

I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.

I’m alone stuck in my head
we both lost track of what was said.
Here I write but you haven’t read,
please just come to bed.

Lost in translation starts a fight,
another disappointing night.
Not sure of much but sure we’re right,
come to bed and turn off the light.

Mind’s running laps but in a line,
avoiding barbed wire and land mine.
Determined to stay up to greet sunshine,
come to bed and it will be fine.

I’m alone stuck in my head
an impending sense of doom and dread.
I write in blue but you mark in red,
please just come to bed.