Thank you for sticking around as long as you did,
you honestly surprised me,
most wouldn't have lasted this long.
Thank you for being real,
and not saying words you didn't mean.
I know it was hard for you.
Dealing with someone like me, is not an easy task,
but you told me that this is what you wanted.
I believed you, but I always knew what was coming.
I know that after awhile with me,
it becomes to hard to bare,
it becomes to much for anyone to stand.
I always knew you weren't strong enough,
but still,
thank you,
thank you for teaching me to smile,
thank you for teaching me how to actually deal with things,
instead of pushing them away and acting like they never existed.
I wish you'd done this a different way,
a face to face talk,
or even over text would've been nice.
I'm not okay with the fact that you just stopped talking to me,
but I get it.
I get it because every time you looked at me,
smiled at me,
hugged me,
kissed me,
there was this sense of sadness,
and a sense of things you needed to say,
but clearly couldn't.

The fact that I saw this coming doesn't make it hurt less.
So I will continue, making a fool of myself, and rambling on,
about senseless things, and of course, I WILL be drunk the whole ******* time.

You say you like the way my lips curl into a smile,
and the way my snake bites fit my lips,
and the way my mostly emerald eyes become chinked up.
You say you like my curly purple hair,
even with the streaks of  royal blue and dark grey.
You say you barely notice the bags underneath my eyes,
or that weird little hip dip of mine.
Instead you notice the vibrancy and life you say my eyes contain,
and that weird little hip dip of mine, is nonexistent in your eyes.

It all simply baffles me.
I don't get it.
Even at my worst you can't say I don't look perfect.
What do you see that I don't?

Maybe you see in me what I see in you.

I swear you're nothing but a ***** stain on the face of the earth.
Always determining their worth,
by what other ***** stains think.
Some are always on the brink,
of figuring out what's really going on in the world around them.
But no, they all think their just a beautiful gem,
no flaws, no imperfections, everything they see is seen through rose tinted glasses.
Failing to see that the masses,
are falling at their own hands.
Never meeting their own demands,
always sinking lower and lower, for other ***** stains.
Where, oh where, are all of their brains?
There seems to be no rhyme or reason for the things they do.
And so I sit, sipping brew,
not knowing what the **** to do,
except wait, for the ***** stains to be cleansed.
Waiting for the day that will never come.

So what if I'm a ****?
So what if I'm a *****?
At least I can stand up for myself.
I need don't anyone to tell me who I am.
I know, I've always known.
I'm okay with what I am.
As I look around it's like,
everyone around me is holding up a sign,
they all say ****,
and everyone is always giving them away.
I don't understand.
What's the point in being alive if you're always living for someone else?
Some say I'm the nicest person they've ever met.
This isn't true, I know what I am.
I know I can be nice, I can be caring, I can be selfless,
and for the most part, that's what I am.
However, for others, I'm their worst nightmare.
It's because I'm not afraid to tell them what I see.
I'm not afraid to tell them what they're thinking,
or how they perceive life.
I can always tell, I've always had a knack for figuring people out.
They hate me, because they know I'm right,
nobody wants believe, or even actually see,
what's going on around them, some fear themselves,
and hearing someone else say what's always at the back of their mind,
absolutely terrifies them.
I don't like those people, you have to accept what you are.
The people I like, are the people that are just like me.
The ones that are confused about the **** signs,
the fearless ones,
the smart ones,
the perceptive ones.

I'm either floating between feeling nothing and everything,
Or get smacked around between the two by something.
When I feel nothing, it's indescribable, words can never satisfy or explain what that feels like.
It's like having a hollow head, an endless sinking abyss for a torso, and the arms and legs seem to be nonexistent.
Cigarettes, *****, and anything to lift my feet off of the ground,
make me feel normal when I get like that.
However, there's no quick fix,
for when everything decides to come crashing down.
I can't do a **** thing, except grit my teeth, and wait for it to end.
I can hear my blood rushing in my ears, my eyes twitch, every ***** in my body seems to convulse, my mind races a million miles an hour, replaying memories over and over like a broken record, and I seem to loose control of myself.
I cannot walk, stand, sit up, or move anything.
I can only give in, wait for it to end, and welcome nothingness with warm arms.

Sometimes, I lose myself.
I lose myself to all the voices,
they just make so many noises.
They all seem to be screaming,
some tell me I'm dreaming.
Whispers come from every corner,
Screams from every mourner.
Always talking all at one time,
Maybe that's why I can barely rhyme.
You have to scream to get me to notice you,
For I can barely hear myself break through
They pound around inside my skull,
it seems to make me rather dull.
A thousand miles away,
empty,
just
gone.