and inside i was a tide but all they saw were barely ripples and inside i was screaming but no one heard me begging there
And inside i was a mess but they decided that my hair was neat and that i was already clean because they didnt see the shadows lurking under my eyes or the dust collecting in my thoughts
and when i wasnt even hiding when i knelt down and prayed you said that you were always there but you never dared to answer me
because i am still ******* here and though i beg for you to let me go i wake up and my heart still beats... i thought you were always listening
and inside i was dead how i wished that the outside would show it
Here, Here in the basement of my own sorrows and pities, I find no comfort from you. You, You say this is my fault; I havent changed and loved. Notice, Notice that your the reason I'm here, struggling and worthlessly waiting, for your approval.
where does the snow go in the summer? does it melt into the grass and stay till next winter? does it evaporate and go into our minds till next winter? does it stay chilled deep in our bones till next winter? where do the birds go in the spring? do they fly away for another day? do the go to let other people see their beauty? do the leave for our imaginations to wander and wander? where do the old leaves go in the summer? do they disintegrate into the sidewalk for us to have a lighter step? do they disguise themselves so we wont see till next year? do they forget about us, like we do about them?
Late night texts = Late night ***. Early morning regrets = Breakfast in bed. Mid-day breaks = Mid-day surprise. Evening calls = Our conversational recalls. Late night nightmares = Everyday dreams. Oh the life I'll hold with you.
we sang along to the same ten songs, until we thought we found solutions to problems we didn't know we had we hid our fear under mohawks & dreadlocks and stitched our sadness in with India ink on our knee caps and metal in our faces
we looked pretty from the outside but I remember the tears that swallowed his blue eyes when he said "i just hope for his sake, next time he dies" because addiction was a pain none of us knew how to mend and it left a hole right through us, no amount of music could fill
when i was five my mom used to tell me that it was all fun and games until someone got hurt; i don't think she knew at the time just how familiar i'd be with that concept by the time i was nineteen
i stopped getting memorial tattoos after the sixth one, and i stopped trying to quit chain smoking when i finally realized we were all gonna die
blood red hair and blood shot eyes i know how love feels when it sighs a worn out goodbye