van gogh used to eat yellow paint
because he thought it would make him happy
and although it was poison
and it slowly killed him
he believed it made him happy


(i think you're my yellow paint)

i thought i was kissing you goodnight
and if i had known it was goodbye

i would have kissed you a little longer

i still feel your lips on mine
and although it's been several months
time does not heal everything

i fall asleep with my phone in my hand

he said i was beautiful
my scars make me beautiful
he said that we ended like a hurricane
that it was a storm and than calm
he says we ended beautifully

he killed me inside

i tried to fix you, my darling
by pouring my love in to your crevices and cracks
but by the time you recovered and departed
there was no love for me left

after you left
i couldn't stop feeling your touch all over mine
and i could feel the pressure
of your sweet addicting lips
and the pulsing beat of your heart in my veins

and a week after
of sleeping alone
i tried to cut you out of my skin
and no matter the amount of blood that ran
or the number of times i've blacked out
you're still in my veins


you won't get out

"dear cat?" alice called, "where are you"
"i seemed to have lost myself again
and although it is quite lovely here
the quiet and shade,
it has only grown to be empty and dark"