Ladle Guilt, blame, and regret into me
Someone should convict me and restrict me from emotion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

I tormented time with a turbulent fallacy
Condemn my illicit distribution of preconceived notion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me

I can’t recall tasting stories without choking on hypocracy
For all that makes peace & love stems from chaotic commotion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

But too long my eyes merely saw until the day I learned to see
Not importance placed like a trophy case but in honest raw devotion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me

Promises sink like anchors, for their nightmare’s being free
We struggled finding solace and settled for continuous motion
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

If only I could do things differently
Cast a spell, think before I speak, perhaps produce a potion
Ladle guilt, blame, and regret into me
Crest-fallen, I yearn for redamancy

Marsha Lenihan once wrote, "People with BPD are like people with third degree burns all over their body, lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement."

I used to cry when I said goodbye to my father after our weekly Tuesday night dinners
I'd play out games of Go fish and Rummy like there was no winner, but I was victorious next
to my daddy.  
His eyes still crinkle in the corners and his smell will always be long car rides with blankets, books on tape, and a wide range of conversations even though he was always late
But I'd weep like he actually just dropped dead every Tuesday night because I was petrified

My small but portly frame would crumple and I would mumble the worries I was too scared to say
I was afraid I'd see my daddy for the last time that day
I thought I had asthma because I was always fat and sometimes choked on the air in my lungs as if it was strangling me but I had my first panic attack in grade three

I was sitting in Mrs. Arlotta's classroom ladida
just like any other story about a schoolday when I was punched in the stomach
with a fist of "I miss my ******* dad"
there was this bully beating the **** out of me with no prologues warning
Just to remind me Despair
is not some abandoned pit people place their pity into
Despair, can be like an earwig, you use hope like tissues to squash out intrusion
but earwigs are smart, experts at delusion
earwigs know where to hide until you go to sleep

Every other weekend I used to sleep at my dads house with his british girlfriend
and his lovely cats and soothing hot tub
and his british girlfriend
and the fireplaces and the tribal music
and the british girlfriend
and the beautiful homemade pond and the greenhouse
and the british girlfriend

I liked roasting marshamallows until their crisp outer layer began to bubble but not for too long for if they fell in the fire there was trouble
Bort are you seriously letting the girl eat sweets tonight, god knows she doesn't need them

I liked riding my bike through Elizabeth park their flower garden was absolutley breathtaking
"you know Haley if you got off your *** more often moving your legs wouldn't be such a chore"

And I loved dinners with freshly picked herbs and seasonal tablecloths tucked in the curbs
"go ahead, have another helping, you're just like your mother, disgusting"

Well Karen I hope I'm like her and I hope she's disgusting
I hope she tasted disgusting on the leftover edges of my fathers lips
when you two were thrusting, could you also taste the hasty goodbyes he tossed like
rubber ducks to a family
waiting in line for him to come home
and waiting and waiting for him to never ******* come home

I loved my dad.
yes despair was everywhere but seeing my dad was like finding religion
if a child could comprehend the task of going to church

Christine Ann Lawson once wrote, " The borderling queen expreiances what therapists call oral greediness.  the desperate hunger of the borderline queen is a kin to the behavior of an infant who had gone too long between feedings.  Starved, frustrated, and beyond the ability to calm or sooth herself, she grabs, flails, wails until the last ****** is planted securely and perhaps too deeply in her mouth.  She coughs, gags, chokes, spits eyeing the elusive breast like a wolf guarding her food.  Similarily, the queen holds onto what is hers taking more than she could use, in case it might be taken away prematurely."

Did my eyes taste sour when you few times you kissed my lids goodnight maybe that's why there wasn't one ******* hour without a glass of wine, another beet, hide your shots of tequila behind the birthday cards I made you.

There was an ache of despair that you wouldn't always be there that when you decided you wanted to participate it was way past the expiration date
I said goodbye to my dad after dinner last night without a second look back, I forgot he could be dead when I was blowing lines to stay alive

Experts say a key symptom of borderling is chronic emptiness
Maybe if things had been different dad, I wouldn't be such a ******* mess
and you would have to pay Connecticutcare less.

I was selfish, when I was a little girl I would never share my graham crackers
because I wanted every sweet crumble in my mouth.
I am selfish because your love is more rare than any gem
but when it's shared with all of them the artists, the worthy
I feel as insignificant as the moonrocks I thought helped me soar through your galaxy
but were actually pure, poison. But no matter how toxic you believe yourself to be
every whisper of the wind reminds me of your melody.

There is a volcano of good inside you, I've seen it bubble and spurt
in your steamy passion for music and fashion, authenticity
is the heat eminating from the lava trapping everyone you meet
in a warmth so intoxicating, you make James Franco as dull as carbon dating
I saw that ****** volcano whenever you met someone new
I walked along its edge hearing the passion playing from your guitar,
strumming with dust, magic like a star

it's taken you trillions of years to get here so when I felt
your violent vibrations as you detoxed in my bed
I thought I'd hold the death of lightyears in my arms.
Like the medicated forever you lived for so long until you forgot
happiness was cleaner than any **** and brighter than any lightshow

But you know this, you knew this you hold libraries of knowledge in
every freckle on your body if I placed each one like a stepping stone
towards a computer I'd create a whole new wikepedia before iOs 8 was done
I'd predict it as predictable as your smile lifts the sun
and if those freckles were questions on a gameshow I already won

I will never know what goes on inside your head or to a comfortable point
but I prefer fluttering butterlies and a **** good joint
to any complacent ride and with you by my side I for once in this life
feel un-alone because being with someone who steps on their own
shards of glass every day because the pain is easier than bending
over to pick up the pieces pushes on the door of my opinion of evil
He could never be evil. He is delicate3 like the crumbling
of sweet graham *******

He is alive like the Happy New Year bellows we unisonly screamed with our
friends and the rest of toads after dancing for hours then dancing for more

You know my struggle, or try to know and that effort means more to me than
the fuel of a pollen to a buzzing bee
Your life, has been as ****** up as that time we almost died in your huge-*** truck
when you were higher than jesus and I went down on you in prayer
that moment, we got struck with inconceivable luck I thought I saw a *** of gold.

Your life, has been like elephants trying to juggle circus tents
if I could give you 22 years of reassurance that you are a beautiful boy
I would.
I'd like to believe you don't even want anyone to, I think you're through
with playing rockstar to a show that you can't even hear the music to

4 months without any substance in your body is an extraordinary
achievement and I am more than proud of you.  You've been a teacher to me.
You've been a prime example of needing someone as much as needing oxygen, or
loathing crawling through your veing towards the very thing that washed away the pain.

If I ever figure out the vernacular I'm not too embarassed to throwup in front of you,
I'd spill every nauseaus word proclaiming my fascination with your determination
to finding love in this life.
My memory is awful, so I exxagerate most, but I'll try to learn your lessons
I'll try to learn how to coast.

I have every right to be angry with you
because that is the the only emotion pumping in my veins as I sit here
for the hundreth ******* time
trying to compose a rhyme about
how stupidly, how redundantly, how repetetively, how pathetically, how disgustingly
in love with you I was, I am, and I will always be
because there will never not be a part of you inside of me

Together, we defied everything
Anyone could see our differences before our similarities
but I've never seen more clarity than when you drive your car
I fickle with the radio, and we sing until the road behind us
spreads its wings and we soared
higher than any pipe we'd light or drugs we'd scored

The absence of your passion for life weighs down in my stomache
filling me with a daunting silence
I see your old house with its white picket fence and it calls to me
like cubes of cheese to a mouse

you taught me how to love

I'm not goos at recollecting memories and regurgatating them on paper
but if I could tell the tale of how we saved eachother
of how we learned to become our own savior, our own mother

Because I failed somewhere along the way
and I think about you every **** day
The skin around your eyes which used to simply serve its purpose
as protective epidermis, has sunken, down
I'd never try to make you frown
but you look like **** dude
and that sounds pretty rude
but in the past we sailed across the ocean
suspended by our hope wheeling in motion

you've given up hope and I'm unable to cope with your inability to cope
I am unable to cope with clouds in my kaleidescope
I am unable to cope with you doing dope
because I looked at you like a blind man who had never seen the stars at night
I would never tell you what's wrong from right
but we belong on the sea, Cassidy

I will never be able to explain how you changed the seasons for me
through any seasonal depression you've made up all the reasons,
I continue to fight on

One day I won't feel unsatisfied with my poetry and
I'll be able to conduct something lovely about a girl named Cassidy
but for now, I need to study for anatomy
Mr. Matthews would not excuse tears on my lab

I love you, and I'm sorry.
with every drag of my cigarette I am lying to you, and I've tried to deny the presence of this addiction, but every other devil I've danced with was at first denied and i will never get rid of the image of when you cried, not at the hospital, but when I came home.  
and I'm sorry that I was even in the hospital, all of the times that I was in the hospital.
for so long I felt like a science experiment having tubes and needles and charts and data
or being probed with question after question about "why" I feel the way I do
or "why" I behave the way I do.
You love me with every fiber in your being
and there are days that I ******* hate you
and days when I love you
but the weather changes too right?  even the wind sometimes destroys the earth for it can't deny its fury
and I know the road ahead is long but if I have you it won't be too scary.
and if it is, I love you and I'm sorry

Once Upon A time, there was a small white house, with a white picket fence, and an impossible to get out of driveway.  There lived a girl who loved to eat.  I remember her as loving to eat she lived directly across the street, and I know size does not determine the makeup of a person, but she did not look like she loved to eat.  She was thin.

She loved water, swimming, drinks poured until the cups were brimming
Family guy and Ink master she was molded like plaster
to the screen on the tv in her environment where she felt serene.

I remember a five foot seven girl pumping the pedals on a way too small yellow bicycle
as difficult as trying to melt butter on an icicle
she was strong, and she loved colors.
She was the youngest of two sisters and a brother, make no mistake there were others.
Scout Biddy Boo Jazz and Bella too, Jazz had a special spark in her bark.
Whenever I came into the kitchen, Jazz would be crazy itchin for me to give her attention.  She’d lie on her back, belly up, with sweet brown eyes like chocolate syrup and I could never resist.

There are things in life that some of us can just never resist.
Like an all-expenses paid free trip to Hawaii, or just really fresh pineapple.
I can never resist reading the cap of a Snapple, but I’ve saved a lot of money with this girl I knew who lived in a small white house with a white picket fence and an impossible to get out of driveway, because she already knew all of the facts.

She already knew a lot of things, I’m sure she still already knows a lot of things.
I don’t know what exactly she does know as the continuation of time remains in constant flow,
I have not talked to her in a while or so.
But if I had the ability, to travel back in time and reinvent any crime,
I’d go to the moment before she signed her soul to the devil.  
I’d rip the pen from her hand like a splinter
that’s been stinging her family’s index finger for way too long.
I’d erase that moment from history and if she wasn’t such a ******* mystery,
I’d be able to turn on my local cable and not worry about seeing her face on the TV.
I need to stop thinking about that because I know I’m never gonna call this cat, until a hurricane hits a city, leaving it calm and serene or until she approaches me and wants to get clean.

Freshly grown flowers and home cooked meals
secrets my family just cannot conceal
The raw and untouched, pure human lust
Journals with pages I know I can trust
Warm cups of coffee delivered in bed
Old worn in clothing with rips in its thread
A beat I can dance to, a song I can sing
I yearn to remember every beautiful thing

For the safety I find, I find in my mind
Although the gates of hell never lock, nor bind
Its entrance lies next to my vices
It waits patiently for me to activate my devices