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"Surviving solely
On caffeine and nicotine
Hazy baby
Crazy maybe
But I am a being
Forever being."
- The way I use to describe my daily muse

Terms are the worms of the garden of expression;
Words must be chosen in the utmost discretion.
Through the rhymes, walking the lines
Between Romantic and pedantic.

Simple semantics-
There is no such thing.

In humanities we learn about semantics
(among other areas of expertise).
There's no humanities without semantics (among other areas of key).

The instructors instruct,
"It's easy, it's simple, it's breezy"
But the instructors don't conduct
How semantics can never be easy.
I sleep on a bed of nails
Every day when i get up i stick the sharp objects right into my back even though they were left by everyone else
All different shapes and sizes
Finger prints on the handles as well
Very individual characteristics of the weapons themselves
Alternate methods i can still feel the pain of being impaled
Most people tear the blades out throw them to the ground
Not me
They're the only thing still connected to the memories of what its like to feel
I refuse to let these wounds heal
Being in contact with trustworthy souls becomes surreal
One day I'm sure I'll come to terms with what's actually real
Until then I'm content with bleeding day in and day out
Just to get that sliver of compassion to seek out and nurture my spirit while i lay completely still
someday ill be able to sheath all this metal and continue on with my journey
Right now my hope is my attorney and his case is very weak
Someday I'll remember what its like to be strong
Then I'll strive harder then ever before
The key to unlock this door is buried deep inside my heart
Which is heavily guarded by my mind
I'm running out of time
There's still a part of me that doesn't want to die
I'll keep bringing him supplies so maybe he can fly
Little by little
Water was everywhere
Drenching us and flooding the yard
You were stronger, both stronger
Wrapping her up in slithery rubber
Water filling her mouth
She started to drown
Only I was left
Why are we doing this?
Somehow it was fun, kids playing games on a summer day
And yet it was more than that
As I was wrapped up and knocked to the ground I reached high, pulling myself up
Although blinded I wouldn't give up
I said I never give up
If nothing else at least I'm determined
So you want to forget?
You have a drink.
Or six.
So you want to get high?
You roll your own.
Light up.
So you want to feel alive?

All you little amateurs,
Let me show you.
Come join me
In my chemical chemistry factory,
Or my suicide surgical stand,
Homemade scalpel in my hand.
I can help you.
I feel the opposite of alive.
If I was brave, I'd take my life.
Reading poetry doesn't fill voids
We sit still in fear of falling
Dwelling in the dark
A shallow attempt at masochism
When blood doesnt suffice
...please...
A youth
Of love and politics
Wasted on heartbreaks
Because we let the poetry slip through our fingers.
Pills you swallowed
To curb your sanity
Were only candy.
The day I remember
Was only a death
And the birth
Soon forgotten.
life.
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