Unending. Pulsating. Degrading displacing discomfort on frozen ice beds of memories.

Fearful. Tearfully regretting the times you didn't say what you wanted to say.

Pretend the end isn't drawing near, threatening all that is dear to the imperfect balance that borders insanity.

Vanity. Crazed apologetics forcing your hand in your somber attempt at a grand gesture.

Enticing forgiveness overdone by the willingness to forgetting innocent Mistakes.

The fading grace you fake to seem okay hidden beyond hindsight and letting go of your right to love.

Stop loving.

You are the freshly aged petals on the page.

Pressed first up against a cheek or two and dried to last forever.

Transcending all stages of beauty and living long after withering.

Your soul extends beyond the softness in your texture - the sweet scent of all your cracking gestures.

You cannot change the closing of the day - the frosty creeks still rush to all your heart does say.

You have plucked the petals from your budding heart and we pick them up to keep as art, because your flailing is a performance.

Your movements are enticing, you sway to all desire, the sounds murmured by your coarse crying voice inspire.

The beauty is in your entire existence.

You watch and wait for time to take all that it can from inside your soul.

It's wasted, the money you spent on time, you could have paid half to indulge on the mere portion of life you've tasted.

This earth, we've gradually graced it - and meaninglessly traced it - in books and photos and missed the memo reminding us to live.

The moment you chose to give up that argument - and all the energy you spent on settling for loving.

These blues and grays sometimes consume the days in which you could be laughing.

Lost in the echo of the static cracking of the voice maintained in quivering.

The shivering of the cold beyond the false control of everyone who has it together.

When problems weigh that of a feather.

How do I know if I can trust myself now?

Always bringing myself back down to earth,
Because I've been wrong before.

But, I forget to remember to be careful.
I might be too full of myself.
Then too down on myself.
It might be all about me.

Maybe I don't know anything else.

Always torn between capturing the moment and living it.

Giving it all - anything to have my best friend back. Hopeless.

Very few things will make a person feel hopeless.
You can choose to cope.
You can choose to hide.
You can choose to mask it in anger.

Hide the face in shame you fought for.

Running one way and not back and forth.

I will stay behind. Forget all you've left inside. Roadside on this road-trip where we split up.

Family first - friends forever - finding paths - to tear and sever.

Really mastering your separation - guided by your degradation.

Falling fast into that hole.
Shovel in hand - you forget to know -

Beating your back for blackened souls.

Staying charred - beaten and marred.

Cannot pretend forever if you're not breathing.

Fail this life in faith and trust.
Fear and lust - keep your life just as it is - you'll see how quickly you will rust.

I'm sorry - but, I'm not.

Tonight you looked me in the eyes and terrified me.
Telling me this is who you were after over two years and I had never even seen this person.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
You're trying to scare me away and I'm getting *******. How little can I really be loved? Because this feels utterly minimal.
I'm supposed to take this information and just deal with it or leave...
I'm ******* nothing to you. It's obviously become quite clear. Worthless and useless to you.
I'm ******* alone in a room with you. Not nearly enough.
**** trying to exist, I could ******* **** myself after this.
I am so lost. And you couldn't care any less. I'm glad you're okay. Or that you would be okay without me.
You once told me you wouldn't play mind games.
You made me grow up fast, now you're the one playing. And I can't even compete.
I should just quit. What the **** does it mean for who I am? I am nothing.
Pathetic.
I just wish it was all over for me. Never for you. You'd be fine. Relieved even. I would be dead and gone.
And it'd be worth it to see you better.
******* hell. Whatever.

I like it best when I look least like myself.
What am I doing here?
Waiting. Life is one big waiting game. I guess.
I am really fighting the urge.
This undying urge to *****.
To ***** everything up and be done with it.
My stomach throbbing.
So through with sobbing.
So done with hearing all these thoughts.
Everyone's thoughts but yours.
I want to be a slash on your wall.
A stain on your sheets.
You don't give a ring to someone with the mentality that another is out there.
I've fallen victim to a juvenile prank.
The fault in the thought process of today's youth.  
Playing with emotions and love like it's nothing.
Everyone has a weak heart.
Except the one I Iove.
So hard and cold he turns me stone.
And laughs at me to better the jest.
Feeling a lot like it may have been better to have never loved at all.
Maybe someone else holds the key.
The key to my being happy.
I've been happier on my worst days.
We're at about the point of no return.
And there's no sign of your love in sight.
I'm on the path to becoming someone you won't like at all.
Time to start making everyone want to save me, again.
Everyone but you, because what could you do, anyways, to save me?
You get paid to write songs about love.
And you don't know how to love at all.
I'm on the warpath down your heart.
I shouldn't have fallen for you from the start.
Now I'm stuck.
Alone. But with you.
I never get anything I want.
Let me define my desire's complexity:
An "I love you" first.
A kiss without requests.
Cuddles when you're conscious.
Conversation without inconvenience.
Answers without malice and sarcasm.
How about a smile?
An indication I'm actually wanted.
Maybe you're comfortable pretending to love me but I'm not comfortable pretending to be stupid...
I wish I were arrogant and oblivious.
I'm already annoying as it is.
I'd be happier if you just told me you hate me.
"Will you stop ******* asking me if I'm okay when I go to the bathroom!"
Sorry I care you've been sick.
Sorry I asked a couple times since you've been ill. Sorry I'm even here.
And I'm about to be real sorry when I leave.
I'm feeling abused. And beaten.
Crying this much is a sin.
You clearly find me worthless and despicable.
"I dare you to find someone who treats you as good as I do."
Oh, awesome. I deserve jack-****.
I'm ******* tired of being punished. For existing. Everyone condemns me for existing.
I want to **** myself in the most horrid way and lay all the blame in your direction. Their direction. Everyone's.
I'm already dead inside anyway.
And you're full of ****.