An itchy spider lives in me,
right underneath my second skin.

She's waited, tense, expectantly for something dangerous
to finally draw towards her its claws and scratch straight down her spine.

Her fangs have naught to bite upon, so I must feed her well enough
on nerves, dry skin, and fingernails and songs about a violent sea.

If she dies, I might turn to stone;
an itchy spider lives in me.

You wilted because my love was tender.

oh tom
i can see behind your eye
your veins bled out all you had
you’re dead on this summer night
it’s not right
but you weren’t fit for the outside
to them it’s another day
if no one cries for you
i’ll be the few
i will sit and sing
because you can see now
you’re beautiful again
i ponder my desires
i want to be with you
things aren’t so great
you wouldn’t understand
i don’t either
but i know i will cry for you
my tears will seep into the soil
you’ll enrich the earth
one day you’ll be new
never forgotten
at least by few

I took refuge in your heart not because it was empty, but because it was devoid of you.

Forget about diamond
And jewels
For get out lipstick
And make up
Handsome guys
Really
A girls best friend
And best accessories
Are  food
a pretty smile
And decent clothes
I say with out these things
Girl
You are nothing
But a undead conformist