darkness is sad.

it is painful.
this bed allows me to sink.
As the chill darkness stretches my skin,
I can feel the hands of the mattress wrap around my body.
I squeeze my pillow,
checking to see if I have any strength left.
I dig my nails into my cheeks.
And make fists and push into my cheek
Scrunching these feelings, crushing them and pushing them out of my pores and out of my eyes as salt water.
But it feels more like sand and it burns.
My toes are cold and lifeless and I fold them into eachother and hold...

my hair is the handle above the passenger seat
this is scary driving
these feelings.

I can't believe you are not messed up
(I am)
The things you've seen
The things you've heard
I'm surprised you're not constantly hurting, and that all of your memories aren't grey and sad and hurt and bring back feelings of hopelessness and make you cry like you did then. How are you not hurting?
(I am)
If I were you I'd be smashing my face in the pillow every night yelling, hoping and praying for amnesia or Alzheimer's wishing that these black and white films running in your mind were fiction and not biographys.
(I AM)

I am hurting
I'm crying
this hurts, these feelings ****
and they're strong and powerful and I push them down and I smile and laugh
and smile more and laugh more and I'm so blessed.
I KNOW I am,
I am so thankful for you.
I love you all so much.
But your pain fills my heart and I look in your eyes and remember what they look like filled with the sand that's in my eyes now and how it burns and you struggle with the pain so I take my first ******* and dig and dig and dig the sand from your eyelids and hold a napkin on your cheek to catch the grains that fall.
I am trying to help you clean up.

I take little bags and fill them with your sand and bring them home and I keep it from you.
I don't want your eyes to burn anymore.

I lie down and your sand and everyone else's falls out of my pillows and onto my bed and the grains itch my skin and stay in my hair.
I thought I could handle this but
I dig my nails into my cheeks.
And make fists and push into my cheek,
Your sand just sticks to mine and clogs my pores and nothing gets out anymore.
It sits inside, underneath my skin and sleeps and at night this sand rips out of my skin and reminds me,
what each grain means.
And who it came from and who's still hurting.

Darkness is scary.

I Blink 182 times,
Can I Handle This
This is the Sum of 41 reasons I won't smile this holiday
I'm feeling like I may Fall Out, Boy do I hate thinking about who's buying your presents this year.
It's weird how this holiday season is always a new All Time Low
**** this place. I would much rather Walk The Moon fixin for something that warms my heart again. So I hold it in my hands and breathe.
And I Imagine Dragons breathing fire onto my skin, maybe someone will call me hot.
Maybe Someone will Hear Me.
I sit on my Front Porch Step Aware of the Mayday Parade that marches down my spine and I forget how to walk.
How to talk
how to breathe as I Panic! At the disco music that you seem to really like.
You are memories of a ride in a Death Cab
For Cutie I Will Follow You Into The Dark.
If I'm not already there.
And I will Parachute into Owl City and lie in your bed that is a Passion Pit.
It entramps me and keeps me hostage and I hate what your sheets feel like.
You make me think that love is Of Monsters and Men and that women don't feel that word.
You have killed me a thousand times,
Queen
of ******* over the things I have planned.
We are My Chemical Romance a toxic ******* life threatining carcinogen trying to **** me.
But this is Kinda Punkish I Guess and again I have my playlist.
That sounds like you but it saves me and doesn't **** me.
Here's a Simple Plan this holiday. Leave me the **** alone this year.

She dates a guy whos better looking than I am so what can I really do anyway? She is a girl that if I was with her I would be infatuated with but would always think that she was settling and I would always be reaching for her to think that I was something special like she was. But those are just wishes and dreams I've had and Ive always got this feeling that this guy was honestly a **** boy. But like who am I? An arrogant ***** to think that I'm perfect for her, she's too big (vast, unfathomable, and unreachable) for me to be perfect and my words are small and quiet and there's not much courage behind them because there's a place that self confidence goes when you really think about your chances with someone who fits the description of a dream perfectly. It's like you think of yourself as a ghost and a figament of your own imagination to sit next to her at ihop. And she reads poetry about this guy that you think is a **** boy and her poems read "he is a **** boy" but I don't think she reads them really. She wrote them but can't read what they're saying. If only ghosts could read and could say hi this is what you wrote lol just saying. And hi my name isn't **** boy I hope that is okay because I know all the ones before me were named **** boy. But I am a ghost and she is infinite.
And she's gone, and at night, lights shine and spread hope and joy into the air and it floats into the window of her room.
But my night floats thoughts through the air and there's not light and there's no hope because she has skyscrapers and busy streets and art in everything she sees.
And I have my bed and my small school and my notes in my phone for art.
She is an olive and I'm not even food.
I'm something like a shoe or something else random.

And she’s gone, and at night, lights shine and spread hope and joy into the air and it floats into the window of her room.
At night my thoughts float through the air and there’s not light and there’s no hope because she has skyscrapers and busy streets and art in everything she sees.
And I have my bed and my small school and my notes in my phone for art. 
She is an olive and I’m not even food. 
I’m something like a shoe or something else random.

I Promise this is the last time
I Promise this trash bag isn't filed with empty beer cans and
I Promise this stain on my sheets is something healing like apple juice.

I Promise I woke up before noon today
I Promise I wasn't awake waiting wanting to hear from you
I Promise I am not writing about you again.

I Promise today I woke up stronger than when fell asleep
I Promise today the sun reminded me of a safe place and not of the sun we sat under when you said "this isn't the same anymore"
I Promise today I am getting better.

I Promise you I am trying
I Promise you your name doesn't taste like vinegar
I Promise you weren't the only reason I was breathing.

I Promise my parents didn't pay for bail for a drunk and disorderly
I Promise my eyes don't feel like Velcro stuck together when I shut them
I Promise these words are sincere.


I Promise there aren't pins and needles sewing me together
I Promise there is time left for me
I Promise there is love in my heart and I remember what that feels like.

I Promise.

But when you said "I Promise" I Promise you were lying.
If you meant what you said
Then these promises would be true,
But they're not.

I Promise this isn't a goodbye letter.

There is no such thing as awake
Anymore.
I wake up asleep, and dream the colors for the day.

What I dream is better than what I see.
Seeing is scary and dreaming isn't so much.

The pillow is comforting and the "fresh" air
Smells like cigarettes and floats curse words
Around as the clouds do.

The rustle of leaves beneath my feet are loud and alive and dew is gross and makes my socks wet.

I close my eyes to shut out the light you left in the sky
I don't like it.
It tastes like chloraseptic,
and my throat hurts from crying all day
but I don't want to be healed.

When I lay down and close my eyes I'm
Awake.
And when I dream I'm awake reliving your last car ride.
So sleep isn't nice to me anymore
and I shiver and sweat.

I press my hands into my eyes
like pushing an emergency stop button.
I hate my sleepy dreams and wish reality was a dream.

So my head hurts
my eyes are sore
and in every cough a piece of my voice falls into my lap.

This is my life now,
Not insomnia
but medicine
Since you're not breathing
and you're not here
anymore.

The spoon's side jumped
Between moon shaped glasses,
He jip jived dipped and dived
Forward more toward something resembling music.
 
A fresh song and dance.
New tunes through an ordinary water holder,
Nestled between plate and napkin.
The sound got his mate all jazzed up,
So he joined with his own swift swinging tune.
Who knew that dining things could own a beat?
 
They found a new way to show
They had a rhythm from their fingers to their toes.
It was them together.
Hearing things they thought they would never.
 
So they skedaddled downtown
Piddle paddling through the streets.
Clanking their feet into light poles until their soles were sore.
Smacking hands on drums where knees used to be.
 
They threw nonsensical sounds around that made sense together,
They flowed like a bird’s song to its dear old Mrs.
Common sounds with a unique meaning.
They were loud and crazy with a vision slightly hazy,
For they didn't see the sheriff approaching.
 
The sheriff caused a bigger scene then they ever were,
Yelling and wrestling with them.
He stopped their show saying, "There ain't none of those nonsense words on my street, especially not from your kind."
 
How kind they were,
They left without a question.
There was no need to fuss and rush
They were goin'.
 
They thought that with sounds like these
There was no use wasting them on empty streets
And park benches.
 
Back to the club they ran
Eager to hear their cheering fans they had left behind to show the streets their new found sound.
 
That stage is where it started
And stayed for a while.
On that stage their imaginations could run ramped on an empty canvas of ears.
 
But on their stage they had to stay.
Hidden.
For a little while,
You see the streets weren't ready to be shown these beats,
This wasn't Joe Schmos show put on every Thursday afternoon near the salad bar,
Quiet enough not to disturb the guests but just enough to give a nice background noise to their chewing,
Oh no, no, no.
 
This was jazz.