I'm an expert of this artifice,
A trickery, a disguise,
to let this mask remain
is a mental sacrifice.

I hide away every flaw,
taint my face with happiness,
it is a ruse
I over use, over abuse,
a bloodstream curse.

And so I keep them coming,
like my sanity isn't running,
I keep them there, under my nose,
won't let no one glimpse my woes

I puke smiles
but are they real?
I puke smiles
but is smiley how I feel?
Nobody willing to investigate,

I puke smiles
just to conceal,
I puke smiles;
they're your "happy" meal
and they're never up for debate.

The weapon you have,
symmetrical, is your face
a conversation passport,
a neon sign,
"Do not begin your speech,
go away,  leave me alone"

But the last thing you want,
and quite frankly,
the last thing you need
is to be by yourself,
where your mind can help you
to slice your pulsing wrists
into a hundred pieces,
and suddenly,
you're a bleeding mosaic,
but at least you look
happy and beautiful.

You puke smiles,
and they light up your face,
but if somebody were to stop you,
take you aside and say,
"I know you're not okay" ,
would you beg for a piece of space,
or would you let them stay?

You puke smiles,
so no one sees your petals fall,
no crutches to hold you up,
so by yourself, you make them believe
you can manage standing tall.

We all have our secret hideaways, we all have our cures, and our bandage solutions, and we all have addictions.

You will eat to fill the hollow kindly provided by someone who's left you lying in bed at night, wondering why you weren't good enough, or maybe even just enough, to make them stay.

We all carry earbuds...more like soulbuds. Hello music, goodbye world, goodbye sorrow. We all break down, no matter how hard we hide it, no matter how well we can disguise it...eyes can't lie, but they sure can act.

And we all try to bandage our wounds, though we're the worst doctors. I puke smiles, you puke smiles, we ALL puke smiles...

but no one's meant them for a while.

I am living, fighting,
some even say I am surviving,
but inside I'm dying,
inside it smells of death.

Where are my flowers?
Thorns now burst,
I've lost count of the hours
spent crying, wishing for death
and being teased endlessly by it,
only to be told death
had no room for me.

I've thought about scissors
in non-artistic ways,
I've discovered that paper is
not the only thing you can cut,
I've tried teaching my lungs to breathe
Father, they give up on me
and every breath stings,
But you specialize in rebirth,
so hand me a pair of new wings.

I'm tired of fighting,
I'm tired of this war,
I'm tired of wondering what
I am here for,
I'm tired of existing this way,
I'm tired of these chains
I wear everyday.

If I am a free temple,
then why do I feel encaged?
Encaged in my own mind
where light you won't find,
locked behind bars,
wishing on stars,
begging scars to disappear,
hoping nobody witnesses my tears.

Being love drunk... the feeling of you losing control, shaking and more shaking.
Losing all control, being aware of it, and begging for more. Smiling...but not just any smile..those goofy smiles they write about in novels.
Being love drunk...if things go your way, it would be purgatory, cleansing you from all those that had burne dyou before, cleansing way your scars without the salt but with the sky's stars. Your eyes will sparkle and you'll want to skip testing the waters with one foot - you'll want to dive, even if the consequence is death - at least you'll die happy.
If things don't go your way, your roses will still bloom, but you'll need to trim away the weeds, one tear at a time. One run by the ocean at a time.
One skip of "our song" at a time.

It hurts to stay,
but it hurts to leave,
and on paper,
the words find me,
the words that maybe
could put a name to
whatever we are,
because it is not "just friends"

We poke each other
too much to be "just friends",
your bag held my jacket
too long to be "just friends",
your hands stroked my hair
two times more than "just friends"

And whenever you say
"It's okay,"
my mind listens
because at that moment
when a wish and love
are in a perfect paste,
my mind feels okay...

So tell me why now,
whenever I speak your name,
my tongue burns,
oh tell me
when will you learn
that people are not games,
that if you keep pressing
the reset button,
a person might just vanish away...

You make me feel
like the most beautiful flower,
because it's always me
you pluck from the dirt,
it's always you that
trims away all my hurt...

But in your hands, I die
I've died a million times,
And I can't find
a drop of you in this ocean,
am I swimming on my own?
We're both sailors at sea,
but you're steering
this ship terribly,
I do not ship the
situation we're in,

How can love be fun,
when we're both conflicted,
our words restricted,
over-addicted to overthinking,
overtwisting every little thing,
until I am not sure
if I love you,
and you're not sure
if you want me...

But take it easy,
it's not like I'm in despair,
break me;
force a scalpel into my heart,
there's nothing of my own
that I haven't repaired,

I'm caught between
wanting to strip you
of your breath, and
wanting to keep you alive,
even if it'd result in my death.

I once knew a girl that I couldn't take home
We shared the same likes , hopes and dreams -
but we were doomed from the start
Fell in love for a young lady from Alabama ,
then we kissed , smiled and broke each others hearts* ...

Took a cherry blunt hit with yellowed fingers
The song writing sensibility lingered
Poured black coffee and wrote a tune on being comfortable at night
How a bad tooth kept me down
Teenage greasy haired full blown depression
Guitar in hand or within reach obsession
Chain smoking , acrid breath
Strumming through ashtrays to build a cigarette
Hiding in rooms
Scurrying away from crowds
Always the subject
Self medicated loner
Writing poetry then burning it
Having a friend then ruining it* ...