Blanket state
Sun rise, sun set, sun daze
Wide eye glimmer maw
Go swallow the sky whole
And trickle tar . . .
Over Death’s mongrel bone.

terrible night of blurred arguments
young and reckless
my words hurt you like silver bullets
passing through your chest
this is just one of those nights
where I recall the wounded past

you used to call me your angel
yet I took the halo for granted
you told me I was your happiness
yet I turned them into sorrow

two years flew
the same question still lingers around my mind
I really did love you
you made me the happiest, I swear
I never wanted to put you through that pain
but why did I?
I bet you're happy now, with her
I bet you think I moved on

you have no idea
it takes everything in me not to reach you
you have no idea
I regret hurting you
but they say never regret anything
because at one time it was what you wanted
so its probably better off that way

and here I am admitting
that you are my best guilt

when
simple praises
difficult
it is because
to deep
and typical
it is flawed.
it sees itself
caught between
naught and bolt.
it would concern
if it did not
sault.
complex would
eventually jolt
the pressure is too
haught.

i.
when will my hopes
become existent enough to pour out
                       words of sincerity  
to speak of a genuine warmth filling my chest
instead of the lines full of teenage angst
and the desperate cries of prisoners inside me
                       who are trying to escape
all I can think of are cliché sayings
that tell of gloomy times
occasionally ending with half-hearted
                       attempts at optimism
does that please them?

ii.
I give enough of myself away
that I am kept from prevailing
but keep enough behind my dialated pupils
                       and shaky hands
to never be trodden on or crushed to dust
I sometimes murmur the thoughts that
                       clamor my mind
but barely above a whisper because they will be misunderstood

iii.
reflections hit me seemingly everywhere I turn
the images on the water’s surface
the gaunt faces that stare back at me in the
                       broken glass
when I look into my sister’s eyes they
                       slap me in the face  
these are the many people I used to be

iv.
I want to be that person
that soul
who filled me to the brim
                       when I was shaking remains of
                       mulch out of my scuffed up sneakers
and running off to seek boundless amounts
                       of a word that never escapes my mouth anymore
I don’t want to be known for
spewing out pink pieces of pathetic misery
                       onto the white carpet
No one truly wants a sad girl
the reality is that they are not mysterious and full
                       of dark beauty
at least I am not

v.
I carry an expertise
of driving myself into a dark hole
making it powerful enough to either
                    drag others in or ****** them out
someone gets hurt either way  
I leave the classic images of sorrow
                    and dark-lined eyes
for my own destiny
I consist of burrowing under my covers
Laying unconscious until the sun disappears from my view