I understand that you were hurting.
I understand I helped you hurt yourself.
I'll understand if you never want to see me again,
but it will still **** me.

To all the people in love with the moon,
and to those who love the sound of the rain;
this one's for you:
We're one and the same.

Our story is amazing,
incredible;
fantastic.

But the truth is often messy,
raw,
and tragic.

I'm hoping we can build a bridge between the two.
(I still believe in Me and You.)

The truth can be real awful,
but our story is so grand,
and there's something to be said about idealism that only you could understand.

The past is far from dead.
We've zombies in our heads.
Though we try our best to stay present -
there are things we can't forget.

The future is a mystery,
but maybe we can solve this riddle.
Caught between dreams and reality;
come meet me in the middle.

You make me feel like
always dancing
always touching
always kissing

You make me feel like
always laughing
always singing
always leaning

You make me feel like
I am so close
to love.

the most self-destructive thing i have ever done
wasn't the red slashes on my arms
or my bruised knuckles and broken walls,
it was the moment i made someone my happiness
and my beacon of light.

Ba-***.
Ba-***.
Ba-***.
Ba-  CRACK

(hear that?
    
             my heart just broke.)


And- it's your fault.
All of you.
You hideous, gorgeous, creatures.

Everything you write
Makes me want to cry
Breaks my beating heart
Takes, and takes, and takes.

                         And then

Everything you write
Gives my heart hope
Lives in my soul.
Returns, returns, returns.

How can we do it?
How can we possibly do it?

Play god?
Give life!
Give death!
Take hope!
Take mourning!

Every day, we create tiny universes, pocket worlds, works of art.
Every day, we destroy the same.


Only one explanation.

**We must be mad!

We are the things that get swept under
rugs. A ***** mass that the world strives to keep
hidden. Flecks of skin and strands of hair. Toe nails. Trapped
in the carpet with the bodies of the bugs
of which we have been bitten.

Gaze not upon our swollen parts;
inflamed. Your eyes will entice us to spread
rashes. The forbidden always in our thoughts
like stubborn mattress stains.

We are the things that live in closed
closets. Tearing at the threads meant to keep you
sheathed. Disembodied torsos on wiry hooks. Scarves. Chewing
holes through the garments with worn-out teeth.

Chills will let you know we're near
as you toss and turn in bed. We are the shadows that
watch you while you sleep. Our goal is to fill you with fear.
Your soul is ours to reap.

People, you know, are like never-ending rainbows.
Nauseating colors and no pots of gold.

People, it seems, are like toxic streams.
Flowing endlessly with waters that you can't drink.

Like piles of so many strands of straw,
hiding golden pins underneath.
If I could find one I'd ***** my fingers and bleed
all over these troublesome docile stacks.
Light it on fire and turn them to ash.

People are like so many cigarettes in a pack -
always craving another even as your insides turn black.

And people, I swear,
they act like they care,
but when push comes to shove they all cower in fear.

So people, beware!
For I am not scared.
My strength comes from inside.
I'm self-aware!

And people (me too) know not what we do.
Spend our whole lives pursuing beliefs so untrue.

That's okay, people.
I forgive you.
And through your existential struggles,
I find you beautiful.