She smiles if you wave.
She hugs you if you lead.
She converses if you please.
She listens if you need.
Her grades don’t stray from perfect.
Her lips don’t mean to deceive.
Her hips leave them lusting.
Her morals make them grieve.
I hate her for the way she looks.
I hate all that she sees.
The perfect shape, the perfect mind,
The perfect she won’t be.
The perfect way she scrutinizes
Her every living inch,
The perfect way she battles with
Each poke and **** and pinch.
The perfect way she blocks it out,
The perfect way she bleeds,
The perfect way she chills the swollen heart,
Not which she heeds.
The perfect way she fakes it,
The carelessness and breeze,
The perfect way she keeps alone
In all her growing ease.
I hate the way she stares at me.
I hate those eyes of tin.
I hate the way they lose their sight
When ***** starts to spin.
I hate the way she knows I feel
But let her judgments be.
I hate that **** reflection
When its searing straight through me.

trust** (verb):
the action of placing faith, belief, and confidence in another;
something I don’t do anymore

truth (noun):
a statement that corresponds with what is factual or certain;
something no one tells anymore

love (noun):
very strong feelings of affection toward another;
a lie that I don’t believe in anymore –
how they get you to give them everything,
you and your life and your heart,
and you’re completely okay with doing that because you think they are doing the same;
a game; an illusion I don’t look for anymore

love (verb):
to make a commitment to someone;
to give your heart completely and unconditionally;
something I avoid admitting, because if I do,
I can no longer protect my heart from the crushing boulder
that’s taken refuge in my chest for the last year

to be myself:
to simply void myself of emotion;
to distract myself with work when I can’t numb myself anymore

All I ever wanted was the truth,
But no one tells that anymore.
So, with what miniscule amount of faith I have left -
In any kind of god, but especially humanity -
All I can really do is try to believe in myself,
Wake up every day, hoping to feel a little bit better than the one before.
Because letting people in is the equivalent to losing control.
When you do it,
You just end up dying before you're actually dead.
And I got sick of being dead.

A daydream.
To sink the blade into angry, red flesh,
To burst every capillary and spill every vein,
To sever every artery and tear away the nerve
Straight to bone
Until the feeling is gone.

But this time
I'm ****** enough to use my sword for defense
And not for self-destruction.

The past is young, arrogant, and naive.
Anger cures what the gullible believe.
Truth betrays, but lies deceive.
Isolation framed by the mask I weave.

Tell me,
Would she be smiling if she knew
Where your hand wanted to venture?

Tell me,
Would she be happy to know
How close your fingertips came?

Tell me,
Would her eyes brighten at the fact
That had I not awoken from sleep…
(I cringe at the mere thought.)?

Tell me,
Would she approve
Of the words that journey from your lips?

Tell me,
Would she still love you if she saw
The movement of your hips?

Tell me,
Would she cry
Knowing what people like you get away with?

Your touch is the stench of a decaying carcass.
You disgust me.
What did you do to deserve happiness?

No one can hear a cry for help
When it doesn't have a sound.

No one can see a tear chill the skin
When it never falls.

No one can grasp a trembling hand
When it never reaches out.

No one can embrace a life
When it never opens up.