My mom found a box in our garage that was chalked full of my past.
Isn't it kinda funny reminiscing on things you thought that were meant to last?

I sacrificed so much and gave everything I have, only to realize that in the end, it's all smoke and ash.

A whirlwind of strange
I've never spoken like this
And had someone know it like you do

I could fall in love with you
From your letters alone

Finally
Someone is speaking my language

My beautiful, terrifying, secret
Language

I've had this cloud of thoughts
Not fully assembled
Yet you see it all at once
So orchestrate the symphony

You know I will not yell it
So you try to translate
Like a childish game of telephone
Where the meaning dissipates

But I don't always mind,

As long as you are
Speaking my language

The girl cried, "Wolf!"
But nobody came.
So the girl cried, "Wolf!"
Again, and again.

Into the dark, into the flame
She met with the wolf
Again, and again.

She ran, and she ran
But they stood still the same
The girl cried, "Wolf!"
And nobody came.

When I think about the way I let you feel me
And how you hurt me like they said you could
How you left in the moments they warned you would

I kick myself for the secrets I told you
When I held your hand
Standing under streetlights
When we weren't supposed to

So now im supposed to forget you?

You're a stamp on my back
I remember you when I take off all of my clothes
You're stained into certain street corners, certain weather

You always liked me better without glasses
Perhaps you knew of their rosey color
Well, I see now what you wanted me to be
Which was actually what you always were to me,

A persona.
Nothing but a persona.

You made me feel like a beautiful, brooding girl. You made me feel like you were falling in love with me. The star of some documentary: The Most Interesting Girl in the World.


I loved the way I looked in the reflection of your very dark eyes
How you made me into some untold mystery

Sometimes the temptation to succumb to you is far too strong for me to bare.

I long to feel some sense of numbing and I know that caving into you will accomplish just that.

Then I face the harsh reality that at some point I will have to suffer.

Rather it now or later, I will have to open myself to that hurt and heal.

We have a thousand poems for
Every one of your bombs.
With each act of bloodthirst
And slaughter, we respond with
The force of volumes on peace.

Heaven; a holier word than Hell.
One birth overshines a
Hundred deaths.
Cowards wound.
Heroes heal.

Poets create. You cause
A thousand tears with every bullet.
Well, we compose oceans of comfort
In your wake.
Our ink overpowers your lead.

We have a thousand poems
For every one of your bombs.
You are the bringers of death to
The flesh. We are the armour
Of the soul.

Insomniac nights are so lonely and
Bizarre, with the medicine not working
Tossing and turning, half awake hallucinating
Sad and confused and fed up and bitter
Praying for sleep, or death, or relief
In the back of my mind wondering
If I'd ever fall asleep sad with you by my side

The deeper I bleed
The more at home I am

The more I feel
The less I become

Numbness

Simply feeling for the sake of existing
Is all I could ever know

Why do I even live?

I don't deserve my life,
Yet it's never been taken.

Perhaps it would be better if I said goodbye and bled myself dry

I'd love
love love
to wish
you a
happy valentine's
day
but I
hate
hate hate
the fact
you're
fictional