I have scars and yeah
They all have their stories
Written scripts to heavy plays
With plot lines I can't share yet
So my mind's like an
Alberta rainy day
A longer expanse like a
Damp plateau or plain
Emotional highs are climbing like
A mountain range ready to drop from
This complex to extremes
But we can have happy moments
Without really being there
We all have our issues
And we work just to clear air
We all deal with them ourselves
Always in different ways
What's yours isn't mine, with
The dealings that words couldn't say
Like the heart's a grenade and
The pin can be a million subtle things
And the only broken heart I've had was
My fault with all my hopes and dreams
With built up emotions when I spared
Myself no lack of idealism
And if they say that drunk words
Are really just sober thoughts
Then in this life there's no place for
An inebriated heart
And while there's bruises on my back
From leaving problems out behind
I wouldn't accept any less than
Your scars and story lines
Because we're one of a kind with
The way that our mind would
Work through the times
And through writing and music
With George Watsky super verses
I've found my singular disability is
Over-thinking where my place is
But it's about time now
Where I'd work up to let go
'Cause I'm the only one to let down
When success is measured in gallons
So I put down the jugs and then
Expectations are the only
Exponential problems
And I know that I'll be fine

Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,
  Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers,
Pass’d o’er thy head; many light hearts and wings,
  Which now are dead, lodg’d in thy living bowers.

And still a new succession sings and flies;
  Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot
Towards the old and still enduring skies,
  While the low violet thrives at their root.

But thou beneath the sad and heavy line
  Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark;
Where not so much as dreams of light may shine,
  Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark.

And yet—as if some deep hate and dissent,
  Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee,
Were still alive—thou dost great storms resent
  Before they come, and know’st how near they be.

Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath
  Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease;
But this thy strange resentment after death
  Means only those who broke—in life—thy peace.

if you just like to hear me cry

its fine my dear

cause i quite like the taste

of my own tears

but unfortunately all this salt

has dried me out

and i only know to seek refuge

in your mouth

so please excuse the distance

and ignore my apologies

because all i knew was to love you

all i wanted was to please

and you were different

im unsure of what it is you seek

just know im out of tears now

and im not what you need

Augusten Burroghs once said,
"I, myself am entirely made of flaws,
Stitched together with good intentions."
He must feel just like me;
Paper fingers and wire joints,
A head stuffed full with cotton,
A doll on display for the world to
see, touch, and pity.
My mother tried all too hard,
she really did.

There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.

Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.

His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.

There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That's lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.

Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.

White is the color of its skin
Black is the heart that lies within
Blue are the veins showing through
Red is the blood it takes from you
Yellow are the eyes shining in the light
Green is the envy of you tonight
Gray is the night’s big full moon
And clear are its intentions with you soon