BUT IF EVERY SCAR TELLS A STORY I COULD WRITE YOU A ******* BOOK. GOD KNOWS YOU WOULDNT OPEN IT TO SEE WHATS IN SIDE. YOUD PRAY THE PAGES WOULD RIP THEMSELFS OUT BECAUSE ITS EASIER THAN ASKING IF IM OKAY. AM I OKAY?

You told me to write you a poem
I don't think you realized what I write
I told you " break my heart first"
I don't think I realized you already had
You told my countless times to be okay
I told you numberous times I try to be
I don't think you realize I want to die
I don't think I realized I *** dead already

But God, there's got to be a reason why you made the flowers start to wilt and the sun to dim just as much as the hearts and souls of young children began to rot.

But I don't care if in his eyes all he sees are forrest fires and the deep sea, I just want to be burning to ashes or maybe have an anchor around my neck

a world where people don't actually have hearts, the just have an ***** pumping blood and keeping them alive in which they have no feelings and walk around aimlessly without the despritiveness for another soul and in emptiness in their stomachs where butterflies should be

i haven't written in so long, because i'm truly happy and have no clue how to write about happiness..

the happiness overcame the painful side of me
the parts the even he couldn't fix had vanished