hobbies: hyperventilating on the bathroom floor, writing poetry for a boy who doesn't care, drinking whiskey for breakfast

fall asleep on the train tracks with me

some girls will leave fingerprints on your skin that'll wash off over time. I leave gashes in your sanity that will never go away

in the light her finger tips felt like silk but at night they felt like cigarette burns

I woke up, not in a panic this time. I dreamt of pavement grazing upon my back and it took me a while to notice the headlights coming my way

everyone's in love with forests and forest fires but I'm just the gasoline and piles of sticks, you're the match

the candlelight flickers shadows on the wall of the one night you and him danced for hours and laughed all the way to sunrise

lay with me in the middle of the street until the cars headlights make your face glisten and your eyes sparkle

you started to paint a lovely picture of the sunset but never got around to finishing it; and that is a metaphor for how our love was

You just stood there as I picked shards of you out of my lungs.

do your curtains and bedroom walls still whisper my name, or did hers overlap mine

I never used to mind being alone until the sheets started whispering things you used to say to me.

the wind howls,
but I swear it whispers your name too

hope these pills make my dreams seem less like nightmares and more like my body sinking into the ground

ash your cigarette in my hands
I'm nothing but dirt anyway

I'm screaming so loudly because the thoughts in my head are starting to sound like sirens

he wrote sentences about your eyes but all he ever seen was the glares you gave him in the halls

counting how many knives are lodged deep into my spine

I treated you like gold while the rest treated you like you weren't even worth words made into verses

You picked up the receiver but instead of her voice you heard the wind howling her funeral song.

you always did feel best when you were submerged under water

I think I will always write about you, because if I stop, that's the day I stop writing completely

this is not a pen anymore, this is pure blood from my veins
and this isn't paper, it's your bedroom wall

**** me in an old abandoned house in the middle of winter,
show me that even in the cold you can feel warmth

her fingertips danced down your neck and onto your chest and you're telling me you couldn't feel her rip your heart out with her bare hands?

her bones still have your name carved into them, sometimes she runs over them with her fingertips

you were a slight figure in the
background, sitting alone at a table
you looked sad and beautiful

i have lies hidden under my tongue
don't kiss me

my mind holds things that'll bring you to tears
don't try to get inside my head

my heart is black and cold
don't rip it out of my chest to warm it up

my chest heaves whispers mumbling for you to never leave
don't lay on my chest

leave bruises on my skin like I'm your work of art and your piece is going up in an art gallery

I thought I knew what real pain felt like,
but I didn't until I saw the way you looked at her
and the way your face lit up

I was once your home, but my fear tore the roof apart and you were left getting flooded by my tears

when I die, swallow my ashes, I want to live inside of you