I offered you my time and You shat on it...I hope one day when the high finally fades, you realize what I meant to you and as you look through the shattered pieces of what was once a good bond, I hope you find a reminder of who you used to be,before your cup was filled to the brim and your pride just became too much to swallow.
Who you were before you started needing compliments to feed your ego ,
Before the world only became tolerable to you through a designer drug haze.
You used to be a person before you crowned yourself Queen,
High on your throne where no man could hurt you again.
You figured a Queen without a heart would put you on deck and have you sailing to paradise.
Forgetting you had to carry all your luggage, including yourself.
Feelings have no escape, and if you succeed in escaping love , you still find hate.
It's a foreign word to my tongue
Even though you made me a sidekick and then kicked me aside
I could never hate.
I let you sleep on me but now I'm awake.
You swore to yourself you would never cry, A thought that left not only your eyes but your soul dry.
It's okay to cry
The thing about tears is ,the world becomes blurry momentarily, but at the same time you never see a picture as clear.
Maybe that's why you won't shed a tear, because you are too afraid to look at the canvas you let everyone but yourself paint.
Scared that it won't come out as perfect as you envisioned.
Maybe that's why you had to let me go, because I wasn't the right shade to be put in such a picture.
For what it's worth, you'll always be on my canvas, as a permanent mark, a delicate part of the picture that could not be completed because of its nature...
I guess it took its toll,
Nature that is.
And when the wind blew in our direction the branch we shared wasn't enough to hold us together.
So I let go, this leaf took leave.
I hope your social stature is enough to keep you afloat.
And my final words?
Save yourself.
This is the end, and I hope you are happy.

The sun sets and darkness rises
Midnight is upon us
Shadows are no longer
They too have fled in fear of what is to come
Angel faced demons take their true form
Bed nor closet do they reside.
Monsters are among us
Monsters are us.

Only then, when the clock strikes
Are the true tales told.
Of how beauty killed the beast
And how beauty was the beast.

You see, Mankind is a myth, and so is humanity.
A myth told to us to make us believe that we are superior.
To make us forget,
That princes become frogs
Princesses become servants
Glass slippers shatter,
And they draw blood.

Do you know how it feels like to have a stomach that can only survive on intimacy and nothing else?
To be prodded to love all the things that touch your skin whilst simultaneously not being
allowed or able to tell the difference between the things that love you and the things that want to leave you barren?
How it feels like to see the solemnity and grandeur of an omnipotence within all the sinless intentions of the skin cells that you'll never be allowed to hold?
Well...
It feels a lot like the romanticization of an eating disorder.

Sometimes you fall in love and then begin to forget how your organs are supposed to behave.
You look in the mirror and realize that you're still thinking about someone else when you're
Analyzing your own body.
You clutch at your own skin,
your arms,
your hair,
your throat,
and begin to try and disassemble a mind that does not want to be associated with the body that it is working in.
Before you know it,
Every time you cross the mirror you clutch more and more parts of yourself and wish that they would not feel better in somebody else's hands besides your own.
You're getting thinner everyday,
you're losing sleep
you're forgetting how to breathe,
And somewhere,
out there,
There is a boy in a place far away,
giving to someone else what you are about to be killed
without.

You realize that you turn your own bed into an ocean everytime you think about his face.
You feel the hydration of the salt water from everywhere around you,
tickling into your senses and diffusing into your nose,
but you do not taste it.
Only sense it.
You're grabbing the sheets desperately.
Holding them onto your chest, covering up your shaking body, and
almost certainly forgetting the difference between imagining the embrace of somebody who does not love you and drowning alone inside of your own bed.
You look for a lifeboat in the form of a thought that has no relation to love or association to the idea of affection.
You're hoping to find a distraction that will either save you from your peril or help you breathe in a way where you can still be conscious when there is water inside of your lungs.
You're beginning to see dark shapes and figures and all of them are sprouted by the idea
of just having a little taste of the very thing that's about to drown you.
All of the dark figures are in the shape of your face,
And nobody is here to save you.
You begin to sink,
And sink,
And sink,
and sink
and...

You are empty when you wake up.
Your chest is not an *****,
but you find it funny that when it feels empty,
your stomach also wishes to feel the same way.

So you make sure it does,
Whilst yearning for a meal that does not wish to be consumed by you.

That is the only meal,
that you will never stop craving for.

Hello, how are you doing?
I'd like to ask you,
And maybe one day when I find the courage and my fear of rejection doesn't overpower the will I have to speak,
I will.
I would walk straight up to you and say,"I'd like to get to know you, and I don't mean to be cocky but it would be worth your while if you got to know me too."
Call me cheesy or whatever but some of my sweetest thoughts are of you
I like to think of all the things I could do
with you,
For you
To you.
And if you could spend a day in my head you would make it your home.
All the attention, all these intentions towards you.
I've never experienced love like a love song or a movie,
But ****** I know if you gave me the chance I could give it.
No, I don't love you
I don't need you
I'm not even sure I like you,
But I want to.
Won't you let me get to know you?
Maybe I don't know much, but I know I'm heavily attracted to us.
Your existence next to mine is poetry and even the absence of words could not stop us from writing it.
Heavily bound, even silence has a sound,
Lord knows how much I like to have you around.

Hello, how are you doing?
I'd like to ask you,
And maybe one day when I find the courage and my fear of rejection doesn't overpower the will I have to speak,
I will...

And what you'll find is, your highness
Can paint a picture that is vivid enough to cure blindness
                                                       ­        - J. Cole, January 28th*


And because they have never before seen a naked soul,
they ask me
if I am being deliberately provocative
with my pen.

And then I paint.

So that they too can undress
that mental amnion that has cocooned them
since birth; which itself became still-born
as it was followed by an undying funeral
of parental expectations.

And then I paint.

So that they too can reclaim
that aborted clay and mould their burial
into gestation, and shatter
their amnion coffins
from the asphyxiating breath of non-existence
to the respiratory lust of Being.

And then I paint.

So that I too can remember
that I am they. A victim
******* into the darkness of lost light,
dreams deferred at birth;
who still focuses his pen on this canvas
to cure his own blindness, to see
and paint his naked soul before me,

which we then call Life.

You weren’t worth the
Hundred dollars it cost to
Keep you in my car. 
Princess got poached by the
League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals.

I’d spit venom in your direction, if 
Poison meant anything to you. But
Akin to most things, so sub-human,
You miss the world moving around your
Ever pulsating veins, and repel these
Toxins with a slip of the tongue.

Around you I could line
Bodies of those you’d loved and left.
Each clasping hands with one another,
Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can
Deal out. And

In the center of the circle you’d
Stare, stunned by your state of
Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned
For the safety of your
Rotting consciousness.

One by one, I could set these men
On fire, and hand you a place 
Where your head could be danced off.
Drunken and diving heart-first into
The burning lake of a 
Surfable crowd. Since that’s
All we are, serfs.

I hope the fire gets too close to your
Gorgeous face. I hope the
Love you receive is no more likable
Than a few more licks from the flames.
The scars couldn’t sideline you.
No one can stop ****.

It was startling - this pessimistic world,
I opened the window, a storm raged,
attic whipped windy cobwebs,
scurrying spiders slid under debris,
and cracks appeared in her flesh,
where red oozed, yelling its escape,
collar bone protruding, thin layers fading,
wine trickled from blue corners,
knuckles scraped. I heard their drag,
whilst fibres caught up in nails,
burrowing beneath red lacquer,
snagging....scraping their terminus