I'm sorry for freaking out yesterday.
I just never have had my heartbroken before.
I think the hardest part about this **** is that I see you ******* everywhere.
Your smile is captured in the moon and the way your lips glisten in its light are like stars.
Your hair smells like rain an flows like the waterfalls that come after the storm!
Your eyes drown the sun in oceans but it still burns with just as much intensity!
Your laughter matches the birds song every morning and I always think something's funny but nothing is because when I realize it's not you
I shoo the birds away....
You broke my ******* heart
But that's okay.
That's okay
Cause this is the first time and it sure as hell won't be the last!
So while it's in all these pieces, I'm giving them away like oprah because YOU GET A PIECE
YOU GET A PIECE
YOU GET A PIECE
WE ALL GET A PIECE
because I'm a lover and there's enough to go round
I'm a protector
So you know you'll be safe and sound
I'm a feeler so you know I'm not ******* around
I'm ******* this town cause I'm done with all of this clowning around
Be still
Stay there
Don't you dare move
Cause I'm about to walk away
And I want you to watch
Because as hard as it is for me
And as easy as it was for you
You're the one that's missing the **** out.

I smoked my last cigarette today and boy did it taste just like all the others.
It tasted Like 8 minutes by yourself
Like the last thing you do before you go inside every night
Like short conversations
Like the cold air you force yourself into
when winters lingers like the smoke on your fingertips.
Like the **** you have to take afterwards
Like the ashy kisses we force onto our loved ones
Like burned upholstery in our cars
Like forcing a deep breath
Like headaches
Like nausea
Like all the ******* reason I used to justify the socially accepted suicide we sell in our gas station!
Like stress
Like sadsness
Like temporary relief
And Like permanent destruction
It tasted,
Like the color black.

I smoked my last cigarette today
And boy,
Did it taste just like the rest.

One time a friend came over and she showed me her poetry.
She had two notebooks.
one for positive writing
and one for negative.
The negative notebook had a gratuitous amount of writing in it compared to the positive one.
She told me that when the negative notebook gets full she was going to **** herself.
There were six pages left.
I tore the last one out and said,
"well, now it will never be full."
I still have that blank page,

I want you to punch me in the face as many times as You can without hurting yourself...
I don't want to hurt you, I just want to have a reason to feel the way I do.
I feel beat.
Beaten...whichever.
I am.
I lost to myself, which is a kind of funny story but It's not funny at all. I'm ******* crazy I'm ******* insane, I'm ******* hilarious,
I'm ******* sick and tired of the day to day stress trying to turn me into a diamond in 30 minutes or less!
You can't make beauty that quick.
I don't know what brought me here.
I don't know what will take me home.
I don't know where my home is!
I once heard that home is where you're heart is.
But I don't have one of those either! It was ripped from me, broken in two and made into a cheap friendship bracelets given to two girls who would later lose them and each other.

Wake up
Wake the **** up!
Resurrect your bones from the piles
Of ash and resin that make up the weekdays
Weak days are some days
Sunday's are when's day
Wednesday is today
And Tuesday I'm sleeping in.

When I rise
I'll slump into my costume
And try my best to illustrate a smile
That's a mile long
So I can coast on my makeshift happiness
For just a minute longer
Until I need to bust out the crayons
And start drawing again

I smoke my last cigarette in a parking lot
all the way down to the filter.
That final exhale brings the worry and fear of when my next breath of hot air will be.
I am dependent.
I am dependent on open arms to catch me when my fall comes to an end,
I am dependent on the smiles that dance around me to let me know that now is a good time,
I am dependent on the tears that streak faster than my blood when all i want is to spill it all on the floor,
I am dependent on the knowledge of others to throw my mistakes at me like fastballs, I’m hoping for a home run but i took a bean and walked to first and never made it home because i’ve never had a home plate…
my life isn’t shaped like a ******* diamond.

There’s a man that sits on a bench.
He has his small notebook that he cast his thoughts into like a fishing line.
He’s trying to catch all the reasons he’s ******* up so he can gut them into chum, lure sharks and jump in with them because he know they won’t eat something that is already dead.

There’s a man that sits on a bench.
he has his small notebook that he hides his secrety into.
It’s no vault, but he keeps it close to his chest, clutched by the undying insecurity that someone might sneak in.
He would lock it inside his ribcage but he can’t remember who he gave the key to…

There’s a man that sits on a bench.
He has his small notebook that he paints his mind onto.
He has his black pen, it is his brush.
He narrates the paintings artists haven’t made yet,
puts meaning behind his dreams and makes sculptures out of his pain, chiseled away with the positivity that he could turn something ugly, beautiful.

There is a man that sits on a bench.
He closes his notebook.
He gets up, and he stretches his limbs.
He walks away, wondering
what will i write next.