My teacher once said
That protagonists of novels
Are teenagers in a sense.
Commonly.

These characters are new to life,
But not brand new.
They take chances that wisers
Might not.

They steal things,
Have ***,
Feel hope.
Adults do not.

We all want to read about teenagers
Because teenagers remind us
That life can have a bright outcome
If your teen years set it up properly.

We throw our lives away,
Then spend the rest of it
Reading novels
*Wishing that we didn't.

i bet even after all this time
that if my chest were to
ache with emptiness enough
like it used to i could go to your house
and find the outline of our bodies
on your dark blue bed sheets
i have spent the last year
both trying to run from you
and find you at the same time
but i left everything i knew
about falling in love
on that mattress and
it's still settling there
like dust and
all i can do is write about you
until it comes back to me,
or by some kind of miracle,
you decide to.

I am the best at making mountains out of mole hills.
I rip my ideas up and start fresh, but in the end nothing works.
Maybe I should follow my friends path and sell pills.
Or maybe rob some poor grocery store clerk.
I bet I could outrun the cops.
Maybe I'll go live on one of those mountains I made.

I am an unhealthy person.
I have an unhealthy mind.
It searches for ways to cope with things,
Ways I know you wouldn't find.
It thinks of needles, lighters and blisters,
Of bite marks and bruises and hating my sister.
It thinks of benches and doorsteps and two **** soft beds,
It thinks of that kitchen, that grass hill and when the moon turned red.

I have an unhealthy person.
I am an unhealthy mind.
Together I make a combination
Of the likes you would never find.

Memnoch,
My Devil,
I don't know what to do.

You speak of lies,
You speak of life,
And I know you speak of truths.