Crowded rooms
Are the emptiest places
For rebels and outcasts.

I loved love
Instead of you
When I was younger

Is this not all
We can do?

I have helped to taint
And destroy
The word
That should never even
Be uttered

It's definition
Should have existed
Been screamed out
Been whispered
Through our touch
Through our eyes
And not mumbled
As our clothes fell off
With the skilled recklessness
Of each others' hands

The illusion of love
Was created
That very night
And I longed
The way you did
Every night after

How I wish
I had never loved love
And whispered it to you
For It to hear
How I wish
I had instead loved you

i'll sit here alone
and try to decide which is heavier;
my eyelids or my heart.
and while I ponder this decision
even though tears fall from my hollow eyes
stinging my face like acid as they roll
and even though my hands are wrapped
around my stomach so tightly,
they may actually sink through my skin
far enough to touch my spine
and even though these sobs that I'm heaving
as if the light in your smile depended on my lack of oxygen,
are gripping me so tightly, i almost forget what it's like to be able to
breathe.
I will use every last ounce of life in me
to shine a flashlight through my eyes,
so they look a little lighter,
and stitch up the corners of my mouth,
into something that will make you think I'm not dying
and every cell in my body will ******* when you fall for it.

I’m uncomfortable with a crowded room
partly because there’re so many personalities mashing into one
and too many conversations being held out of spite
i’m restless to the idea of meaningful small talk
because I truly do not believe in it’s existence
no one is happy to be here
and we’re all drowning our sadness
in different ways that no one would ever know
we're forcing ourselves to become one
and I will never understand

We all carry a concealed weapon
All have since we've been young
Sharp as a knife, used a lot in life
The weapon is the tongue

It has the power to cut you down
Bring you to your knees
Also strong enough to lift you up
Both it does with ease

Yes, it can lift you up
Or it can cut you down
The latter is done far to often
Stabbing at the slightest sound

The problem with this weapon
Is the lack of self control
It comes out slicing and dicing
As if backed against a wall

We even turn it on ourselves
And carve like we're abstract art
Leaving not a mark upon the flesh
But wounding deep the heart

I've talked of using it as a knife
But it also doubles as a gun
Firing from long distances
Beware the weapon in use...The Tongue