i finally get to feel your touch
the knife through my heart wasn't what i was expecting,
but it'll suffice

my blood turns to ribbons on ice, and
i'm crying

you've ruined me, and i love you so much

i am a wicked thing, filled to the brim with you, and
every time you're near i pour
out the emptiness

you're killing me, but i can't stop smiling

god won't **** me and you want me dying

Life's become a lot like laying down... Laying down not because I'm sleepy  or exhausted, but because I'm tired in a way that's quite different from the norm.

I lay down, and everything seems to fade into obscurity. The light is hazed, and the background of my white ceiling is shadowed by my second sun.

This state, this sort of stasis, doesn't end when I have to get up. Everything is endless, and I don't know when I'll feel something. Days go by and all end the same.

It's like I've fallen down a rabbit hole, and I haven't hit the ground. My voice is weary from screaming and my eyes have gone dry. Every day I fall deeper and deeper, yet I haven't hit the bottom.

I'm tired of waiting. My life's always been about waiting. Waiting for love, for happiness, for success. I'm not waiting to hit the ground anymore. I'm just being. I am, I am, I am. I am tired.

While I've been spiraling into demise, I've realized a lot of things. Being stuck in this oblivious life gives me a lot of time to think and reflect. This way of living makes a mirror of a man. I no longer see only one shade of gray, although I would like to see some color.

I've been trying to change, I've been trying to live, and be happy. I've been blessed with beautiful people that care for me, but this is my battle, and I don't know when it's going to end. And it's not going to end with me having waited.

I can tell you the world is wrong. Good things don't come to those who wait. I have been waiting years, and the only good thing I've gotten was wisdom. Not the kind that comes from a spiritual awakening. The type of wisdom you get from being beaten by the world and surviving.

Now, I'm no starving child, but I might as well be dead.

I can't seem to live outside my head.

This fall is infinite, and I won't wait for the end.

This isn't about you anymore.

          I'm starting to see a pattern. It's kind of like, staring at the tiled wall in the shower. You want to slip and fall, maybe break your head, but you can't seem to stop looking at the wall. The art.

             The faces and the places on the wall, they talk and breathe, and the more you see, the more you know. And the more you see, the more you want to know, but it all seems to stretch out into nothingness. Everything blurs together, and the more you know, you find you actually know nothing at all.

          That's where I'm coming from, I've always known where I was coming from, but I have never known where I was going. This isn't about you anymore. I've come to realize that my life is a lot like that wall. Winding and endless, like if Satan was a snake and he made a home around my neck. Coiled tight enough to make me see stars in your eyes, but loose enough to make my head pound with pain.

              So it's all about me, and I'm endless. I'm sad and I'm tired, and I have no answers, and I'm all alone. I know that I'll have to keep going, but I also know that I think I'm going to leave you behind. This isn't about you anymore. I'll take my heart back and leave it for someone more special - maybe my dog or my best friend, Carolina.

      I think they'll take better care of it, and I can focus on what really matters: living a life that doesn't involve drowning. Drowning in thoughts, drowning in tears, drowning in possibilities. I think I've had enough of that.

I think I can swim.

I don't quite know where the lightswitch is, but I know that the dark is much more friendly.
    
      Sometimes I dance with a ribbon lacing my body, and it feels like the last day. The string gets tighter and tighter,

and I am cut into a million pieces, but it's so dark. So have I really fallen apart?

          In the dark, all sounds the same, and the whispers.  Yes, the whispers. They're hushed and urgent. Like water rushing into my lungs, they take root, and evaporate.

              I've been going up, up, up

and I still haven't see light.

i've cried a thousand times.

you hold the gun in your hands,
but you can't look me in the eye.

red is all we are

a pair of strangers caught in between
nothing and everything

hopefully the wounds
can bleed me out

your eyes are hollow
and your mouth is set

you don't seem to notice
your heart leaking out of your chest

and the trail of blood is miles long
snaking past years of agony

that you dare not tread on

I take your heart and hold it out to you

you are not mine and you never were
my hands are singed by the holiness of your essence

but the pain is numb to me and you are all I feel

take this from me
I don't want it

your name breaks hearts upon my lips and
I am too weak to carry the empty love

my paper spine breaks at each end
though I had already collapsed

i've killed myself and
i haven't even loved you yet