You're a sad kid to have all the answers but put them to waste.
You know what to do but fear to do them.
You'd much rather not have the answers and take life as a surprise but unfortunately life wont intend it. So you fake the smile that hides the fear to answer the question,
"Are we gona do this or what?"
Until that question pends for so long and all chances to move forward are lost.

It happens like this.

"One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else--closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel--one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them--even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering--the reason for their presence will become clear in due time."

Though here is a word of warning--you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

-------------------------------------------------

It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me.
That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.

I am told don't be loud, don't ever be angry, don't be outspoken.
I am told be soft, be calm, be quiet.
But I am a wildfire, I burn, I ravage.
I cannot, no, I will not be just a contained, flickering flame.
I refuse to be smothered, I refuse to be put out.
Though I may incinerate, might leave things scorched and blackened, I am also light, I am incandescent, I am effervescent.
And so I will set things aflame, watch me ignite.
This is who I am.
I am a wildfire.
And I shall burn.

These words that stay trapped inside my head
As I gnaw at my tongue
Preventing the painfully true "I think I love you" from escaping.
My fears of rejection causing palpations of my heart
Rippling through my veins
Tearing at my lungs
Until I wish to force a knife through my throat.
My thoughts walk through my mind with a killing smile
Sensing discordant anxiety roaring through my chest
Until I am a quivering shadow of emptiness.
What is my purpose in this god forsaken, cruel world?
Within my head, thoughts of suicide echo off the once joyful now turned to black memoires
Of the times I could truly smile.
It's not that I want to die
Its just that my depression eats at my body
Destroying me from the inaide
Until now I can no longer take it and suicide...
Yes! Dreaded suicide has become my only other option
As I no longer can see myself living this intoxicated lidfe
Which drains the heart and soul out of me.
For you see I am a mere human who has lost herself to the bitterness
And your sympathy and words of "its not your fault" make me believe otherwise.
I'm already dead!
Trapped in a shadowy figure of a girl you all think you know.
Beaten down until the point of unbearable decision and pain.
Suicide is my only option.
Its not that I wanted to die, but I can no longer live!

It turns me on to see you turned on.
I love the way you look turned on,
peaceful yet chaotic,
all in one.
Your body tense as my hands wander along every curve,
your toes curled up in my sheets urging me to go forth,
your face smothered in my pillow to silent your screams,
your legs spread wide open,
wet,
welcoming me in.

I need you out of my head and in my bed

There are some places that can't be touched and there are some places that can't be kissed and there are some places that need to be kissed and some of those places haven't been discovered. I'm a handbook. *** is like drivers ed. Am I crying, or shaking from pleasure? *****. Sometimes hands are there that aren't really. Sometimes fare fine linen fingers feel like brown bony paws that don't listen to "let go".
**** me. Even when my eyes get glossy and you're wondering if I'm still there. I'm there. Grab me. *** isn't always this way.

Sometimes I'm in charge, but it isn't freaky. Don't call me a freak, call me lovely. I can **** **** ****, but don't whisper that it's *****; it isn't "*****". Sweating and running make-up. Heavy breathing. Wheres my body, wheres my mind? Don't call it nasty. It's not "nasty". Grabbing, groping, grinding; it isn't lewd. Don't call me a ****.
Touch me and remind me that I'm pleasing. Touch me and remind me that there's only me. Touch me and enjoy it. Enjoy me.
I want the lights on. I want the lights off. I want you you you.

*** isn't always this way; sometimes I'm in charge.