sometimes
i put on my earphones
and turn my music on
playing all the sad songs
that remind me of you
and i cry until i cannot
sometimes
i wish you'd just return
and love me once again

Anyone can be a slave to their own passions, only the brilliant ones release themselves

it's sad you can put your whole self into one person and they can throw you away like you never meant anything so you feel forced to dig for answers and sometimes you dig into your own skin with blades of regret and you don't cry because you're just seeing if you feel pain at all and guess what? you don't. you're completely numb to everything

1) For every great skyscraper, there are petty fingers that built them.
I wonder if we were made the same way.
They were strong enough to raise a hammer, but not enough to raise a family.
I wonder if we were made the same way.
She is cold, and he is drinking, and this is our backbone.
She is alone and he is driving home too fast because sometimes you don't have to be in the wrong place to be looking for the wrong thing.
She is afraid and he is warm, this is the beginning spark of a forrest fire filled with broken glass shattering in broken homes with broken people inside on a broken piece of land in a city that has too much rain for someone to build an emergency room in. Everyone with a burden holds their confessions in their left palm and their beggings in their right and no one ends up having enough arms to hold each other.
2) One day the whole world will be in your hands too, and you'll see that sometimes darkness can blind you worse than the red glare the sun paints your vision when you stare at it with your eyes closed.
You will be brave, you will stand up straight, you will stop being royal when people stop painting Jesus with a purple robe.
Even the concrete asks the sun to make it a garden so try cracking your knuckles a little louder and maybe you will wake up as a mountain.
3) Autumn. When you wrote secrets on notebook paper and taped them underneath benches in the city park, you gave too many pieces of yourself to things that weren't made for holding that much weight.
But you said it kept you honest and there were never any reasons for me to ask you to stop giving away the parts of you I wanted to myself. It kept me humble.
4) I am alone
5) You are October in a green dress with a black mask around your eyes and you have stolen the breathe of that day. And I hope when you are 80 years old you feel a breeze sliding on the back of your neck reminding yourself of all the times it should have snapped in half during the moments of what should have been your hanging, how it takes you back to living life like you're always in the desert and stealing innocent people's money and smoking cigarettes beside rattlesnakes.
I hope you find a beach in the Caribbean that asks to be died on, I hope you learn to forgive people harder than you can cry on their shoulder. I hope you watch a sunrise that you spend the rest of your life thinking about. I feel like for that to happen you need your feet in the ocean or underneath a rocking chair, but I would settle for your bedroom.
6) But with you it was never settling.

When we were born, we were asleep.
We may have been ******, and wet, and afraid, but we were asleep.
So we were miracles.
We walked without sight and we learned how to touch each other.
Slowly, like olive oil pouring from an open wound.

And we opened our eyes.
We looked for something to pray to, we looked for something to turn carpetburn and ****** knees into
blessings, unaware that heaven is not so quick,
and demons are not so hesitant.
We built Summer with a love that could not last.
We grew shade, not emerging from us,
but shade from glass and brick and
the shade that was beside us did not seem so great.
And we gave names to bark, and water, and gravel, and seed, and grass, and it was good.
And a few years later we held out our hand and we touched flame, and we touched mineral, and we touched machine, and bullets, and even stars, until we became everything that we only knew from our skin and our vision and we became less than what we were supposed to be.
We rode the sun to our palaces.
We loved everything as if it was dark,
We loved everything the way you would love something that didn't want a reminder.
And we saw this as good.
And we wept for the things that are simple.
And we wept for the things that were not so simple until
our eyes became coasts and we did not stop weeping.
And then we learned to jump.

what is death?
is it good
or is it bad
most are scared
but not me
i would welcome death
with open arms
like and old friend
but not today my love
you hold me from him
you keep me alive
our love keeps me alive
with out you
i would be nothing
so i ask again what is death
is it torture
a lifetime without
your smile
your face
your voice
a night time
of nothing
blazing hot
or would
you be waiting
for me
siting and waiting
siting and waiting
in our own paridise
death
would be a doorway
one life
with you
for another

One cut
Two cuts
Three cuts
Four
Come on now
Whats just one more?
Four cuts
Five cuts
And lastly
Six
Nothing bad
Its just a nick
Seven cuts
Eight cuts
Nine cuts
Ten
I have missed this
I last did it... when?
Cuts and scars
Across her legs
One day
I think
I'll wind up
**Dead.