I will tell you this, my learned friend,
of worldly words I know not,
but common sense now there’s a thing
you will not learn from all your well read books.

I see that you are of hard cold heart
and your body lacks a bone that cares,
but a helping hand now there’s a thing
that you will never understand.

I can see you are a selfish man
and that your time is solely yours,
thoughts for others you would not spare,
and you turn your nose up at the poor.

I will tell you this as you look down
from your self appointed pedestal,
you are no better than the other man,
so be careful, it’s a long long way to fall*.

and i know i've told you this story a million times but ****, man, it hurts. it hurts knowing that i have no one left, that maybe i am that girl who ends up alone in the end. it hurts knowing i don't really fit in anywhere and that guy at school told me that everyone thinks i'm a stuck up ***** and i guess maybe he's right but it hurts it hurts it really ******* hurts. it's weird because i used to dream about being this broken because it would be good for my poetry but now i'm broken and my poetry's still ****. they're asking me where i wanted to go for university and the answer is hold on, do i even want to go to university can i stand another four years in four walls surrounded by people who don't give a **** about me? i've done it all my life and i'm losing my mind i really don't wanna go down that road anymore, you know? i've been sleeping a lot lately and i wake up when it's dark and that helps i guess the drugs help me sleep but it's getting harder to find the motivation to wake up every single day i push the clock a little further thinking maybe this is it maybe this is when it all ends if i just sleep a little longer. the nightmares. the nightmares, they don't get any better and i wake up in the dark and i wake up all alone and i scream. for you. for help. for God. at some point between praying to you and praying to God i start mixing up names and i pray to you for God and i pray to God for you and i don't really know who i'm praying to anymore, really. maybe it doesn't matter. point is i'm struggling, i'm suffering, and if there's a chance, if there's a little bit of salvation hidden beneath the pebbles of my path: give it to me, please, save me somehow.

there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.

I’ll stand my ground
not be dragooned
into modern ways of mediocrity,

Steadfast and relentless
I shall be
maintaining the standards
that used to be,

I’ll offer up a seat for you
hold open wide the door,
I will be the perfect gentleman
for now and evermore.

But when the waiter
comes with the bill
"that’s the bit I don’t like much"
I really would not mind my love
if we were going Dutch*.