Some days I wake up and the world doesn’t seem as vivid as it did the day before.
The colors aren’t as bright and my optimism is half dead.
These are mostly the days after coming down from the happiness you had while killing the pain.
Watching the worst version of ****** Tunes. You’re despicable.
I’m despicable, and I laugh because although I know its definition,
the D.O.C. made it a little more difficult to relate to.
So silly, the concept of a duck and a rabbit fighting over diversion of attention.
Always fighting over something, these old cartoon characters.
My generation’s cartoon characters.
When I woke up today, the colors were lifeless.
My mother and her relentless tone. I’ll go back to bed now.
Should I while he’s asleep? To be alive, alone?
I had breakfast in bed. Herbally speaking, delicious.
The colors of the cartoons are melting off the screen and into my world.
Beautiful. Each aspect about my life blending together to create such delicate blotches.
Then there is he, sleeping sound but not always.
The brightest color of all.
It parades around him making his silhouette the most mysterious thing in view.
I want to wake him. I’ll want him to see it.
I’ll make him breakfast in bed and we can watch cartoons.

Some days I wake up and the world doesn’t seem as vivid as it did the day before.
The colors aren’t as bright and my optimism is half dead.
These are mostly the days after coming down from the happiness you had while killing the pain.
Watching the worst version of ****** Tunes. You’re despicable.
I’m despicable, and I laugh because although I know its definition,
the D.O.C. made it a little more difficult to relate to.
So silly, the concept of a duck and a rabbit fighting over diversion of attention.
Always fighting over something, these old cartoon characters.
My generation’s cartoon characters.
When I woke up today, the colors were lifeless.
My mother and her relentless tone. I’ll go back to bed now.
Should I while he’s asleep? To be alive, alone?
I had breakfast in bed. Herbally speaking, delicious.
The colors of the cartoons are melting off the screen and into my world.
Beautiful. Each aspect about my life blending together to create such delicate blotches.
Then there is he, sleeping sound but not always.
The brightest color of all.
It parades around him making his silhouette the most mysterious thing in view.
I want to wake him. I’ll want him to see it.
I’ll make him breakfast in bed and we can watch cartoons.

Sometimes it’s the voice of a male.
Just hearing the depth is enough to make me cringe.
Instantly hating the source and the evil it’s capable of spilling out into the world.
Plaguing my mind with cynicism.

We hold up our heads, pointed in the direction of the wind.
Chalk outlines, we wear them till we’re frail and thin.  
Your lies are deep but your voice makes it hard cover up the sin.
It doesn’t change a thing, your eyes are the happiest place I’ve ever been.

So send me your signals so I can write them in the sand,
I’ve been dead for weeks among the shadows of our plans.
Cast me in direction that you want me stand
I’d walk for miles just to crawl for days,
I do it to avoid the end.

So linger in the spaces where the comfort isn’t close,
and whisper that you love me among everyone the most,
I’ll try to keep from drowning, keep my head aboard the boat,

Could life have been different for us?
We should have tallied up the votes.
Wouldn’t make a difference, shouldn’t waste the hope.
Some kids are handed the world,
Some kids are handed a rope.

Does a girl who gives herself to someone who really shows her he cares have a different view about love than a girl who wastes that very influential moment? And if so, how do we change it. How do we fill the emptiness that we alone created? I learned two very important things from something that lasted roughly 15 minutes. I learned that *** was enjoyable and love wasn’t required.

When you move out of your parent’s house,
it’s always a bittersweet feeling to return.
Although the house itself it usually unchanged,
besides your room which is now filled with things that don’t belong to you,
you can’t help but feel like a stranger.
In all of its comfort and familiarity,
you aren’t as welcome as you were before.

Empathy.
Suffocating from your lack of sympathy and you’ll drain it till its dry.
Taking everything that’s left from me.
You take away the light.
I can’t see.
I’m still waiting in the dark.
Whatever you decide.