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May 2017
If you can't find anything to live for then it's best you find something to die for,
When your best friend dies and your next friend dies and your best friend's friend takes his own life, what the **** do you have left? Who the **** are you supposed to turn to?

I feel alone no matter what all the time and I know I have some of the best friends in the world, but my mind has a certain way of telling me otherwise,
It backs me into a corner and looks me dead in the eyes,
It says I have no one, that I'm a nothing, surrounded by nobodies, ****** ****** Sabbath day, rip my head off and tell me everything will be okay, the blood will clean me, like it cleans everyone,
I am pouring myself out constantly and in return I am getting no one

I am alive because I am alive because I am afraid of it all,
I am not not afraid of dying, I am afraid of what comes after,
I met god and all she wanted to do was **** me to my favorite songs,
A puppet like me has to have strings attached, but I guess even when it comes to god I can't get a call back

5 cigarettes left, 4 bottles of jack, 3 secrets kept,
2 eyes,
1 mouth,
0 hearts,
Not mine, not anyone else's,
No room for myself, no room for anyone else

Bones made out of water wishing for nothing more than to be made of iron,
Daydream dying,
At the drop of a dime,
I feel like killing myself all the time,
I'll never understand or I won't understand until I'm older or somewhere in between

The idea was to drink until the pain had passed over, but all I got in the end was a bad headache and a hangover,
I push everyone away from me, especially the ones who seem to care the most, the ones who don't have a problem letting me breathe, see,
I give myself to the dangerous ones because they put me on the edge and the edge is the only place I'm used to anymore, the only place I feel free, and it's so ****** up,
To think that I'll never allow myself the experience of beauty, I'm too busy, letting the demons have their way me, yet still praying for the angels to save me,
I'm a fine tuned hypocrite,
Don't give a ****,
I'll cry about it even though I know I'm the one who did it

I can't help but run from consistency when it finds a home in me but it doesn't make any sense because change scares the absolutely **** out of me,
When I get this way, everything is so ******* scary,
Even I'm getting sick of saying I'm sorry, trust me

The visions clearer,
Unstoppable with nothing to lose like Julies Caesar,
She has all of her clothes off and all I know how to do is feel her, I've never learned anything else

I'm so ******* sick of writing poems about getting my heart broken,
I'm so ******* sick of writing poems about love at all,
But what the **** am I supposed to write about, if being broken is the only real thing I can feel,
It's such a viscous cycle, I'm such a viscous ******,
I keep dying for everyone but I'm no messiah, I have my own sins and I can't even save myself,
But you could beat me into a ****** pulp and I'd still worship you like the sun

I don't know what to live or die for, I just know that I'm dying

I can't be the only one
Richie Vincent
Written by
Richie Vincent  21/M/Dayton, OH
(21/M/Dayton, OH)   
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