Your words hit my chest like salt in bullet wounds and under your knife I was defenseless.
I let you rearrange my body parts to ensure your happiness and you forgot to stitch the wound.
Your shoulder to cry on is everyone you ever loved playing Russian roulette and you're the one holding the gun.
And our future was that gun pointed right at my face and I opened my mouth and begged for a taste
You cannot kiss death without death kissing you back
And I would've been so lucky

I use the term I miss you as loosely as the string I tie around my index finger so that l don't forget to never use that phrase again.
Because I miss the person who came with Decembers wind chill not the person who left in June's volcanic ash.
Sometimes I wonder if you can feel the ache when you press ******* to where your pulse should be but then I remember that you're most definitely cold blooded.
And you can't feel unless you fake it.
And I most likely never really mattered like an animal in a cage.
But I could've sworn that you felt it. The pain before the punch hits.
And the pleasure of me screaming through the lies and the regret.
I know I'd listen to your answering machine a million times if your voice could make my ears clean again.
But I am not your scapegoat
Do you even remember?
I think you don't because you would've cared more
And you would've been there when I needed you but instead you're stuck upside down.
In a car that should've killed you.

Wash your hands in the river
Fall asleep on the stairs
Sending out strangers to get the paper again
Cigarettes radiate off strands of her hair
You think you're in love again

Static stereo night stalker sing me to sleep
Put me out of my misery in my kitchen sink
Please don't call the doctor he said I'm not clean
I am not your poltergeist but
But I lucid dream that you love me, outside of my body.

I heard it in the voice on the radio
That clicking noise from the back of my throat all the way down to your stomach
The kind of thing that will give you the shakes if you're not careful with it
I don't wanna control it, my fathers sadistic
and so is my mother.
But we only pretend that we love her.

I dare you to look at me the way you would at your fathers grave
Pin me to my coffin tell me I'm safe
I know you're not scared of me yet
But you need to be.

Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out
Put me out
I gotta get out of this hell in myself.

I always hide in my basement
Waiting to die
I always hide in my basement
But I never tried

I am a dark entity.
I yearn to do more than just exist.
I yearn for more than to just touch and smell and taste and see.
I am the 6th sense.
I am your consequence.
I am nothing more than flesh and bone hollowed out like a pumpkin.
But I’m afraid I am no jackolantern.
There is no light inside.
Hell is not a place I’ll visit after I die.
I carry it with me every day and everywhere I go.
And when Lucifer isn’t whispering into the  strands of my hair,
The silence is palpable.

Your eyes, like the sun and if I stare too long.
I'm blinded
If I get too close
my skin is boiling,
I'll disintegrate into dust on your bedroom floor.
Open mouths sitting upon a bed of nails
I am not your poltergeist
Don't treat me like you can't see me
And don't look at me if you can
my mind is as sporadic as your freckles.
Eradicate my thoughts with your fleshy fingers
Sinking sinking sinking into the webs of mine
I am not your poltergeist but
I lucid dream that you love me, outside of my body.

When I was younger I was taught in school never to talk to strangers no matter how polite they look.
But they never taught me what to do when someone who isn’t a stranger kidnaps my heart and leaves me as an empty carcass.
Someone who I trusted the most…
And isn’t trust a funny word?
Especially to a child that is so easily manipulated.  
So quick to jump when a man needs help with a finding a lost puppy.
Or when they say your name in just the right way.
But once they are found dead in a wasteland is when they realize how foolish the word trust really is.
And if someone who kidnaps and kills is prosecuted why aren’t you?
Why aren’t you taking your seat on death row?
Oh right, Because I’m still breathing.
And causing someone to be dead on the inside isn’t a crime.
I was just one of your trophies and engraved on my back was a black and blue target for your flesh tone arrows
It was all just a game.
A game that isn’t fair when you stole what was the most important to me.
I let you hold on to my trust like a little girl would and you clenched your fist, letting me crumble.
What makes you think it’s acceptable to come back and ask for a second chance?
Another round?  
The little girl didn’t have a second chance to decline her offer.
The vile man didn’t have a second chance to leave the playground.
And I didn’t have a second chance to keep my self locked up tight or refuse you to touch me in that way even though you said it was “okay” because “loved me”
And with a love like that you didn’t need to ask right?
All I know is if I there was a way I could go back to that night where you asked me to dinner I would say “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”

I've been sitting here so long i cant tell the difference between ribcages and coffee tables.
And the blood vessels in my eyes are starting to look like my family tree.
Made friends with my shadow that only comes out in the night time and with the dusty books I'll never read because I can't invest myself in things that have a certain end.
I can't let things end because that means the ones who got away have won. And even my shadow has now left me too. My hands turn calloused trying to hold on to ink cartridge people who have run out of time.
Our hands intertwine as if we were a clock, always on the same hour but never on the same page.
Of these books I can never read.
I swallow everything including my pride.
How long have you been afraid?
And why can you read palms of strangers you can't let go but you can't read those ******* books in your closet?
And why can you clean out your junk drawer but you can't wake up with clear conscious?
Why are you blowing your whistle when your lovers have already died?
Your childhood isn't slipping away stop clenching your fists.
Where does lucid dreaming really take you when you can't see straight?
Why won't you stop shaking?
You're afraid that these stories will rewrite your own because you could never get it right the first time around.
If they could get it right your skin wouldn't be stained with regret and emotion
Who's scratching at the walls?
Who's crawling in the attic?
Who's scratching at the surface of this panic?
Who the **** is knocking on your front door and why can't you let anyone in even when you send them an invitation?
Step right up
Guess my fate
Why does it even matter what those books have to say?
And why could I never give myself a break?
Hiding under my covers when my parents turned into earthquakes
Those stories don't matter
The only one that does
Was Christmas Day 2010
When everyone around me finally gave up.