Ever had an itch that won't scratch.
Its under your skin, in your blood stream or bone marrow.

That feeling walks down your skin.
Your brain fights back by slamming hand down trying to break the surface.

Your nails turn a dark screaming pink.

All you're  doing is clawing at a crimson red.


You're red handed because that itch wouldn't scratch.

It takes two to make a couple.
What do I have?
A single? I have two singles so doesn't that make a double.
A daddy and a mommy, that's what I'm ment to have right?
But what happens when we walk out on daddy?

We got out of there so fast some people thought we were waiting for the right minute or right second.
We go out of there so fast she forgot to leave his last name.
She still wears it to this day.

Some people might think its right or its dead wrong.
I think it's black and white.

His heart was in the mountains, hers was in the hospital chained up to all the machines.
He broke free but we're the ones who left.

His heart is still on the mountain and hers is in her chest.

Dad had to be mom but mom couldn't be dad, he was nowhere to be lost and nowhere to be found.

They used to yell like it was the law, or maybe they liked the sound of their own voices a little too much.
He never laid a finger on her, I think she was waiting for him to.
She was waiting for that right minute or second.

Some people thought he might.
I knew he wouldn't just like black from white.

Bless that childhood.
Bless that house.
Bless not being able to remember.

Remembering is one thing while reliving is another. Everyday you've gotta relive it.  

No one will understand why my dad's eyes look like the hospital lights.
I think it's cuz he used to look at the dead tile waiting for mom.
They just got stuck in his eyes.

Maybe it's the moon, it shines bright enough.
He can see the moon perfectly from his mountain.
His hearts there.  
I know it ain't here.

When we left I dropped my heart on the mountain. We left so fast I didn't know what to do.
My heart didn't know nothing.
Not even black from white.
Its sorta grey.

The last thing my dad saw was my braid swinging from left to right.
My daddy could braid just as perfect as black and white.

To whom it may concern,
Let me start off with I'm very concerned.
I'm not her and she's not even close to being me but I'll put myself in her pants and tell you what you need to hear.
I've got my nerve right here in my fist and ive got my guts in the other.
You've got nothing on me.
I'll give you something so you have anything.
Open your hands and I'll give you what's in mine.
I will rip you to shreds just watch me.
You're weak inside I can see it by the way you try to leave everything on me.

My intentions are no good.

I will place my words like mines.
I will make my sentences so absurdly stunning you'll just stop mid breath, I'll take your air like you took her pride.
You do not want me to be concerned about you or I will become you.
I'll even take your pants

My headache is sitting next to me telling me things I already know.

Will somebody please break my heart?
I need to create something beautiful and tragic.

I want to write about bones breaking
Bloodless veins dried up after endless nights of tear-soaked pillows
Cold mornings that make you dread ever waking up, mornings that even coffee can't fix

I want to write about the agonizing pain of rejection
Of isolation and desolation
I want to write about the way you (hypothetic lover), effortlessly outshine the stars
And even more effortlessly, outsmart the mess that I am (a messy woman seems more dramatic)

I don't want gardens growing from my skin when you touch me
I want your fingers to create stories and scars I can't undo

I want your anger and your hatred
I need to create something beautiful
So that I can destroy it
So that we can destroy it

Will somebody please break my heart?
I'm running out of disasters to write about.

I drop four ice cubes into my coke out of habit.
I kiss my sweet love four times for good luck so our team can win the game.
I catch myself counting to four when Im ready to speak up, I don't count to three or even ten I count to four.

It was on my back in big white letters when dad looked through the chain linked fence and said with every ounce of his pride "Take it for a ride lex."
That's the day I got my first homerun.
That's my old man's favorite number and mine too.
Ill never know why I look at him like hes god.

He spelt my name wrong two years back.
The letters said L-e-x-i,
I whispered that's not how you spell my name it's spelled L-e-x-i-e.
I whispered because I didn't want to embarrass him, I thought if I talked quiet enough no one could see my lips break around the words in shock.
I was 5 when me and mom left him.
The number 5 is my most unlucky number it always takes something from me, like my dog, she was in my arms on the fifth of may when heaven called for her to go home.

Dad came the next day to burry her, the hole he dug was to shallow.
Days after her funeral foxes came and
scattered her bones across the field.  

It was a treasure hunt to find all of them, I tried to save her one last time.

I should really give that man a call.
I'll do it tomorrow , or I'll wait for him to call.
I'll count to four before I answer.