It’s not enough anymore.
The convenient friendship,
The lack of a heart,
The never-ending harsh words,
The fake smile,
The nights where I can finally fall asleep and forget,
The times where I can run till I can’t think,
The times where I concentrate till I disregard everything else,
It’s just not enough to pull me through the day anymore.
Pain is exposed,
Scars are enhanced,
Tears flow more frequently,
People start to notice.
And it’s just not enough to hide it anymore.
The wounds that wont heal,
The mind that feels broken,
The smile that disappeared,
It’s all too much.
Trying to hide the pain,
Just isn’t enough anymore.

Wake up from the dream

I refuse to make a huge list
And say this is exactly what I want from a guy,
That’s stupid and unethical.
Nobody’s perfect.
Go find someone who’s able to achieve every command,
I’d like to see you try.
What is perfect anyway?
Someone lacking feelings or any personality what so ever?
I don’t see many people choosing that,
Over an actual person.
This list just proves how committed you are,
And how much you are allowing yourself to be toward a person.
You might as well be locked away,
And call that your relationship.
I refuse to pretend like this perfect list will magically happen.
I won’t make believe the person with every dream quality
Will come falling out of the sky.
I don’t want that.
I want an imperfect person,
Someone to show me the little imperfections of life,
And allow me to be happy.
Because only then can someone come even remotely close to finding pleasure.
I don’t want a dream person in my life,
I want someone who can make me smile.
I want you,
With everything you lack.

my mask fell victim to the dance floor
while he was dancing with drunk blondes
so ****, dressed as a cop pushing pills
three girls grinding on his leg
and i bought one
and wanted to **** the faces and the tongues
of the ***** he ignored me for
it would have been very courtney love of me
very punk rock
but i grabbed their *****
and licked my lips at them
because whats his was mine
and he knew the painted eyes on my back
saw their every move
and every dollar from those girls
goes to our cigarettes
but later i found out
that was all we kept in common

Why is it that i don't miss you as much during the day? It starts to sink in as i lay in the dark. The blankets over my head. Face burried in my pillow. Fingers clenching the sheets for dear life. Tears streaming down my face. Don't feel the pain anymore. Hardly feel anything at all. Why is it that I miss you more at night? Cause im alone with my thoughts? Cause i know you should be here with me? I was always told their was no such thing as demons. But then why do i have to face mine every night?

"It's a universal urge to pair up." They say.

It's 3 words and
Suddenly files are executing
Auto-running and auto-installing.
When you've been alone,
It's like
Every rancid dream inside of you is
Awakened. Hyper aware & readied
Preprogrammed bugs start to run.
Users in remote locations
Triggered by tracking cookies
Wheel- in backdoor worms
And all I have to do is click

I/O corrupted
Cloudy decisions, decisions

Ads for free cars, free girlfriends
Glittering pop-ups.
"Hot guys in your area!"
But **** is for the lonely
Bait;
A smiling **** Madonna 
accompanied by
Beguiling hooks, fly-paper,
You-name-it

Can't tell if I'm in love or in lure.
But I have to go for it.
And that's the point.

"I love you"
[Click]

Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?

Did you get those scars on your knees from praying?
Or ******* your fathers **** inside the barn?
or did you pray while doing it
that he would choke on his own satisfied face?
did you sit inside his church listening to him preach
hypocrisy to family and friends
while you swallowed back that bitter taste he left in your mouth
the one that tasted like an anger so pure it made your eyes water?
did you wait patiently for him to finish his speeches about
salvation, jesus, god and being sinless
whilst you prayed in that godless church, he would miss a step
fall and break his neck?
Was that thought the only thing that gave light to your eyes?
did you think these things while you brushed the dirt and gravel off your knees
wash the blood in the toilet
Put on your Sunday dress and look at yourself in the mirror
with empty eyes
that knew nothing but hate
and a shame so heavy it made you hate the act of breathing?
because every time you did it reminded you of the weight on your chest that no amount
of air
could
get
rid
of
(like the time he sat on you when you were sleeping)

Do you think that gods disciples and prostitutes have the same knees?
Do you think anyone can tell the difference?

Does the cross around your neck ever threaten
to get so tight it chokes you?
so hot, it burns your skin?

Too much praying gets you to the same place
when you're left with nowhere to dish out your pain
and too many unanswered questions, on your knees
on your ******* knees
about fathers and gravel, dirt **** and spit
*We all get ****** in the end

Every once in a while,
I'd just like some one to smile
and ask if I'm okay.

Every once in a while
I'd just like someone to smile
and kiss my scars goodnight.

Every once in a while
I'd just like someone to smile
and hold me in the coldest nights.

Every once in a while
I'd just like you to smile
and tell me you love me
and that our world together
will never end
as long as we're alive.