our love...
exists.
our love exists,
behind closed doors,
behind four walls
that push up against my lungs
squeezing until I suffocate.
our love exists while you
stand there and stare,
open mouthed
unable to accept
the fact that you denied
a delicate butterfly
the right to take off
that you set fire to a field
of tulips that were begging
for new fallen rain.
you touch me with electricity,
but i am used to this burn.
i am used to this broken feeling;
the feeling after your wings have been
plucked off
and every last layer of skin
has been set on
fire.

For those that are "just tired" and
have nothing to look
forward to:
there's someone out there
that will fill the hole in your broken
heart.
you just have to find them.
this is for those that think that
scarring their skin is more beautiful
than the world we live in.
for those that lost their virginity,
like me, at age 15, on a cold bed, with
someone who has even colder eyes.
someone that had no right to take
something so precious- so valuable-
away from us.
someone you thought you knew
so well, but at that very moment, he
turned into a complete stranger.
this is for those who spend every
waking moment, romanticizing about
suicide, constantly thinking about when they're
going to try again.

"I love you. I support you. You are important.
Live. Smile" :)

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

For incessant insecure impressions,
For obscure convalescent depression.
For when the most unsure become expected to procure
From those defaulted most demure, the idolatry sense of pure(ity)

[Pure] (it evil answer idol along and so sure)
purity villains were right all along and so sure
maybe for eternity despite killing wrong I'm insecure.
'twas thought was sure
Now wrought hot fur-(y)
(Fur)[y motion] from the prime upon itself,
[Emotion]
To where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.

I found out there was fire lingering beneath this skin,
but it isn't of desire and I don't want to begin
accepting death because a pressure expects breath because of flesh.
I need a cure that isn't time for expiration of the fresh.

I'm where the very notion of good health,
fuels firey devotion to destroy myself.

I heed not that my earthly lot
  Hath—little of Earth in it—
That years of love have been forgot
  In the hatred of a minute:—
I mourn not that the desolate
  Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
  Who am a passer-by.

Is it selfish
To want all your attention and time
And to want to be fully and completely loved?
Hah.
Love me so well,
Be so good to me...
I'll get used to the good life and always want more and more.
The withdrawal hurts,
You were my addiction and now you're gone.

The light bulbs burst when you walked in,

And the sparks ignited my skin.

The fire was still burning long after you were gone,

Until I was charred to the bone.

I recall how you clawed at the meat,

Right above where my heart beat.

Your red eyes glowed in glee,

Until I could no longer see,

Blinded by the one thing

That I thought only you could bring.

Then I heard the snipping,

As you cut the strings

And began humming to my screams.

A harmony of two extremes.

When the flood lights shone through,

There was no more you;

Only a permanent deformity

And ripped arteries.

today is a parallel to evolutionary swoon
And we can blame biology for acting a buffoon
so if you're not a fan of Jesus, this is maybe your kind of tune
oh it's the day of egg hunting, we wild spermatazoon

Yes, it's Easter and on Western shores the stars tell a fortune
of the irony that of all days it is this for red moon
Is it still considered trolling if the tides 'neath our pontoon
Reflect from sunrise until dusk turn me into a goon

Oh it's the day of egg hunting, we wild spermatazoon
So we here relay with grunting, like air let out a balloon
To find the womb, to find the egg, to nestle us cocoon
Oh it's the day of egg hunting, we wild spermatazoon