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Pretty Panic Jan 2015
a collection of eclectic tendencies that stem from roundabout tragidies
and honestly i'm not sure if i'm a product of myself
or my insanity and learning the difference
means examining the parts of me
i'd rather not see and that's probably because i'm not a very good
seed and my roots never quite manage to grow properly
and there's always more water than soil and so i've got nowhere to stay
except on the ever-changing tide of my white lies and false smiles
so it's no wonder i keep falling into a state of decay but it's not like
i mean to
i mean i don't want to be like this
i don't want to fall apart all the time
and really there's nothing very appealing about dying
but i guess i feel the same way about being alive
and i'm writing to keep myself from bleeding because i made a promise
and you're not here to keep it
i guess i should have known better than to expect
anyone to really want to save me from myself
i've got landmines buried in my smile and every now and then
i hit the ground face first from the explosion and maybe i'm just going
to have to live the rest of my life upside down
to keep the blood from filling up my lungs
i keep telling myself there's no reason to die
but i can't find a reason to stay alive and i guess i'm just
checking my heigh to get the right coffin size and i keep losing weight
so that at least i can be cute for once in my life
or does it count if i'm already dead
what's the difference between a grave and a coffin
honestly the only thing i can see
is that coffins aren't free and i guess i've been buried in my chest
for so long that i should go ahead and get a tombstone
it's not like my heart could ever be a zombie
i'm too far gone for any sort of science to revive my broken mind
so maybe i'm not quite dead yet
but i'm certainly not alive
Pretty Panic Jan 2015
the moon whispers drunken secrets
to me in the middle of the night
and it's starting to
make me an alcoholic
Pretty Panic Jan 2015
I drew the sun on my skin in the hopes that it would melt my frozen insides, but the ink bled through and there's nothing warm about the moon. With ribs like the tundra and a chest cavity full of snow storms, I sit in the silver glow of my cold winter moon and pretend that I am some semblance of alright. Time passes like snow flurries and my ceiling is farther away than it should be as I drift through the insanity of my reality.
I am all the mess I've ever been.
Red-rimmed eyes don't last very long and no one is ever around in time to see winter bloom inside my skull. Snowflake eyes and blue-tinged lips are only so pretty until you reach for them. The touch is icy unforgivable, not something you want to hold on to.
And as I whisper melting glaciers into oblivion, I am understanding that there is nothing beautiful about the puddle juxtaposed by the flame. So I will stay achingly cold and untouchable blue.
Winter I will stay.
Pretty Panic Dec 2014
i don't feel safe
when my name is
inside someone else's mouth
i guess i spent so long
ripping my heart out
in thin red lines
and hiding them between your fingers
that the touch of unfamiliar
palms brings out the worst in me
i guess that's why i kissed the way i did
and cut my hair too many times
and cut other things
in the hopes i'd run dry
love, i guess that's the thing
i spent so much of the time i was
making myself
with you
that your fingerprints are all over
the hardened clay
and when people fit their
thumbs in the spaces you left
i find i don't like
being held in palms that don't
fit every groove and line
it feels uncertain and strange
just like the unfamiliar taste
of someone else in my mouth
it sours my smile into something tired
and i don't feel quite so new
i feel used and overcooked
like my limbs are stuck together
in the hopes that it'll replace
the feeling of you
i've learned the ways of kissing through
the haze of numb nausea
of smiling through the blinding
i've learned that love doesn't
thrive in my palms the way it did
when i'd touch you
i'm all tapped out
on ways to share myself
at least the parts that count
and lately i've been finding myself
in a position of everyone
wanting more of me
than i'm able to give
they just don't understand
i can't give them
what doesn't belong to me
i can't ask you
for all my pieces back
i don't want them
i want every hand that touches me
to know what they're getting
because most want
a whole human being
but i can't even give
half of me
so let them see
what you'v left of me
let them understand
that they can't have
a single piece

                                                                                        i won't give up
                                                                                        all of me
Pretty Panic Dec 2014
absolute is the sun in the east at 6 a.m.
even when it rains
absolute is the way my eyes are blue
even when i cry
absolute is the truth that i fall in love with the little things
like heartbeats and bitten lips and soft cheeks
i'm a mess of absolute realities tangled up in indefinite fantasies
and i find myself tripping endlessly
over every single thread of my existence like the way girls trip over themselves
to get closer to you
i know that i'm dark and i'm twisted
i had a chance and i missed it
i've got a smile like the sun and a heart like the moon
and i know that as long as i live
i'm going to love you
so maybe it means nothing more than i mean to the universe
and maybe it means that one day i've got a chance
to be what you saw in me
maybe there's more
maybe what i am
is not
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