break me
shatter me
then ruin me

take everything from me
make me feel rage
and let me forget what happiness was
then strip my innocence away

now, let hell break loose.

he's the saddest story i ever read,
a walking tragedy written with spilled blood of innocence
on pages of stolen youth.

he holds forgotten chapters of words
that he never got to speak, a novel that holds his painful secrets like a requiem.
he knows death intimately as his first love
and has bruised knuckles and empty hands to show for hardships.

but still, he smiles.
even when the aroma of
perfume lingers and
the ring she never got to wear still shines.

The absence of wonder in your eyes and sincerity from your mouth monotonously reassures the credibility of my contempt for casual communication with characterized ?individuals?
         My own iris has been stretched by my eager to expand awareness.

         I normally pity someone like this,
But your arrogant certainty shook my shadow to consciousness.
It told me to cast you naked into the glare,
         Maybe snip your eyelids out of spite. Its fortunate for you that I am not a slave to the fury.

No constructive change would come of my martyrdom.

Oh, I’ve got guns for hands and I might’ve killed her out of passion.
Is it possible for skin-to-skin interaction to produce such electric friction,
enough to ignite these explosives awake?
Perhaps if you base it all on the violence,
the shattering, the sudden release of ethereal presence,
the full-blown eruption of all her emotions and everything in between–
Perhaps if you base it all on that, then you can cut my arms off of their sockets
and throw them out into the sea and I would be more than happy to oblige.
'Cause I’ve got guns for hands and I killed her out of passion and hers is my demise.

Dear you.
I will not give your name any power
by repeating it.
You are just you
and nothing more.
I honestly feel bad for you,
you must be suffering
to steal a girl's innocence
for your own sick pleasure.
Dear you,
I will overcome you.

I blame it on the easy things,
my parents,
past relationships,
black holes.
But it's always been me
that's been in
control.
Deciding to stop
when they told me to go.
Screaming out "yes"
as I was choking down "no."
Pressing the pedal
when I should've gone slow.
My actions and my words
never quite match up.
Saying I'm healthy
as smoke fills my lungs.
Calling myself an atheist
but telling it to God.
Sitting here wondering,
When will I stop?
I can blame it on the easy things,
stimulants,
a chemical imbalance,
the doctors white coat.
But it's always been me
that's been in
control.