oh my god i just logged into this for the first time in 2 years i can't believe i used to be this emo WHAT THE ****??!! anyway i have friends now and im ****

stan loona stan poppin party
gender is a ****

metal extensions
to my teenage angst
freed on my temple
post-speed hits

the perfect solution
to the voices and questions
rip through their illusion
that just-world phenomenon

it makes perfect sense
what the monsters do
stray from your lane
we're all monsters too

I'm finally starting to realize
What they really mean -- those glassy eyes.
Besides batshit Monday highs

It hurts to come up with a time frame
How long I've been playing this game

Wading through that alphabet soup
Trying to fashion words out of neural impulses

Anything that leaves my lips makes little sense
So I'd given up one day
Now I build neon signs to flash over the freeway

But I guess most of us are blind
And I'll die on this bridge
Without my pilfered mind

at some point the world must've flipped
because i've been floating
toes never touching the sea floor
and im trying not to forget
what the sand feels like
i'm so tired trying to stay un-sunk
can't find the time to drink up the stars
from so up high
throat so dry
it's possible to drown in the vacuum of space
your lungs spill into themselves
your bones powder up
but you're not allowed to die until you find a way back down

the darkest place on earth
is on the second floor of the Memorial Hospital
in the first room to your right
a cocoon of antiseptic and iron sting
sometimes you’ll hear the softness of your breath
but there isn’t a darker place
a more perfect place
to hang yourself behind the curtains
overlooking a playground
that’s lonely in the winter time
there isn’t a darker place
than where you first learned to fly
away
and away
and so far
from yourself

just when you think you've hit the bottom,
             God throws you a shovel.

six AM
on the road

the sky is screaming purple
and cars speeding
and headlights leaving trails
of orange tears

the air tastes like
tangerine

and i lost my glasses this morning
mosaic mosaic
in the backseat
on century roads

like we're high
hell
like we're high

can't see
past my the back of my hand
don't know
don't know

what to think
when I'm not driving
flying
past it all
fast
but I'm so slow
so dead

might as well forget