Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With breaking heart, torn apart,
And sharpened blades in a row.

You told me you
Couldn't trust anymore
So you locked your heart
And you shut the door
I would knock and
Knock everyday
I waited for a response
Then I walked away
Soon I grew tired
Of trying to earn your trust
Your teardrops on
doorknobs begin to rust
It was pointless to knock
So I just walked in
Your trust in me
Growing more thin

"No more doors
We can have a new start
Now I only have
To unlock your heart"

"But why should I trust
The one that didn't knock?"

*"Because I am the only one
That cares about your lock

Everyone else left
For the same reason I stayed
Because I couldn't bare
To watch you use that blade"

Trees are in love with humanity.

they reach out to kiss our heads
with the tips of their browning leaves
while we like a vengeful lover
first kiss back with words
and then cut them down with blades

but someday we too will be cut
from life
and our concrete jungles
will fade into dust

only stumps remain.

I'd be a butterfly,
For Heaven's sake.
The kind that Noah forgot to take.
But still survived The Flood...
In your eyes.
I'd build a boat.
Out of your ribcage,
To set the birds free.
You heard me!
Butterflies?
**** butterflies,
I got birds inside me.
No.
What I have to say,
comes from the rip chord
of my razor blades.
Waiting my whole life
for that rubber band
to snap back.

Thank God for my destruction.
Thank God for my ruble.
Because tree's
grow out of the sides
of stone cold mountains.
That have been blown up
by the rough hands
of people mining for gold.

And people set forest fires
on purpose.
To get rid of the dead stuff.
So new things can grow.
And Sometimes.
I pick the plants.
Just to see how much dead stuff
I can accumulate,
before I set myself on fire.
And when I do,
I swear to God.
I'll be an empty notebook.
So you can cover me with lines.
The good kind.
That come from your pencil.
Cause we don't have to roll up
dollar bills
to see the moon, anymore.

I know that the whole thing about love is it's who you miss at 2pm when you're busy, not 2am when you're lonely.
Baby it's 8:50pm and I'm as lonely as I've ever been.

I can't stand my friends when they're with their other, my love life is lived through them.
Its not that I want what they have,
Its that I want to feel warm arms around my body instead of the cold embrace of my AC.

It's that I want someone to run shivers down my back by placing their cold hands on my bare side and allow my body heat to warm them.
Its that I want to feel a deep passionate love.

Its that all it ever is is me and me alone.

Is that what you thought when I told you we were done?

Did you think to yourself "I hope you enjoy the cold arms of the lovers who don't actually love you?"
"You'll miss the way I looked at you"
"You'll miss the way I kissed you"
"You'll miss the way I loved you"

Did you think how happy you would be to see me so sad?
Because you know I can't help myself and I can't stay away from you,
Even if you're poison to my veins.

Did you, in after being months apart, me running to you, looking for shelter from the rain, have the joy in seeing my face twist in agony as you push me away?

Did you ask yourself if I ever loved you,
And convince yourself I didn't?
If leaving you twice times the same way was so simple so must the third
But darling I'm falling.

I'm falling into pits of my own darkness.

I saw a pencil sharpener and took out the blade.
I cleaned it and hid it and think about it every day.
And right after the thought of that I think of you and what you would say

You May not be my 2pm thought
But you're my thought at 9pm
When I tell my demons no
And throw my blade away.

Blades of smoke pass through my hair,
Cutting; oxidising; as the smoke is slowly rising
through the tower of my power as I vainly gasp for air.

Cyanide, it seems, can comfort me a while,
as I'm breathing; screaming and repeating
smoky words into the floor's mute bathroom tile.

But my power is all gone; all wrong.
Oxidise: Cyanide.
Once more into my lungs.