There are reasons why I think the sky Reminds me of myself, And reasons why, At night I cry, I feel too dark For someone else Though, stars shine, Just mild lights, The reasons why I don't own knives Has less to do With novelty And more to do with clouded judgment
There was a thought, but it is lost. It had been pure in the impurest of ways. It sought to defile the innocence, prolong the sin that is writing.
It is too late. The thought that wants, that needs, but will not. It will vanish and leave nothing but pure thought.
It is there without words to describe it; without the moment it lives in; without a slivering snakes sssslush sac full of venom. Venom, that it is. Injecting itself without the mind knowing. Killing, callous, couth - as one might imagine.
It exists but not in context, separately from its source. Detached, despondent, erratic despite it's sharpness, it's potency.
A thought that if thought about you cannot elaborate enough. It is sophisticated, in the ways that writing is. It will come and it will go but it will always fester. Decaying the process of thought.
I hate myself for what I did to you. I never wanted to leave. I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you happy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough. You brighten up the room more than a camera flash at the Cheesecake Factory. You brighten up my soul more than that. I question how I’ve made it this far without you by my side. I was trying to change. Nothing I say will fix anything. I just hope you’re happy now. I don’t think I’ll ever be. I love you more than life itself, And I’d give it up to relive the past.
I think about if often. I’m hurting. Since 13 life has been a dream.
I miss your laugh, I miss your touch, I miss your face, I miss your embrace. I broke a part of you I never can replace. Wounds once where Scars have taken place. You have my soul All control. Send me to hell My forever home.
The tears make it hard to see Like driving in the rain with no wipers. I don’t know where this message will go Like my hands are off the wheel. I’m swerving out of control And I’m almost happy you’re not here. I miss you so much. You mean more to me than a nice paintjob and that’s saying a lot. I wish tears could clean a car.
I hope you know you mean the absolute world to me forever. You are so perfect.