I'm too poor for the alcohol + it's too late. Getting drunk to fill the empty feeling seems like a pipe dream. You came and I felt lonelier with you here. I still feel lonelier with you gone. I'm filling my window sill with bottles, to see how much damage I cause alone.
1 - Copa De Oro
1 - Kamora
1 - Smirnoff
1 - Espolon
1 - Can of Pabst Blue Ribbon

I'm not selfish, but still heartbroken and wishing you were mine.
I have to rationalize this in the future too.

I have to remember that a mistake is not an accident; it is calculated and weighted. I can't let them convince me a choice is a slip of the tongue. Might steal my room mate's beer, might buy my own, and who the **** knows?

All this skin to save my heart, and I'm still made of glass.
Trying to get some type of high like everyone else.
Trying to waste health like everyone.
Wasting youth.

Give me something. Anything to quiet this feeling; this hollowness. Is this what happiness feels like? Is this what it’s like to be content?
I’m empty. I am a vast shell of a vessel that’s filled with such potential, such hope; but I waste it.
I’m wasted.
I’m wasted on the thought of you. The thought of you with someone else. The thought of being alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt.
I am empty.
I don’t know how to feel but I do when you’re near and I wish that it would stop.
I want to be happy always.
I don’t want to be dependent on you for the sun to shine. I don’t want to feel as though you hung the moon. You didn’t. I did.
I’m wasted.
Wasted youth. Wasted love. Wasted space.
If this is what it is to be content; to be happy…
It’s a numb feeling.
Everything is perfect and yet…
I’m empty.
I love with a burning passion, so much so that you get torn up and scorched in the process.
It is not a slow burn it is all consuming.
It consumes me.
I’m consumed with a lonliness when you’re gone and when you’re here I yearn to feed it.
I need to feel you, I need to be near you. I need to know you’re not leaving. I need to prove to myself that this is real and that you are here and that you love me.
If I don’t I burn, my fire stays in me and it burns, it burns, it burns.
I’m overbearing.
I’ve scalded you; it’s too hot, you can’t breathe I’m smothering you and I can’t stop.
You push me away and the flames grow larger.
But when you go, the fire slowly dies out.
I’m not passionate.
I’m not a writer.
I’m empty.

I'm glued in I'm blowing thick clouds
my mind screams and shouts begging for the answer
convince me convince me not

I feel strapped the eff down
all I rely on is knowing I'll fit in this size 1
Everyday I research my way out
half heartedly I devise a plan
Dear God send me an angel with a clue
a clue on what to do with my issue the future it's more foggy
I'm sinking slowly into depression sadly obsessed with my weight
I sit smoke and escape meals life and all of pent up pain

I am back in the cycle.
The back and forth
And back again
Of the silent non-silence
Of this filthy city life.

I wake up in the bed
I laid in the night before,
Rise up to take a liquid ****
And retreat once again
Into the blanketed dome
That is my mattress.

The sun shines through
The cracks in the seemingly
Single piece of colored cloth
That we call curtains
And seep in through the fabric
Of the actual single piece of cloth
That we call blankets.

When the ****** star's light
Is more than bearable, I take away
The blanket from my face
And face reality as it is
From the cool and calm not-peace
That is my room covered in sunlight.

A few more hours
Worth of wallowing in not-happiness
Would be very sufficient
To start the "day".
A few more hours
Adjusting to the hellish yellow light
That blinds my eyes,
But frees them from the darkness
At the same time.
A few more hours
To plan the next few hours
Only to not follow the plan
And once again act on impulse
The same way I did yesterday.

I always end up alone,
With no friend nor a lover,
I am just an option,
In many life's.
I am nothing,
But a temporary friend or lover.
I am the one that no one loves,
But I love many.
I am an option.
I am a choice.
Forgotten by all
And loved by none.

Air particles
Swirl round and round
No different as before

An ant,
Crawls towards my hand
And I squish it ever so slowly.
I cannot feel the inky mess at all

It is nothing but a tiny black dot
That simply just moves

The sky, looks nothing more
Than an endless pattern of blue and white
The trees, saplings of tasteless broccoli
The grass, strands of wild hair

The insects, filthy lice that live in amongst them
The flowers, mini cracked plates of emptiness

The birds, flappy pieces of pasta
The rain, annoying lost beads from broken jewellery

How does the sun watch over the world each day, let alone rise and shine?
How does the moon travel the empty black, let alone rise and glow?

The world is nothing but a meaningless dream...

Let's never pick up
Anything that falls to the floor.