You did nothing
to deserve my obsession.
You do not deserve
this level of control
over my heart
my hopes,
my dreams,
my time.
Long ago you were injected
so deep into my bloodstream.
Everytime I think I've gotten clean,
flushed you from my system,
the toxins multiply and spread.
I wish I could extract these feelings,
with scalpels
calipers
tweezers.
Pull them from the fibers of my being,
and burn them in the fire.

Is R E A L I T Y even R E A L ?
Lately I can barely even F E E L .

                                                        I'm trying to F I N D ,
                                                        Why I've had a battle in my M I N D .

                              I watch as people L I E ,
                              Leaving the others to just sit and  C R Y .

Humans are evil, we let others  H U R T ,
And although it's not okay it makes them A L E R T .
                                                          
    ­                                                      I guess everything has a R E A S O N ,
                                                          Just like each and every S E A S O N .

                              So to answer my own question, L I F E is R E A L ,
                              And it's quite a big D E A L .

People will always worry,
           That doesn't make me hate it any less.
People will always worry,
                 But I don't have much of a choice I guess.
People will always worry,
                             I hate that word so, so much.
People will always worry,
                                        It just has a sour sort of touch.
People will always worry,
People will always worry,
People will always worry,
People will always worry,
                                         All because of that one night,
                                                                        When I tried to shut out the light.

If someone were to leave me...

I would still breathe.

I'm sure you'd think I would sob,

When really I don't have the time for it at all.



When I'm done, I'm done.



Know that I won't change, and I'm not sorry for who I am or what I said.

Sometimes you need to hear words that aren't your own.



I can be aggressive.

I can be weak.

I can be wise.



These are the things in which makes me strong.

I've started to find out how to despise.



I try and try; now it all sounds like a rhyme.

My brain is fried and this is what I write.

So, if you leave now, I think I'd be alright.

my thoughts brought me back to france
again

i havent heard your voice for a year
and some

kinda funny how i only remember what it sounds like
because of how you'd say
"sortie"