He won’t cut his hair
Because his ears will get cold
And his eyes are dark brown
But they stare into my soul
He doesn't want to be close
Or give out hugs
But he’s always there
To check how I am
And I like this boy
And it’s ******* annoying
And I like this boy
With his drawing obsession
And his chat about a game
I have no clue about
Or an anime series
That I’ve never seen
And we joke about how
He’s so **** at maths
And he compliments my new hat
Because he knows I want one
But no one else has
And he's quick to defend me
Like I am for him
And we gel really well
But I wish we weren't friends
Being friends makes things awkward
So I'll ignore it instead
For a couple of years
Then remember and go
Oh **** yeah
**** I used to like that emo lookin kid
But he only looked like that
Because he refused to get his haircut
Because his ears would get cold

CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT THAT THING IS?

If you promised me you'd stay,
Would you spend the night
And tell me it'll be okay.

Hold me tight
Never let me go.
Wrap your arms around
My fears
My failures
My faults,
Make up for what I can't do.

Catch the tears I cry.
Wipe them away.
Tell me tomorrow's coming-
A brand new day.

Just hold me
And never let me go.

I put on a cutesy voice because I’m the unexpected murderer of happiness. It makes more of an impact acting like a dumb blonde ***** to society’s expectations, that when I come out with ****** methods one wants to scream and run away. I’ll tell you what makes me squirm, being touched and googling fear of holes. Those pictures make me want to ***** and **** myself at the same time. Gore and pain…I can handle. But loads of deep circular imprints on the skin from leaning on things…no.no.no. I can’t. It will make me implode.

I went to bake some cupcakes
I was in such a merry mood
I miss the sweet creamy taste
I miss the smell of food

Human food, Monster food
Oh, its just the same
What matters is how to make it good
I call this a cooking game

A cup of flesh, and mix it well
Those smelly rotten eggs
Light the fire, the flames of hell
Let's chop these human legs

Ahh, fresh flour - I stole from the store
A little bit of sugar, a little bit of salt
Let's knead the dough, let's fetch the coal
Surely, this is not my fault

For a sudden twist, I suddenly thought
Why not stir-in some blood
The jar of of red, I quickly sought
Where's that stirring rod?

So I baked it in the ancient oven
And waited for some time
Ping! It sprung open!
Now let's give it a try!

Nothing like a meal
For a hungry half-breed
Wasn't such a deal
It was just what I need

Nothing like a Sunday
When you're not feeling mad
Nothing like cupcakes
Nothing like fresh blood

Oh, human bones!
Ack! Ugghh!!

My heart leaps up when I behold*
a skinny-lit vein split even the sky
and I am held, scared as a child,
by the wonder of its roar, my cry's
like that of a lint quietly set alight
in the large of the pitch-dark night.

I would not move from the bed
and yet, I cannot help but stare
through curtains like a coward,
pared apart by curiosity to where
I wish to slide open the window
and see what the sky did sow.

The Child is son to the mother,
and should he ever need forget
he only need look to a shatter
in the sky. The crash on his head
that follows goads, “You know
where your father goes to crow.”