"Who cares?"
"I care."
"Why?"
"Because I've been there.
And I know how much it means to be able to have someone to talk to when life gets so unfair."
"You have no idea what I'm going through.
How dare you say you understand."
"You're right. I very well might not understand.
But I'm willing to listen. And when you're finished, if you want, I'll help however I can."

What do you do when you don't know what to say?
What do you do when your head tells you to stay but your heart says to walk away?
Who do you go to when things don't go your way?
Is it getting harder to get through the days?
Once you figure out the answers, there is only one question left to ask
What will you do differently today?

I don’t know what i’d be doing without you
I don’t know where i’d be without you
honestly,
I don’t know if i’d still be here without you

I wanna be your stranger
The one you look out to see
stranger you see from the window
No one else but me
Care to join me love with a hand
When you reach a touch warm
Our skin interacts creates land
Land filled with hope
We both can feel
Something we hope can cope
As you reach my other hand
Empty it may seem
But what lies under all that pressure
A stem
Simple and green
Time seems to have froze
It feels all free
What shown is a rose
To you from me.

go back to where it began:
trombone / cob nut / tadpole / violin /
you fell —
and i have not breathed it since
except that hot summer;
when we excavated
an entire roman village of chicken bones
from the soil
where now there are none

hell is just
the church's
basement

Ayo
What the **** is going on?
I really don’t know anymore...

Lies are beautiful,
With their assortment of colors,
Ranging from a crystalline white
To a dried blood brown-black.
From purity, for saving someone
from the pain of the truth,
to lies of pure fun,
that stains the ground we walk on.

And so I coat myself in black and blood red,
Making lies and creating fun,
Only for myself.
Or at least that’s what I’d like to think.
The pure black seems to almost
                   flow
              like a river
     out through my lips
and to everyone around me.
It’s toxic, bringing pain like flesh being
torn.
I love it.
I crave every agonizing minute
of lies that spew and grow and
writhe like a growing parasite.
A beautiful parasite of shining
black
and luxurious oily blue.

It can’t be helped to love such
mesmerizing
colors.
So here I spill
and paint the world in my ink.
The ink of lies,
And the paper the truth.
Of course, everyone wants
to fill said paper
with color.

So we spill inky lies to the ground
to create a world worth living in.
A wonderland of gorgeous, asymmetric chaos.
Lies are truly beautiful, if you see the creativity
behind the lie.