ceremony spiraled down into a coniferous cone like - gesture

raise your glass make a toast

deliver the speech our ears have been yearning to gracefully hear

your words, oh your soothing, pain dissolving words

they solved every problem we ever encountered in a lifetime...

for the moment being

----

the moment fades just like our memory of your  soul lifting elocution (speech)

but we do remember the smiles gathered and shared

for we all know --what's her name again...i only remember her face

said every person ever to hazily recall another

The smile you give me hurts my soul
Because as much as I want to smile with you, I know how this story goes...

From a smile to a scowl,
It's the same, every game,
So that's why I throw the towel,
I don't like to waste my shame,
It's okay, but don't you dare,
I don't get why do you care,
It's a curse I cannot lift,
I just wish not to exist,
But I do, so I accept,
It's all I really have kept,

So you see, the mystery has had its story lit to see, I'm often alone, and misery, don't waste that light on someone like me...

just because I lay my bones out dry for everyone to see that I feel things more than they ever thought I could
doesn’t make me special
doesn’t make me unique
does make me something good
or make my words a grandiose speech-
it may show that I’m week
maybe humble
maybe showing that I stumble on my broken feet
but why on earth would you take advice
from someone who’s foundation is defeat.

the truth is that we’re all hopeless to some extent, relating to something sad, something as empty as we feel
we like to feel something that seems real
something real to us
something we can see
something that we can look and and see ourself reflecting back perfectly.
but when has taking your time to look in the mirror for an extra half hour
looking at your blemishes, your skin decaying, you imperfect features, the shame lying inside your eyes, the unshaven neck, and your unkempt hair
ever brought you to any new place
any new hope,
or is it still the same-
and that’s just how it goes
when the only thing you can look up to
is a reflection that you hate to see
hate to be
hate to remind yourself that that is you
hate to remind myself that that is me.

thank God that I have a foundation not built on myself
on my own personal hell
and that although sometimes there’s comfort in knowing your pain is felt by someone else
true comfort is found by someone who can overcome the pain
someone who can overcome the mundane day to day
the pimples
the ****
and all other things-
still helping me to not look at myself so much
but to place my hand in his and
walk away.

I really don't know why I can't stop,
why I smile when I see your name appear.
I swear to my core and will until I die
you're no longer welcome here.

So stop with your jokes, opinions, and smiles.
Your attempts to get back in.
I hope that you'll find that you can hurt me with words.
But even with the worst ones, you'll never win.

You're the reason the sun is scared to shine.
You're the reason I hate trying new things.
This town is a graveyard because of you.
So what's the point of making yourself King?

Every word you say is an unwritten tombstone,
the songs you sing have no tune.
But just like a fly to a light,
I long to be burned again by you.

you're a screen.
a glass.
but you fell face first and now you're breaking.
you've always been breaking since early before.
the shards come loose and fall with the dirt.
you're always losing shards.
why are you so cracked.
why can't you be one whole glass, one full screen, maybe with a few scratches but the cracks are too deep and you're falling apart.
stop falling apart.
i don't want you to crack all the way and become destroyed.
you're already cracked enough.
you've been dropped but fixed but dropped one too many times and you need a surgeon to help replace those shards you lost along your journey.

you're very oh so gentle and delicate.
maybe even one more drop can cause you to break completely.

you're such a flower.
so beautiful. but once you start picking at the leaves, it starts to decay. it starts to rot.
you pull off the pedals and mess with the stem, slowly suffering.
pull the flower out from the ground and you're a goner, you don't know how to replant, do you? no, you don't. so you die.

i don't want you to die.
i don't want to lose you.
my flower.
beautiful and powerful but yet so delicate and light.
so easily to be taken to the route of death.

i'm no flower.
i'm just a rock.
not beautiful.
not delicate.
but too rough and scarring.
i hate being a rock.

i break things.
i don't fix much.
i'm a burden.
i'll always be there.
in the corner looking at the flowers, but if i get too close i'll crush you and your beauty, your power.

i've crushed you enough as a rock.

i wish i could change
but i don't get to do anything different it seems like.
just a ******* burden on everything.

She told him that if an inch was a mile,
          that her footstep would have been
all it took..

"It doesn't matter the length of the road,
     its the engine that drives you on it..

Well love yours is a 50cc and that doesn't
                   get me anywhere fast...
Jesus my stick vibrates
                          at I higher speed than that.

And doesn't run out of gas that quick,
                                   splutter, splutter..

It isn't true what they say about shoe size,
                    what a dam pity....

I am not weak.
But you will never know this.
Because you were told,
That I was enclosed in glass,
And that I needed to be handled with care.

Your mistake was thinking that I was made up of glass.