What does it mean
To still be here, living with trees
Tapping at the windows
It's almost like they're asking
What we think we're doing

Waking up on air mattresses
Drinking instant coffee while
Outside, birds will fall
In this twisted dream
A toxic slew of memories

Remember the back of the class
Listening to seventeen covers
Of "Kissing in Cars" and
Going through every last
Tear stained inch of you

Remember the grass beneath my feet
Before you ever knew about me
The school shootings, the rain
Kids crying in the parking lot
Phoning parents, trying not to be afraid

You're the only person I've ever seen
At midnight in an overcrowded kitchen
Leaned against a counter
Like you know where you belong
That night, I saw stars behind your eyes
I don't want to grow up anymore

I'd rather see the world
Through a broken glass
Fragmented
Like I'm an insect
I'd rather see you
Looking through my bangs
You're blurry now
Like I'm dying
I'd rather see myself
Well
I'd rather not see myself
At all

Drawing flowers
Foxglove and
Red stained hearts
Bleeding out
On the pavement
Sending kisses
Over the phone
Texting like
Wildflowers
Popping up
In the darkness
Of my mind

in my mind
           all i really
      wanted
      was mind enough
         to say no...
                  and yet
as i had knelt...
and as i had pleaded..
     all i could ask for
                                    was ignorance
               and all i could say
          was thank you
                          for all the venom---
                   still
           it
                              feels just
              a little bit sad
                                  i couldn't
  ask for more...
                               more drops
                          by
              drops
wishing
  ­                                wanting
                         ­                                              waiting
                   washing down
       falling



       even deeper






       ever faster
    






                                              ­intoxicating
sating myself more and more in this
scrumptouos feast of more and more
                 and with every single mouthful
i take in
                  my appetite begs for more and more
       yes
                           i am a wolf.
           the lowest of the low
                     in a tripartite soul.
and i can't help
                            but fill myself up
     no matter how much
                  i weigh myself down.
                                      i just want more.
                          more of bullets
       for every single word you say
                  more of icicles
              for every single awkward touch
more of daggers
                for every single glare you look me
                 down with
                                   more of poison
       for every single lie you make me swallow
        forcefully down my own throat saying
        that you've always been true
                                                           ­  more of you...
for every single night i waste
away lying wide awake lying
to myself about not regretting
every sound i taught, trained
my tongue to incarcerate until
you were no longer there to listen
                       more of flames.
        the feeling i get whenever you
         quench my burning aching hunger.
                more of flames
that blazing glimmer i become
when everyone looks at all my
scars with disappointment.
                               i want more of flames.
                     and i just want to burn it all down
along with you.
                  and then
                                   i'd happily engulf myself
     engorge myself
                                  on all our
shared
                     pain
                                                         and
                                misery
     knowing that no one will ever
           knowingly share anything else with me...
                                                                let me bask
                     at least one last supper
in the blissful toxin
                                   of our cannibalism
                   and one last time
                       we'll cast a miracle and
     burn
                               in the gluttony
of our lustful intersuffering
                                                  ­drowning drunk
        from the deathly fermentation
                        of our own flowing blood
              knowing
    we'll never again
                          have to wake up
                 with a killer of a hangover tomorrow.

And you're too tired to talk to me

People always say
"Music keeps me sane."
But I don't get the random urge to kick those rocks when my phone is dead getting off the bus at 6pm,
The cry to selfharm is not only called through my mind
but when I'm listening to the screaming of friendly monsters
I run to the blade quicker.
Music keeps me insane.