Years ago I closed that door,
my mind absent and I forgot to check the lock.
What came knocking, the same as before,
with the repeated conversations where I could never talk.

How did I come to this,
it’s like a loop repeated in time,
but it’s the only one I want to end.
Watch tragedy stem from bliss,
no lemons so life tossed me a lime,
I’ll keep stirring but it won’t blend.

Today I singed myself with a cigarette
in question if I could still detect heat.
No pain, no burn, no reflexes or regret,
no warmth for I to ever greet.

How did this take over,
I saw the path in front of my eyes,
with weeds and fences blocking the way.
It’s all crimson and clover,
painted and blended in the skies,
and I hope the landscape will stay.

I made a list last night
of the things I want in life,
and you’re at the top i’of the chart.
The other numbers have grown trite,
and they’re blank with strife
because everything else has come apart.

Darling, what do you think of me?
and how often, how frequently?
I’ve been comparing and relating,
Lovely, do you still have your key?
To my breath and heart beating,
I’ve been longing and debating.

The cold winds are now rising,
the night has only grown more dark,
avoiding destruction appears tantalizing,
but my eyes remain fixated on that one spark.
It has the potential to set the world ablaze
though I only wish to warm up my bones,
and after all these years you still completely amaze
you’re unlike anyone else, no match to any snowflakes or stones.

Every waking hour, I’m battling insecurities
they turn my mood sour, and I’m begging anyone to “stomp them please.”
Boiling and ice, so hot then cold,
a mistake now made twice,
I should remember the lessons I’m told.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
Part of me just wants to laugh
‘cause I’m not sure what else to do.

It’s the little things that compile,
and create the big things,
still work to find a smile
and return back to the swings.
Boiling and ice, scalding to freeze,
a mistake now made thrice,
the right answer’s just a tease.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
To calm myself I run a candlelit bath,
but the tap is just pouring glue.

We all keep walking with broken legs
and keep carrying on bleeding wounds
Even the proudest person still begs
for life to grow from ruins.
I want to solve the mystery,
travel through time and space,
‘cause this reality is misery,
when I’m not in my rightful place.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
The ups and downs shown on a graph,
and the statistics are painfully true.
Start by telling me everything,
as I’ve got my own show and tell,
I’ll expose myself to your sting
as long as you promise to make my heart swell.

There are things one can let others know by saying them, others things need to be shown by specific actions. At times actions show more than what one can ever be declared, vise versa. But do things naturally fall into two categories? No, and of course there is a piece in between where they cross between and is that a good thing? Again, there is no way for one to answer the question without lacking in the circumstances. And the conditions are where it reveals how little I know about everything. I'm finding out about the anything and everything to help this, this abstract blur that I keep searching for. If there are gaps, we always choose to build a bridge where there might not be intended to be one. Don't jump to conclusions. Don't run so blindly to things that devise anyone. Stop and think. Think about the simplest of happenings and think about the rarities. What are the odds then? 4.543 billion years. 7.53 billion people. Seven continents and an incredible number of casualties. Still, here it is — what a time to be alive. No one is given a choice but what's there to it? There are countless things I've left boiling in me, and an even more significant amount that I've left unsaid. But the saccharine feeling of merely being surrounded by knowing people like this exist is incomparable. I like being while another person I care about is also being. It makes me feel less like such a human being and more of an extraordinary thing. If you jump, please do so knowing wherever you may land could potentially lead. remember that when you jump, it may lead to severe states, or to places and feelings you'll enjoy forever. "All we wanna know is where the stars came from But do we ever stop—ever stop to watch them shine? Or are we staring with—staring with ungrateful eyes?"

Imprinted on my mind
To think of you a thousand times
Before the minute was over

Hollow as the sounds echo
Nothing to hang onto , I must let go
New hour has begun

But silence fell over the voiceless voice
That feeling of thinking I had a choice.
The dark day has arrived .

Million words , a million ways, to say
I love you, and not a letter missing out of eight.
It's been a week

Eternity line snapped, hopeless string.
And I believed in every Viber of my being.
How many months has it been.

Rewind and please stop , I'm dieing
In your world , I'm not even trying
But my minutes are years .

However long this eternity takes it to be
I'll always wish someday you'll know me
Even after 6 years of "nothing"...

Dejected, I've detected
that the things people say
can't make sense anymore;
God, it's hopeless, I'm lost,
and maybe someone out there
can tell me where it went wrong.

I want to believe him,
yes, I do,
but who's the fool here
to think it's true?

Please forgive me,
those of you who come close,
for not taking chances
in letting myself loose;
I'm just frightened
by what I've left behind
and I'm just frightened
of what lies I might buy.

the door in my old room. the one with light blue sky and clouds painted over every inch of the walls. the two window sills in my room, with the dirt from when i’d go in and out of them. my ceiling from which i hung wind chimes. my bunk bed that had alllllll my stuffed animals on the top bunk. with a book called the anybodies (my favorite as a kid) to read on the top bunk with the fan on. anyway,
the door in my old room. i wasn’t allowed to close it, so i almost never did. but when i did, it was so I could write and draw on the white backside. my teenage poetry. pure, ****** poetry.
well i wonder if it’s all still there.
nostalgia is a slow, everlasting-like ******. a guaranteed good feeling. because i feel just enough sorrow that it’s the really good feeling pain because also, i’m happy as if i’m happy crying. if that makes sense
“i know it well” blood bank
momma, i miss you. i feel you. i only wish to ever be enough, and to be a good person.
even the best of us aren’t perfect hm?
my old door was cool. i miss some of those times. i feel like thinking about the lyric “hearts are broken every day.” has been messing with me lately. heartbreak (don’t judge me aight) reminds me that i am human. heartbreak makes me feel mortal in a way few things can. so what is the point of my life when i already know such heartbreak, it’s impacted me a lot, but it is simultaneously an every single day, multiple times per second occurrence. very common. very common **** my ****. that **** hurts in a good way you feel me?

As I sit here in a late night stupor,
Throat burning from cigarette smoke and hot ash,
I bear witness as Shaw cries out to DeYoung,
Trying so hard to give him a lift and a light,
To shore up the talented man's morale and instill a will to fight.

As he starts in on this,
I take a sip of coffee,
Burning lips and tongue upon the bitter brew,
With a muttered curse and a wince,
Eyes begin to relax just a bit,
As accolades are rained upon DeYoung.

But like that first distant rumble of faraway thunder,
That is the harpinger of a massive storm to come,
Tones beginning to change,
As if the more he speaks the more his patience wears until-

SNAP!

- an accusation is thrown out like a slap to the face,
That there's more that he can do,
If only he stopped getting in his own way.

Tap-tap upon the ashtray as ash falls into a heap of itself,
Lids growong heavier still,
The song like an anthem of conciousness,
And knowing that it would soon run out of steam.

Sweet sleep avoided,
Each nights dreams becoming vivid to a disturbing degree,
Like some kinda ****** up inversion as to how I want it to be,
Like how it use to be,
Before the hooks of this monotony sunk so deep as to embed into the bone.

The mountain seems so high as it towers overhead,
And makes me want to knock the **** out of me from so many months ago,
But erecting myself straight as tighten once again,
Clear and sharp once more.

I hope she treats you well
because I haven't been good myself

talking on the phone
i think it's early morn
wishing i was fast asleep
but i guess there's nothing i want more

body full of aches
but your voice shakes the pain away

i think that it's been good
i guess
you and her
for you 's the best

i guess i can't quite accept
that my time well spent
was nothing
and

i like you
hell, i love you
but it's not me,
i see

i guess this is reality