How beautiful is the sunset
Like the blood that drips down my wrists
Every
Night

Like the great painter has
Decided to paint the sky
The same color as life

How ironic that so many die at night.
How ironic that I never knew blood was so beautiful
Until it dripped from my veins.

Some things that are broken can be fixed. Many things that can't be fixed aren't broken.

It’s overwhelming how fast time passes. However hard we try to keep up, it races ahead of us; and we are just left behind,
spent.

That’s why
I like sitting in a moving car
and just staring out my window.
I pass by cities,
trees,
and people
with so much history in a blink of an eye- and I smile.


It feels like I’m ahead of time


and I let my mind wander- unchecked by the realities of it

I will knock out your teeth if you try to
take my love away from me— and if you
do it more than once I'll start setting
things on fire.
I'm telling you, I don't think I could ever love anyone ever again  , I don't know
I don't know

see, here's the thing
it's the Sunday morning before my birthday and I'm laying in bed eating leftover cold pizza and simultaneously thinking about all of the good and the bad. The ugly, the
uglier and the so ******* ugly it's
beautiful

and I've decided I am so much
more than those things you pinned to my
skin like medals or scars.
although , ironically
I have a bulletin in my room
filled with all the horrible things I'd like to say to you , over and over and over again but I probably never will

I hope she gives you an sti, but not enough to **** you.
I want to tie you to a chair and make you watch as I burn the place you call home , to the ground


I keep staring at works because
it's so **** hard trying to decipher what is true art and just plain trash when I gone through something like you
I'm stuck feeling like frames are jails for paintings , and oil takes way to much time for me to even bother



I went out last night
and the waiter charmed me into drinking a cocktail made up of late night mistakes and sin
and half way through the drink I realized I have a hard time doing anything that doesn't end up with me being alone questioning why nothing ever really turns out as you think it should
I'm with Lynn and Im half talking half rambling about how
my pet puppy ran away when I was 13 and I named him angel.
i think I named him that because , well
i always got the feeling I wasn't living life like I was supposed to, Mother raised me catholic but I raised myself to believe in nothing but broken fists , ceilings and the kind of angels that hold your hair back only cause it suits them.
and it never made sense to my mom
and it never made sense
because none of it ever does
there'll still be hobos on Jan smuts avenue sleepin under  roof folds
there'll still be daily suicides and hospital stories that'll make bodies and spirits alike collapse and high school drop outs with dreams bigger then whole buildings , there'll still be boys that eat your dignity for breakfast ad girls that will put then above their own morals
and in the end , I'll always be here standing , flipping the light switch wondering why nothing ever really turns out like you think it should

Where do you hide
When there's nowhere to go?
Who do you talk to
When no one wants to listen?
Surrounded by people
Yet feeling alone
Trying to be legit
Feels impossible sometimes
In a quick flash
Everything can be lost
Unforgiving is the life that waits
Karma doesn't always play fair
The pain and hurt attack the undeserving too
Sometimes the worst people make off with the best
What can be learned from that?
Patience and acceptance?
Of getting dealt the **** end of the stick?
A terrible hand in a high stakes game
Running out of gas when you're almost there
Looking for someone
But finding no one home?

let's ***** our romance
     from broken cathedral windows.
I'll kiss your feet
     as they bleed from the shards of cherry wine bottles.
let's carve out our stomachs
     and eat them with coffee and the morning chorus.
I'll watch you make a mess of prostitutes
     so that pink and white clouds at sunrise mean nothing else to me.
let's go and sit by the sea
     or the Seine, I don't mind,
let's drown on parched cobblestone streets.

I tried.
I tried to keep away from words.
But every now and then I find myself stealing (reading).  

Yesterday, I read:
                      The heart will find a way to reach what it loves,
                              however hard the mind tries to hinder.

Then I tried to keep away from you, too.

But every now and then I find myself stealing.

Alas! the heart found that ****** way.