Sometimes I wish I could cry forever,
Because once is never enough for all
Of my emotions, all my bitter, selfish emotions.
I want to feel the waterfall on my face, struggle to breathe,
Disgust myself as the tears pool up on my neck.
I want to curl up in a protective ball, shut out the world,
And just let go.
Sometimes I wish I could cry
F
     o
           r
                e
                      v
                           e
                                 r
                                       .
                                            .
                                                 .

Did I fall for you the first time you said,
‘I love you’?
No, no, it was definitely before that.
Was it that time when you made
That corny joke, and your
Goofy grin made my day?
No, no, it was even before that.
Was it the time when you found me in the
Empty hallway, and brushed your
Fingers through my hair and told me
Everything would be alright?
No, it was still before that.
Was it the time that you told me about
Your struggling family,
And you looked me directly in the eyes and
I saw your firm resolve and your
Willingness to initiate change?
No, it wasn’t even then.
I fell in love with you when I was awake at 4
In the morning and I thought the whole world
Could hear me sobbing and I called you,
And you answered.
Maybe that makes me seem weak, but
I just wanted to tell you
When I f
                  e
                       l
                           l
                               .

Claying in through desert fads
Like some of those old Utah lads
The perrenial sun is the scorching one
Like dumped up logic in deafed up pun
Passing through the graveyard cross
Halcyon of the deep loss
Now way ahead of time strands
The fanthom mark reminds me errands
Of every dawn that strikes me whole
Reminds me- for time, there's no dole
I can stop at mark and sob indeed
But a purpose lives, over I feed.

When a man can hear
a woman's screams and sobs
thunder across an empty parking lot,
from a lone truck
partly hidden by the blanket of night,
that man is faced with a choice.
He can ignore the cries
and continue to move forward,
or he can turn and fight.
Such terrible options are rarely requested,
and no matter which decision he makes
that man will be haunted
during the quiet moments
for the rest of his life.

o how centuries pass with little
regard for the
stones that they
subtracted -- ! the dribbling
of water cannot
salivate over a rock
without a speck
mixing into
that droplet, being taken away,
carrying with it the dreams of the rock's atoms.
further do the rocks align with the sea than they could ever
the earth.
the way waves wobble holds a water
jug and pours out the turquoise stars, the stars
pour out water and into water the jug
(a tremble) sobs.

The Massacre of Feelings began not long ago,
Throughout the tall trees, woodland creatures and doe.
Magical skies flickered bright stars for show,
Once picture perfect, favorite photo.

Many have tried, wanting another chance,
Lies and truths spread around and danced.
Every single fib new and enhanced,
Looking to be more advanced.

Trinkets and trophies all present win,
Guilt and grief wanders my skin,
Thinking about what has caused sin,
The story has yet to begin.

Not enough time, too much to tell
Special powers, alluring spell.
Instead of staying caged in dwell,
Finish to start, who's to yell?

Misery provokes sadness and sob,
Which only leads my heart to throb,
Slowly and carefully turning the ****,
Revealing the truth to why we sob.

The Massacre of Feelings returns each year,
Me, myself, I, always living in fear.
What's one or two bottles of wicked *** beer,
Whatever will help me stop the tears.

Cheated a glorious life without hurt,
Should've never believed its worth,
Confidently willing to assert,
One of my many alerts.

Just a kiss, buttercup
Remember not to **** me up.
Maybe it’d be best, to promise
Just one kiss.

Strangers after all don’t have business with each other.
That’s what mother
Said.
It will always wander in my head.

But little by little
My hands would fiddle
Every single **** time I saw you.
But knowing you’d never be able to come through.

Our promise broke and one kiss led to two.
Then three.
And so forth.
God, I shouldn’t have trusted myself with you.

The last time our lips felt each other
Was when your girlfriend caught us under your covers.

She came by with a surprise
But left with numerous lies and sobbing eyes.

You yell at me.
“Stupid ***** couldn’t keep her mouth shut.” Yell he.

I too, left with sobbing eyes.
Then despise.
And a part of me dies.

Ever since we stopped this secret
My weakness
Is you.
But I can’t do this,
I have to stop thinking about your kiss.
The thoughts continue to spew.

This is wrong.
I should have realized sooner you were just playing a puppet’s song.

I've heard that you really don't know what you have until it's gone
Sadly now, I know it's true

It was not death itself that made me realize this
But the reaction of the one's it affected
The one man that would call me a friend
Broken
In tears
With his heart in pieces

And I couldn't do anything to help
I stood there as he sobbed
I watched his heart tear in pieces
He was helpless

I can't mend broken hearts
I don't have the right words

I've hadn't ever seen broken
Until I saw those tears
Rushing down his face

Then, I realized
I cannot mend a broken heart
I can't stop the tears from falling
I can't say the right words

I just have to watch
As the ones I tell myself I care about
Are ripped to shreds
By the death of a great man

So all I can do is
Hope and Pray
That one day
He'll be close to the same

I wash my hands constantly, as the smell of anything unnatural makes me uneasy. I smell the tips of my fingers and the palms of my hands nervously; the smell of metal, carpet, and reluctance all trapped between my fingers nauseate me. I run to the sink and pump soap into my hands before frantically rubbing them together, forming as many bubbles as possible.

I only like my hands when they smell like soap or oranges or lavender.

I have nightmares about you during the day. I sit awake and wonder how much of you was real and how much is just sound that I created in a desperate leap for love. The leap I swore I would take over and over again.

There is paint on my arms and my hands right now and all I can think about is how i wish I were an artist
I wish i could draw myself into things the way I can push myself into things that hurt

My mom told me I am brave that I am fearless that I just do things
but I think I am reckless with myself
the way I run into pain face first and tear into it with my fists over
and over again
I have never been afraid of change
The way pain rolls over you and makes your stomach convulse
your whole body week and your sobs so huge that they don’t make sound beyond the frantic gasp for air at the end

I have always been to proud of being human
for some reason I think that the way I feel the way I live is somehow monumental
running into things over and over again