Sometimes stuff is not gonna go the way you want.
Sometimes the world with explode under your feet.
Sometimes love will be just out of your grasp.
Sometimes people will be back stabbers.
Sometimes you'll bleed to death.
Sometimes you'll just have to sit there listening to angry music by Eminem to feel okay.
Sometimes you'll never be okay.
But that's okay.

Everyday is but time managed by the sun and the moon,
and their clocking-in cards

I heard them saying:
"she goes places sometimes".
I knew they meant I leave sticky notes on their mirrors saying "I'll be back, but don't wait up".

I knew that they meant that I sometimes take the long way home for the view, even if the view is the industrial sight where my ambition died.

I knew they meant that, there are voices in my head that are screaming at me dark thoughts, so loud that sometimes they can hear them too.

I knew that they meant I don't wear yellow anymore because I'm afraid I'll go blind; that my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light that surrounds me.

I knew they meant no harm.
I knew they didn't want me to hear them.

I knew they meant that I practice holding my breath for countless minutes just incase they catch me playing dead in the bathtub again.

I knew they meant that I read the endings of books before starting them so I won't be disappointed. I knew they meant that I'm tired of being disappointed.

I knew they meant that I am weaker than usual; that I don't wear as many sharp edges or that I don't smell like kerosene after it's been set on fire.

that I don't ignite at the sound of pistols, I just welcome bullets.

that I don't walk on the perimeter of the ocean, I just drink the water till the salinity makes me see the world in different colours.

that I'm not afraid of heights, I'm just afraid of falling.
that I wear a kind of loneliness that doesn't wash off.

I knew they were trying their best to be gentle,
but I was trying my best to be tough.

but when you light the world on fire time after time, you get tired of rebuilding walls.

you get tired of looking your best; of drawing attention; of wearing yellow.

you get tired of holding your breath, and you let in the voices.

and you take the long way home, and you don't feel bad that you didn't leave a note.

Who steals the moon?
or does it just fall?
Fleeting softly of its own accord;
if I could tie it with string,
I too could be swept soundly abroad

You need to realize
He gave you paradise
He makes you smile
Even if he makes you cry--a lot