Being over driven by youthful desires
She fell asleep with her tears on fire
Will she live to tell another tale of heartbreak?
Will she live to see through the fake?
Who knows?
Her heart, unfortunately, grows
Her blood oozing out of her wrists
Her dreams became brutal from being bliss
"Why was I so stupid?" she sleep-talks
"Someone, please pull that trigger!" she sleep-walks

The anxiety for morning to reach died
The thought of a future became pesticide
For the only future she knew was with him..
The blade made love to her from her shoulders down to her limbs
Until there was no more pleasure to escape through her veins, through her skin
She lost... But what did he win?
Nothing but absolute guilt, at her funeral, where he looked above
And only remembered her sweet gesture of; "Give me Love"

-fir.m

you are the difference between hell
and home

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Oh darling…
After years of being bullied,
Bullying myself,
Are you aware the state I’m in?
My hands, they shake.
My head, it spins.
To be trapped in your own mind,
To be hooked on a drug they call sadness,
It’s torture.
I am a POW.
A prisoner of the war I am at with myself
When my mind says “Move on”,
And my heart says “Hold on”,
And my body says “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take”,
Who to listen to?
So I am punished for everything broken in my life
As I grasp through the darkness,
Trying to glue it all back together,
Ignoring the cuts the sharp shattered dreams bring,
But I’m so tired of self-pity.
So tired of holding onto people and things that have long left my life
Hoping one day
These real eyes
Will realize
When those real lies are told
So I can stop and ask myself is it really worth it.
Or better yet, am I really worth it?
Or am I just a complication?
Someone who you would be better off without,
At least you won’t have to act like you love me.
Lie about being there for me,
Dangle in front of me the possibility of happiness,
Then pretend to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart
I’m so tired.
Stupid us, thinking we were in love.
Stupid me, thinking I was finally good enough.
So when I hear that stupid rhyme,
It brings me back.
Re-read the top if you must to completely grasp,
But don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

I turned on the news today,
And realized
We live in a really ****** world

Four robberies
A ****
A ******

Oh hey look;
There's someone supporting cancer
Oh wait;
It's because their baby died

More robberies
A mugging
Child abuse

And I learned all this,
Before the first commercial break

This is what the news teaches kids:
We live in a really ****** world

Yet we wonder
*Why more kids are depressed

You ******* *****
How in the hell did you ever have
The dumbest thought that I am
Able to understand you in your
SILENCE?

Your stupid ego won't dry your tears
I will
Your idiot pride won't ease your fears
I will
So speak to me in clear sentence
And ask me to stay
Because *I WILL!

James, you make my eyebrows feel so heavy.
To think: if I never find the one and one make too many empty glasses were broken in the mud-
dled my words when she asked for the time for bed –
All during my morning constitutional.
Take your ***** on the Mount and your Sin of the Farter
Because I know there’s nothing behind the artist except falling towers and furniture-sellers.
But can the deaf still listen?
Or should I care what’s inside a box I can never open?
And how many carriages will follow my coffin
And who will be my wormeaten neighbors
And which tongue will be employed to engrave the epitaph
And topped by what symbol or none?
 
In the beginning the first two words began to breed
And each generation issued reduplication
Evolving vestigial verbiage and new punctuation
All the way down to a young Poet-Hero-Creator:
Use illusory contours to paint the gravity between heavenly bodies, and use
The shared human experience of multistable perception to imply the gestalt of Dublin
(and be sure to use that German term).
We are the artificers of meaning.
 
Item: the location of the key.
Cat: things I should be thinking about but am not.
Item: the *** organs of strangers and acquaintances.
Category: things I should not be thinking about but am.
Item: the autobiographical component of Shakespeare’s later works.
Cat: things I need you to know that I think about.
Item: the possibility that my presence is not nearly as commanding as I’d formerly assumed.
Item: the increasing inebriatory similarities between myself and my father.
Item: the fear of losing my memory of Mother’s face,
as directly correlated to the expanding passage of time.
Cat: things I need you to think I don’t think about, at all.
 
Picture a symphony.
Hold the moment when the lights first fall and the cacophony of tuning
Floods into a single, synthesized vibrating tone. After the silence and before the song.
Write what you hear.
Write the chords in semiotic rhyme; transcribe harmony as memory:
Sing lived and unlived love and stride through on inkblot feet.
Now add the missing notes.

I would ask you to grow a tumor
But you'd **** that up too

How come people like you exist?
You always make some misunderstanding between us,
Are you happy because you already ruined this?
Don't Insist-
You're just a friend *****.