I’m not a pile of shattered glass on the hard floor, beyond repair.
I’m a broken record that repeats repeats repeats the same memories of you

I’m not a river of silent tears streaming down a burning hot face.
I’m a restless night and a mysteriously swollen lip in the morning

I’m not a shaky voice on the verge of crumbling.
I’m a mindless ramble and a laugh that’s too loud.

I’m not the bitter taste of liquor on the back of your throat or the harsh feel of cold night air on bare skin or the glare of streetlights on wet pavement at 2AM
I’m an oversized t-shirt that’s probably not warm enough to sleep in when the temperatures at night dip too low, but it would be if you were here but you’re not and it was the only thing that wasn’t on the floor and I’m too caught up in you to clean up me so I’m an oversized t-shirt that isnt warm enough on its own but is trying.

And you aren’t trillions of shards shooting through my stomach when I hear your voice all the times we walk by eachother as strangers on the streets.
You’re a slight pressure on my mind, everywhere I go.

We weren’t anything of significance.
We weren’t raw throats or bloodshot eyes or holes in the wall.
But, neither were we a hot cup of coffee on cold fingertips.

We weren’t some tragic love story.

You were just a tired boy with nothing to do
And I was just a girl a little too high on hopes that were too high to climb up to and I fell a little too hard and got a bit bruised on the way down.

Now you’re just a memory of selfish lips.

And I’m just a broken record.

A dream is dead, only work remains.
No splendid deeds of creative worth;
or even ones of pure mediocrity.
So bury my mind and body
in the dirt.
I may still be living;
but my mind's inert.

Goodbye pen, paper,
notes and words.
My spirit is
Split and burned.

I was a fool to
think I'd ever be
more than a fool.

Goodbye; This life
grows too cool.

I fill my contacts
with myriad strangers
to hear the hollow words
that could never replace
the ones you use to say.

Our flaws make us who we are,
At least, that is what I am told.
But if I wanted to change my flaws,
Would you deem that too bold?

I feel quite dismal, when I gaze.
When I look into the mirror.
My face is not astounding,
I see very little, I fear.

When I search my soul,
I also see little beauty there.
I think that if I could read thoughts,
I'd learn that few actually care.

My flaws do not make me happy,
They seek my constant attention.
I have flaws that are hidden,
Ones that I dare not mention.

I will change what I can,
That is all that I can do.
After that, I will accept the rest,
Then maybe I won't be quite so blue.

It's crazy to think that I could be so unhappy
While surrounded by friends who love
And family who will always be there for me.
So why do I spend nights wide awake?
Contemplating the time and the place
That I would stage my escape
Is there something wrong with me?
Perhaps I seek a greater meaning?
After all, there has go to be more to see
Life can't be such a meaningless thing
When there is so much to be enjoyed
Yet I find that the darkness is lingering
Always bringing me down
I'm beginning to grow tired
I feel my body has grown weak
What if I just threw in the towel?
Threw it on the ground and said **** it all?
I can be my own person
I can making my own meaning
I am the creator of my destiny
The master chef of my life recipe
But still the question will remain
On the darkest of days
Am I happy?
Or am I insane?

I don't have the right to be jealous.
I don't have the right to make you smile.
I don't have the right to think about you,
and I **** well shouldn't speak your name.
I don't have the right to laugh at your smirk.
I don't have the right to be happy.
I don't have the right to stand next to you,
and I **** well shouldn't want to call your arms home.
I don't have the right to share music tastes.
I don't have the right to accidentally wear matching colors.
I don't have the right to hold your hand,
and I **** well shouldn't cherish the moments when your freckled skin touches mine.
I don't have the right to be yours.
I don't have the right to call you mine.
I don't  have the right to feel my heart ignite in passions,
and I **** well shouldn't imagine you feel the same.

She was in her heavy, heavy
          Auspicious reds
On that cold winter's night,
When he arrived in white.

She stood shivering, dreaming
Of domestic bliss
And watching mindless films
On new couches with the plastic still on them
And pitter-pattering little feet.
She didn't know the names
Of some of the things she wanted
But she wanted them anyway.

All she got was barked orders
Of "have tea ready by 6 am sharp,"
And "you missed a spot."

And she is shackled
Under the weight
Of her oppressive reds.
She is scrubbing; she is trapped;
She lines her forehead every day,
Right where her hair is parted,
With the red of her blood
And devotion.

And he whispers to her
In the silence of the night that's on their shoulders by now
When they're at a traffic light,
Waiting on the blink,
"I'll send you a bill,
For each day and
                                night."