You say its all
"Mind over matter"
But I've misplaced my brain,
Its no matter anyway,
For ive got flowers in my veins!

Most are in bloom and gorgeous,
But those roses are such liars,
Im scratched up on the inside,
Pullin thorns out with pliers.

And although it looks quite messy,
I cant feel a thing,
For how can I percieve this pain,
When I still cant find my brain?!

Did I stick it in the toaster?
Did I drop it on the floor?
Maybe The cheshire cat stole it.
Just messin with my head,
Im sure.

But no, I do not mind,
Cause nothing really matters.
Im lost but im not late,
Drinkin tea with the mad hatter.

It feels like a thousand knifes
cutting through my veins
watching the blood stain
crimson crystals of life
all problems fade away
I feel alive!

Deeper and deeper
reaching for soul
deeper and deeper
cutting my throat
no fear of the reaper
my jugular vein.

Razor blades, sleeping pills
bit of methamphetamine
benzos and ketamine
raises the adrenaline
my heart now beats so fast
lets see how long it's gonna last.

but my veins ******* burn
because it isn’t blood running through them,

it’s you

*(r.e.)

i injected caster sugar into my veins and i’m still waiting for the high to hit. i drew a smiley face on the desk at school and they called me a delinquent and i think they overreacted a bit, and they said that dreamers never go anywhere in life, but i’m writing this on the moon.

The veins along your skin
form a map
And as I trace their path
I've found the place where I belong. Like the river I flow into your heart and back out into the ocean
from your fingertips.
You are my lifeline
and I , yours.

Sometimes at night, I think I can
hear the blood rushing around my veins

there is an ocean inside of my flesh
that erodes the rocks that form
from the sediment of my thoughts

I can hear the waves crashing
and churning,

put your ear to my chest and hear
what I keep inside me,
what is drowning me from the inside out

when our metal collided,
forming a beautiful mess of flames and exchanged paint,
they dragged my unrecognizable hunk of meat,
fire still dancing on my skin,
to a blinding, sterilized building smelling of alcohol and copper
usually reserved for bullets in the chest and praying mothers.

they pricked my arms and legs and chest and everywhere in between.
never was there a moment
where cool palms were not smoothing down
the few strands of hair still attached to my scalp.

howls never failed to fill the night-
every night-
and my father joined the wolf pack
once they whispered
"we have some bad news."

their methods had failed to see my body perfect again.
but what they didn't know
is that instead of dripping recycled blood
down the tubes jammed in the holes decorating my skin,
they should have poured words
in to my running river veins.