the longest runs
are the things that **** us
we can train
we can raise our knowledge
but we can never prepare for the hurt
the anger
the tears
the scars.
when i say what's happening
people pity me
they try to 'help'
they look at me with sad eyes
and tell me to just solve it.
i can't, now can i.
it hurts.
i love.
i hate.
when you think you get out of it
it ropes you back in
if i cry
you don't care
if i yell
you don't care
if i leave
you hit me with words
you slap me with insults
tell me
i'm stupid
i'm an idiot
i'm worthless.
you pull me back in
into the fishing line
and i'm caught
caught on the hook
you trick me
say that you'll always love me
no matter what.
then you go along
and shed your hateful words like a snake
still,
i'm caught in the fishing line.
i'm stuck in the hook.
and there's no getting out.

your touch
makes sparks
f
         l
                         y
and throws away my conclusion.
i can't help loving you
because you are blood.
i can't help hating you
because of your actions.

your embrace
makes me want to
d
             r
      e
                           a
                                                 m
and dance
then roll around in
          l
                 o
                         p
                e
         s

but i can't,
now can i.
your **** love
is making me pay
and forcing me to break
the remaining shatters of my life.





. . .




i know i said i'm not thinking about it.
but how can i not?
it's so appealing.
everything gone in an instant.
so easy.
so simple.
the glass that sticks into my palms disappears,
along with the bruises.
the cuts.
the scars.
i just wish that

**someone would listen.

their gazes cut silently at my flesh,
they wish me nought but pain and death,
i breathe in deep in hopes of inner-peace,
but come up short as their claws pierce my skin,
see my words create images in your head,
so remember this as you lay your head,
words can heal just as easily as they can ****.

brings laughter, excitement and security
cuts deep like a sharp knife or
soothes like warmth of a blanket
a product of a fatal verbal blow
can grow like thorns finding its way into
the softest spot of mankind
the heart

it wasn't really school bullies, that have torn me apart,
or a past lover who broke my heart,
but more so, my own blood
who has caused this everflowing flood,
of pain, sadness, and madness in my mind
they think that because i'm still breathing, i'm doing just fine
when really,
im going to explode like a land mine
*eventually.