and if i fall too far
into the excessive arguments
between my heart and knowledge,
who will we blame at all?
because every beat my pulse gains,
the more i want him.
but every brain cell i have
declines the fact
that love will help my torn
soul
recover back to
colour.

~t.s.

does your presence matter when
you're breathing
but not truly living?
no, you cannot help it
only your madness can,
only your madness can directly control your mind
but if you're not truly living,
just breathing,
then how would it effect your soul
when you're
not here to notice it?
and when you don't notice something,
you don't taste it,
or hear it,
and you can't reach out to touch it with your pale
fingertips
that crave texture and the warmth
of another individuals hands
and maybe just that
holding of the hands
will let your madness hide away
and will make your presence
feel mattered
and maybe,
you will truly start
living

~t.s.

ride or die
you keep me alive
giving me power and devotion
day after day
and honey, you're so dope
yet so elegant that
you may be compared to what
fills my eyes
and what hovers over the
unseen land of the deep blue sea
that we like to call
the bottom of the ocean
drizzling down my soul
to the dark gaps of my heart
darling, i see right through you
clear as day,
dark as night
you keep me here
yes, you keep me on my feet
supplying me with
love and emotion
like a druggie feeding it's body
the *******
it craves

~t.s.

our love was reckless
yet admiring at the same time
he was my best friend
the one id call
the one id kiss.
his mind was clever
iconic,
nomadic
yet torn between
love and hate
because for him,
there was no in between,
there was nothing that
slivered through the cracks.
it was a one way go
and if he loved you,
you were lucky.
because it takes a lot for him to open his mind
to someone besides his demons
and there's nothing more
important
to him
than his demons
because he always said
"they are what keep me true to myself"
but never did he ever think
that they'd be the reason
that his soul would fly up to
the gods of his perceptions.

~t.s.

long nights of
strange men
and ***** water,
you can't see any further.
and you can't read your watch to tell the time
for you sold it
to a family who needed it
more than you did.
but that's just it,
you didn't need it
but now you do
you've gone somewhere
of a dark glow
not knowing which corners to turn
not remembering your childhood
because you keep thinking you'll find it
at the bud of a cigarette
or the bottom of each bottle called
jack daniels that you like to sip at
you don't find it odd anymore when those
strange men role down their windows
knowing you'll hop in with no second guesses
and you don't find it weird anymore that love hurts
because you keep convincing yourself
that these aged men love you
but who gives a ****?
who cares about who loves you?
you don't
and that's why you keep finding the emptiness of bottles
and ends of cigarettes
because your life is in that container of poison
and your life is in the nicotine of that drag
and once you take your last sip,
or your last puff
you're at the end of the road
with blood tracks that you can't wipe off
and now you're laying there with no pulse
because you thought
life was meant for the unstable

~t.s.