I am sick and ******* tired of screaming so loud and having no one hear me, so if this is the first and last time I get this out there then so be it.
We're living in a world that is rampant with hatred towards others who deserve nothing but love and devotion.  And we find ourselves on our knees worshiping  those who warrant disgust and shame. We exist in a system that is so ******* corrupt that I fail to see any solution that we may have for correcting this.
Everyone's talking about killing people and ******* the corpses and those criminals are still out there roaming the streets without a care in the world because someone else is serving THEIR time. If you don't get caught that means you've succeeded right? Their breathe reeks like the skeletons in their closet, and still we refuse to open the ******* door to expose the truth.
There's sexism in the courts; a chick can say you looked at her the wrong way and she can get your *** sent to jail. One word about a threat, and someone's in handcuffs. A man steps away from a law man to gain some time to defend himself against heinous accusations and gets saddled with resisting arrest. Criminals with permission.
We shouldn't have to ******* worry about whether someone will be here one day and be locked up the next. Live and let live has turned into search and destroy everything you once held dear to yourself.
I have the right to remain silent and even if I don't say anything, they will use it against me... just like my past significant other used his weight of over 300+ pounds to own me however he saw fit.
While you're up there taking an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth so help you God, your right hand extended to some supposedly glorious being and lying through your ugly ******* teeth, I'll be over here solemnly swearing I am up to no good, conniving to set things back on track.
Call it Karma or call it anarchy, call it whatever the ******* like, but things need to ******* change. It's time.
I have the right to remain silent, but it sure as hell doesn't mean I'm going to.

It's getting hard to sleep because I've noticed every single thing you've touched on my bed smells exactly like you. I can almost feel you here holding me closely and not letting go, our fingers laced together so tightly we are nearly inseparable.

I'm trying to find the right words to describe you... but you're just too perfect. Every single word you say to me burrows into my brain like a parasite and will not leave its nest; reminding me constantly just how lucky I am to have you.

I am terrified that this is all a dream, that I'll feel myself falling off the edge of a building and my body will **** me awake before I splatter all over the ground and I won't know you as well as I do, or I won't get to know you as well as I want to.

I hugged you tightly that night as we lay together; and I'll tell you now that I  was afraid to fall asleep. The truth is I nearly cried as we held each other in the dark of my room, as Coheed and Cambria filled the air.

You see, last time I had held someone this close to me I was informed he wouldn't be there when I woke up because he will have gone home, leaving me with an empty space in my bed that I had not asked for. In fact, I had nearly begged him to stay so I didn't have to be alone... Just for one ******* night... but he disregarded anything I said. He left.

But, this time when I woke up the next morning I was warm from a loving embrace, which is something I had clearly never really felt before. I felt comforted instead of chilled from the cold shoulder of someone who shows very blatantly he doesn't give a **** about how he makes anyone feel.

And that morning, I received precious kisses on my shoulder blades as I struggled ever-so-gently to wake up and my heart nearly melted in your perfectly sculpted hands.

That morning I was woken up by shivers, butterflies, and happiness instead of drowning in a disgusting alcohol-free cocktail of misery, dread, and anxiety over all of the things I said wrong and needed to apologize for.

I was able to ******* live instead of recoil at the thought of any lonely days following... I was capable of laughter and sleeping without the aid of medication I never wanted to ******* take in the first place.

Happiness they call it... I forgot what that felt like.

It's simply sublime.

"What's the matter dear?"
Psh... They say it as if they actually care.

Everything.

Nothing.

I have no ******* clue what is actually wrong with me.

What is so wrong with me that I am squeezing my lungs with my dirt covered hands just so I have trouble breathing, just so.. perhaps... I suffocate myself...

What is so wrong with me that I've had to cry so often my tears have turned to sand and they begin to erode my flesh?
I've sobbed so often lately that the features of my bare skull are now where my pretty face should be.

I'm such a **** up.

I swear they told me that the minute I was born. You would figure it was my name.

Hello my name is: **** Up.

Nice to meet you. I hope we can be great frie--- oh great.
I've done it again.

I said the wrong thing.
I held out the wrong hand for the handshake.
I'm too ugly for them to talk to.
I'm too skinny.
It's the pimples again isn't it?
They weren't this bad yesterday I promise I just pick
Pick... Pick... Too much.
I'm s-sorry I k-keep st-stuttering its j-just that you're s-so... pretty.  Oh y-you have to g-go? O-okay...

The abandonment issues never really go away.

It gets harder and harder to talk to people. Even in your dreams you try to scream to get some recognition for yourself but every word comes out silent.

Crowds are your worst enemy. You get lost as they swarm towards you and your body suddenly feels tight. Your stomach flips upside down and you're not breathing steady.

And then... Oh! There's that suffocation you wanted earlier. Is it everything you expected? Breathe it all in! Oh wait... You can't. Hahaha!

You can't speak, and when you do you st-stutter again and you speak so quietly that it doesn't even matter anyway.

"I exist." You whisper.

No one heard you, you know.
Instead their voices bounce off each other and you feel light headed as that once wonderful cranium fills with the clamor of the incredibly untalented voice-drummers you unwillingly surround yourself with.

My entire body trembles with anxious defeat.


Such a **** up.
You can't even get him to talk to you again let alone love you, you miserable *******. You're going to be alone forever, you know.

And your own friends!... They're out doing drugs and you always believe them when they say they're going to quit. Jokes on you. This will traumatize you for the rest of your pointless life, especially when you know you could have done something.

You can't even take care of yourself, what makes you think you deserve those wonderful twins you hold so closely to your heart? You should have listened to your father when he said you'd be a terrible mother. He was right. You're horrid.

Sticks and stones WILL break my bones, but words will indeed **** me.

Hello, my name is: ****** Up

Welcome to the town of Unimportance.
Population: Me

When our I love yous turned into nothing I began to wonder what it was that I had said to lose you to the void of time and people who did not have your best interest at heart.

I mean I was the only valiant soldier to stick through all the years of ******* everyone set on your plate for you to devour like it was something you could trust.

I did everything I could to show you that you were the highest priority of mine and still you sent no regard over the way I loved you.

Removing my heart multiple times to set on a golden plate for you to stomach was the hardest part of this, because I still do it every day and receive no recognition until you're ready to try a piece of my beating vessel and give me the time of day.

The misery I feel for you abuses your taste buds like the nostalgia of our time together consistently picks at my grey matter and causes the butterflies to choke me up again.
There are too many now to just remain in my stomach.

It's getting hard to breathe.

My nerves aren't yet shot. In fact they're very reactive to every tooth you grind over my flesh to ******* distinct flavour one more time.

You swallow.
The seasonings of pain, guilt, heartache are to your liking as usual. You want more but you want to keep us anticipating the other days you receive us back into your heart for a few hours.

You tell me to put my heart back behind the pathetic cage of ribs I own without even saying a word.
PLEASE stop pulling me apart to swallow the last few pieces I have left for myself.

You're so miserable and you refuse to let me in to stitch you back together to the one I remember so clearly. But I still love you with every dreaded beat my heart takes.

My words begin to come out mixed with despise and an overwhelming amount of adoration.

I'm falling to pieces, but I wouldn't change a thing about you.

"You love me, and I love you oh so much. Everything is fine." You told me this once and that is the only thing holding me together these days like some sort of crazy glue designed by love.

I can't breathe anymore.

I ******* hate you, but I love you oh so much.
Why is everything we had between us falling out of touch?

"I'll make a picture of you" I told her
"Are you a painter?" she asked.
"No, but I can paint you in words" I answered

I find it sad that I've begun associating you with headaches and bad dreams more often than not.

It's like the only way to reach out to you is to reschedule the days you want to fall in love with me all over again like those days are just some sort of meeting for me to potentially become a home for you.

My arms are open like the front doors of a 5 story mansion with a small attic added on top like icing to a cake and yet you refuse to close them for good for me.

You arrive and pull open every single window and door, you turn on all of the lights, and every trinket that thrives off of my energy is switched on in addition to that without a care in the world of how much of my electricity you are wasting.

Eventually you come to the heart of the house, you turn the flame on high on the stove, you walk straight out and you leave me to burn again.
It's every single time I see you that you do this to me, and somehow I always found the tools to rebuild myself.

This time is different. This time I can't because I'm shattered beyond repair.  Being the glorious architect that you are I figure you could design the sort of place you actually wish to live in.

But you won't.
I'm not in your outline anymore, am I?

You once told me you wanted to fix me, and now is your final chance, because once I find the courage, the meaning, and my resilience to assemble myself once more... Just know that:

I'm closing all of the doors and locking them from the inside with golden keys that I can melt down into reminders of who I'm to not let back in. My arms will not open up for your embraces any longer, lover, not even if you try to pry them open.

I'm closing all of the windows and barring them from your needy hands. They will have to find a new toy to play with.

I'm turning off all of the lights so someone new can learn where the lightswitches to my soul are located, since no matter how often I moved them from you, you still knew me well enough to turn me on.

I'm extinguishing the flame that is constantly flickering between our fragile figures, blowing it out like a candle, and never giving you the ability to light me up again.

I am a female powerhouse and I belong to no one.

My bed has become too big for me.

And not in the sense where my limbs are dangling off the edges,
But in the sense that there shouldn't be just one person lying alone in the dark listening to the stories the walls are telling.

I've come to the point where my tears either burn on my skin like the razor blades you once turned me off of or I've not any left to shed
Because my soul has become as dry as the desert on account of bleeding out until I had no cells left to live for.

There is no more little bird fluttering it's wings to help me know I'm alive, its pulse has left with mine to go off to paradise and ive become a walking distaster-piece trying to find any amount of solace in being forsaken.

My bed beckons me to come back; to uncover it of whatever clean laundry I didn't feel strongly enough about to put in its proper place, to lay down in its arms again and stay a while..

But I no longer find comfort there.

See, my couch has only room for me just as my heart only had room for you, but now I've been left vacant like another apartment after the lease has expired.

I may as well wonder around with a sign reading 'Damaged heart for rent, contact Valerie at 1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER' as advertisement.

I've clearly peaked your interest as some sort of toy long enough for you to continuously return and play with me.

So, go ahead and make an attempt at erasing the history we have between us, officially published or not it still exists and it still bestows significance within our lives.
In yours.
In mine.

You pick up your phone, your hand trembling as your fingertips carress the numbers designed to reach me and me especially.

Go ahead and make love to me one day and then later treat it like a one night stand because I don't have emotions and God FORBID I would call you out on the way you kissed me goodbye that night and didn't talk to me for days following.

You carefully reach towards the green call button to make the engagement more realistic.

Go ahead and abandon me like everyone else, I don't expect you to need me when I don't even need myself.

"I'm sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error please check the number and try again."

1-800-MYFEELINGSDON'TMATTER

I'm going back to bed.