Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.

I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.

I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"

Let me apologize, to begin with because of my body type.
I will NEVER be good enough for anyone to date due to current 'hype.'
You know, the battle of 'bones' vs curves?
Just let me inflate myself to the  right number so I can properly serve
As the perfect specimen for your delicate eyes.
Obviously no one is good enough unless they've got decent thighs.

But just wait a ******* minute, because here I am again:
So let me apologize, to begin with, if I offend
You or your friends who think they're too good
To date someone larger, with some extra love under the hood.
How many times have I heard you exclaim in disgust
Of how large she is and how you'd drown in her bust
If you even got near her? I saw you shaking in fear.
From your head to your toes, you were trembling dear.

See I'm told to eat more and maybe, just maybe,
At the end of the night I'll be the one you call baby.
But if I was larger, and let's tell the truth,
You'd be so disgusted by my 'sweet tooth.'

I could eat an elephant and never gain a pound,
She could eat a salad and the crunch is the only sound
You hear a mile away and yet you would assume
That burgers and French fries is all that she consumed.
Do you ever stop to think, ladies and gents?
The true beauty of someone isn't based on the number on their pants.

So, let me apologize, to begin with,
If I bruise your massive ego,
But the way to tell if she's the perfect woman is not by your libido.

It's hard knowing
you're not in the right location
when everyone ahead of you
is doing so much better than you are,
and when you try to follow them
you get lost in throngs of people
who are
just
like
you.

You become plastered to the stereotype
like the same boring wallpaper
in the same mundane house;
the kind that someone wants to cover
with accomplishments because it's too ugly
to deserve even a quick gander.
And that's alright with you
because it's just how you feel: ugly.

You become melancholy at the thought
that every word you try to spread on that
revolting wallpaper in an attempt to make it beautiful,
before someone else tries to do the same,
just keeps being buried under yet another outstanding triumph
from someone who isn't you.

It's beyond difficult to understand
you aren't in the right position
to become the dream you made up inside your head
as you step over boundaries that are faded
in hopes you can immediately be where you desire
and require
when the design has a necessity for time
and careful planning.

And all you want is to find your escape
because the stress that continues to bear down on you
is pulling at your center as well.
You've no idea where your home is,
but it certainly isn't in the arms
of the mattress you claim solace in every night.

They claim that home is where the heart is,
but your heart isn't with you.
It's living luxury somewhere else.
It's every
single
day
you hear yourseld murmuring
'there's no place like home'
But you don't receive that free trip by clicking your heals.
You don't find your way home
by following that rabbit down a hole.
Can you find where you belong?
Or will you be lost forever in this Wonderland like me and everyone else?

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I did not give you permission to **** me inside of your head.
Please get your imaginative hands off of my unobtainable soul,
and close your mouth,
you're drooling like a coward when he sees something that he cannot have.
I belong to no one but myself.
I am old enough to know the rights of my body.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

Stop recording every moment we will never have with your undistracted eyes.
I did not ask for this,
I am covered in clothes that do not accent the curvature of my frame and yet still you gawk,
and I will be asked what I was wearing that night.
I was wearing my right to say no,
but to him I was wearing my inferiority.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I am a female powerhouse.
I am competent with my tongue in many ways yet you ache to abuse it.
I am inclined to tell you what is best for me, but I am a woman.
And I know nothing.
You will beat it into me until I actually know something so well that I choke on it.

I am only pretty when I'm naked.

I am incapable of loving because, to you, I am not justified,
so you will show me how until I cannot breathe any longer.
The bruises and scars will taint my porcelain skin like mud on brand new sneakers,
except the black, blue, and crimson cannot be rinsed from my body
as easily as my clothes were removed by you.

I am only pretty when I'm dead.

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.

"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

I take showers to brush off the chill you leave behind when you forget I exist.
The water doesn't hug me quite as tightly as you do,
nor keep me quite as warm
but as I imagine your hold enveloping me while I let the droplets caress my skin,
I feel whole again...
if only for a little while.

The water is getting colder now and you begin to fade away from me.
I just wish you'd stay a little longer,
love me a little harder,
hold me a little stronger
and I beg you please...
Please don't forget my name.

The water is getting even colder now and I no longer feel your grasp.
I keep hoping for you to linger on my skin
but you've already gone again.
Please wear me as a pendant,
tell me you'll never forget my name.

I'm beginning to hold myself and its just not the same.

I'll keep you safer than you ever thought was possible. Every secret hidden behind seals and locks, and the keys thrown away like a rotten dish that'll never be seen again.
Here, my arms are wide open now run to me and stay... I could never let such a broken beauty be shattered yet again by hands that were too careless to see the fractures that make you so hard to accept in every day life for all, other than me.

Your warmth is more than welcome to mix with mine and stay forever, because even when you've gone away I feel you here for days.

I just want to be the one you come home to at the end of the night.

Just outside Toronto,
we'll work coffee shops and gigs
and make this what we want to.

No longer do I hide
behind apathy and equations
that make no sense.

Here and now I have you
after I've waited so long
to make you mine.

Our adventures across the lands
searching for ethnic flavours
will forever dance throughout my brain.

Your arms wrapped around my waist
and your kisses on my lips
will help bury my demons.

Your illnesses will fade away
so much quicker than before.

Now I'm here playing with the puzzle called your heart
in the conscious effort to put you together as you should be
because someone foolishly played the gambler and felt your heart was worth the bet.

Once you claimed you were upset
not suicidal
but still I worried.

My heart was in your hands
and the melancholy thought of losing you
made minimal scars reopen.

Now, just outside Toronto
we work coffee shops and gigs,
making it what we want to.

With the things we always dreamed to have
and the love that no one else will ever understand.

We'll be bitter together, burn the world together as once we decided we would
because the thought once was so intoxicating that we became lustful for it,
and made the choice to create what we wanted, in Toronto, working coffee shops and gigs.

I** am the rain on a sunny day, destroying everything that is remotely happy,

Absolutely revolting as I cling to unstable dreams of loyalty.
Masked by a dishonest smile, I strive to become the positive person everyone wants around.

A court of jesters surround me to justify my hilarity based on their singular opinion.

Carved out of the ivory of life, I break to shambles under immense amounts of pressure.
Unforgiving poetry escapes my mouth in the most destructive way possible.
Nothing I say can justify the horrid choice in vocabulary I spread out on the table before you in a fit of rage and misunderstanding, and now
Tomorrow is another day of regrettable instances and apologies that mean absolutely nothing to you.

I want to be the only desire you have
when you wake up in the middle of the night
sweating for pleasure;
where the tension is so strong
I stir in my sleep to ask you what is the matter
and you timidly answer that you had a nightmare,
even though it's a lie
and you're too shy to admit to your carnal need
and express that the real reason you're awake
is because your dream
nearly made you wet
and it disturbed you
because the person in your head at the time
wasn't me.

It all seemed so real,
until you woke up with my small frame beside you,
with my chest rising and falling slowly
and the growing pressure against your boxer briefs
was becoming too much
as you stared at my smooth skin.
I nearly frightened you when I asked of your well-being,
you didn't think that wishing I would wake
would work.
As you told me you had woken from terror,
I turned over drowsily
crawling over you
to embrace you with kisses
and 'everything will be alrights.'

When you started to shiver
from my affections
I knew that there were other reasons
we both had stirred like this
in the middle of the night.
Our passion became heated,
but I could smell the guilt on you.
Something was wrong,
something was the matter.
We continued though
until we both finished in each others' sweat
and had inhaled enough of one-another's carbon dioxide
to save thousands of trees.

Only then did you tell me
another had tasted who I wanted
so badly to keep
for my own
for the rest of my life.
Only then did you tell me
you did me wrong
in so many ways.
Only then did you tell me
that you no longer dreamed of me
and you abandoned me.
Just like everyone else.
Just like you promised...


That you never would.

Here I am, consciously putting your puzzle piece heart back together because someone played the gambler and bet on your blood only to lose because you found out the game that was going on quicker than your host expected and they dropped your vessel like the glass trinket that it is and it shattered to pieces as it met with the ground. Harlotry is the game she started and didn't know how to quit, her mind seemed confused as well as her chest that seemed to be made cold as ice and black as night.
Here I am doing my best to show you how much I care, how much emotion is there in my heart waiting to be shared, to be left in your arms as the truth that it is, to be reflected in your eyes as the things I see, for I love you that much. I could stay with your help if you wanted me to, and could stare at the smile that I caused for you. Now here I breathe like it's not in my nature because of riggers of passion and moments of pleasure.
We could spread your beauty like a rumour that stays, like an illness that's healthy in odd kinds of ways. We can burn things together like pyro-addicted lovers and laugh in the faces of stupidity of others. And the places we stand will be all but cherished for our bitter facade has all but perished from the lives of those that treat us like **** in this evil world that's hell in a pit of a fruit of the universe that no one would pick for differences that express just how much that it ***** even for those with an Irishman's luck.
So here your faith shatters as mine did too and remembrance and patience are again a virtue that not many have because this world tore them down like a natur-istic thing that survives with a frown. And I love you so much I've faith in you, only you, and the things you may do for the hope that humanity will change one day and be more like you.

I'll still love you
Even when you're the ugliest person I've ever seen.
Because that's what I do best;
Love the monster before it ever shows its face.

I apologize if I'm too persistent in telling you that you matter to me and my heart in ways no one ever has. I've become melancholy in the thought of being alone since I have never been treated like anything but a waste of space and values on a clock. Years have gone by since I've felt like I truly existed to anyone for reasons beyond carnal need and emotional comprehension. I'm not accustomed to feeling a purpose. I've become distant from my own mental standpoint and blood-pumping center whereas I can find no direction. I've been abandoned by those who claimed they would never surrender. I've been damaged by those who stated they could never, would never, misuse me.
When you re-arrived in this shattered existence of mine and evaluated me as an actual being with sentimental value, instead of falling apart, I found myself falling together. Every last piece of me discovering the significance of who I am, always have been, and hopefully always will be. I lost multiple opportunities in which I could express to you the amount I care for your entire essence, I could beg to show you now. However, I will do so as you're willing.
Prepared.
Consenting.
Wanting.
You appeared in my life and became a part of the character I never expected to be. "Tu me manques." You are missing from me.

I never expected you to treat me like an obligation
But I also never expected you to treat me like the most amazing woman on earth one day
and then like the most needy, annoying human being the next.
I notice I've become an inconvenience.
I'm sorry kissing me no longer brings you any joy.
I'm sorry that our intimate moments are no longer significant.
I'm sorry that, even after promising me you weren't like the rest,
you ****** me

And you left.

I cannot see my heart in anyone else's hands
but yours.
The fact that you hold on so tightly
whether you intend to or not
is still there every moment of every day.
Your attempts,

if that's what they are,


to         push      me      away,
areonlypullingmecloser.

I cannot let go of this rope I'm holding on to, this line between me and you.

If my hands set you free you'd no longer be cared for properly

and that's what I fear the most.

We all know you're a sadist with masochistic tendencies.
Pain is your ecstasy, and it makes no sense to me;
we all know I can't breathe with your hand around my neck.
The passion in the bedroom is dying with every gentle peck.

I can tell you want to **** me from the look inside your eyes,
but I never told you stories that were full of heartfelt lies.
So why am I still here curled up inside your grasp?
I'll be careful what I wish for, this breath might be my last.

You want it rough- where your life makes no sense anymore?
Well... you'd fit rather well with the title "Neighborhood *****."
You won't let me go because you're a fraud from hell,
and you're scared that if you loosen your hold I'll run and tell.

You're no saint, you're a sinner
and you're mad I won't be your dinner.
But I'll do exactly what I please in my life,
and it includes never being the patient beneath your knife.

So I'll run away with half the passion you left me with,
but it's hard to step down when my heart makes me stiff.
I hear something click beside my head...
**** the gun, and pull the trigger, I'm better off dead;
better off in the grave with the rest of the bones
that you laid there because you can't help your heart of stone.
So I'll run away with a head full of holes,
and I'll keep running as the barrel rolls,
and I'll go- go straight to hell,
because I'll never know whatever dwells...
in heaven...
Because I'm a rumoured demon that everyone hates,
and even ignorance can reach the Golden Gates.
So here I am sitting outside of the Devil's home,
and even he won't take me without a dissatisfied groan.

I'm stuck outside hell,
I'm banished from heaven...
Well, Karma will get you
in a year, maybe seven.
You're the one who pulled the trigger,
and made it look the opposite.
Suicide is what it was named,
but even you know the truth of it.

I'm a run-away with half-assed passion,
because you decided I was just a burden
and I wasn't 'allowed' to live anymore.
Well ******* too, you neighborhood *****.

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.

I forgot to remember the memories we shared once upon a dream. The bullets of your love dropped from my life and onto the ground for another to pick up. The blade that showed my greatest regrets tore through my life again as it had before. Dripping, liquid crimson are words that were left unsaid.
The melancholy echo and recollection of your voice that was once so abundant in volume leaving my brain feeling claustrophobic in stature. A hollowed out chest waiting to be filled again with a heart so tattered or worn into pieces from careless gandering. Forsaken am I to you with no better word than "broken" to fill the answer of caring for my well being.
Unexpected twists will wriggle and writhe their way between my adolescent fingers. Remembrance, it arrives in a drop of a moment, barrelling thoughts through my head like a machine gun or a wood pecker at work. A malfunctioning, homosapien-resembling robot is what I seem to be, to myself lest no others believe it. I feel who I am, who I have become, is disastrous among all others. A cry of displeasure may or may not rest on my lips for the simple fact of me not knowing who I am anymore.
Confusion is simple to attract, why must it be so hard to lift away?
For knowing simply of one thing that I want in my life, pondering what is challenging me mentally - maybe even emotionally - is tearing me apart. Soon I'll raise the weapon of my choice for ruining a mind of memories and moments that are dearly longed to have back. A glint of light reflects into my vision, a turn of my head occurs, and then the accepting of a grim smile.
The item is retrieved into my left hand, a pulse is found in my right, and then The Silver begins delving, deeply searching, for the source of the throbbing vein. As it is found, as that artery is torn by the Paladin for those emotionally distressed. The lexemes begin to repeat themselves: Forsaken. Remembrance. Confusion.  Memories.
I recall the statement of being wanted by none other than you as my eyes begin to close. What was being craved for so long could have been mine within a matter of time, but I took what they call "The Cowards Way Out." I took the way not many thought I was aware of. I broke a promise that I never truly made to anyone. Now all I hear is the quiet drip... drip... drip...  of Red Remorse crowding the floor.
In regret, I say I'm sorry.
In begging, remember me.
In silence, I'm gone.
Then, the only thing left to cover the floorboards are the words that were left unsaid in that beautiful, liquid crimson.

Tell my mother I'm sorry
that the love notes I wrote were never for her,
that she never had enough time to actually pay attention to me or what I said,
that she wasted her time tucking me in at night to help me feel loved when it never even helped,
that I stepped on the cracks in the sidewalks so her back was constantly broken  while she was trying to provide
for everyone else but me.

Tell my dad I'm sorry
that I was such a failure that every step I took in the right direction was the wrong one,
that his voice went hoarse but at least he was acknowledging me,
that no matter how many times he left bruises I counted it as a hug,
that he never had time to listen to me,
that he never had time to swallow his pride,
that he never had time to love me.

Tell my siblings I'm sorry
that they never took the time to understand me,
that they'll never know just how easily harsh words can stick in someone's brain,
that I ended up so much like the person they despise,
that I lived up to every negative expectation they had of me.


Tell my friends I'm sorry
that my conditions were some sort of joke,
that I never actually mattered unless they needed something,
that when they replied laughing out loud when I said I was dying they couldn't even recognize I actually was.

And tell my heart I'm sorry
that I forgot how to sew it back together again
when it
stopped
beating.

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.

A silent voice speaks out to portray the loudest words of unfaithfulness, listening with your eyes to the echoes that bounce off of the walls and wander as agony plays it's favorite harmony in your head requesting the simplest iota of pain to make you live in shear insanity. Breathe quietly or the next sharp breath you take will be in vain for you will then fear your lungs are collapsing. The next throb of your heart will be the shattering of the glass ***** so strong and yet so frail. Your emotions will drain through your tears and screams as you ache to feel whole again. Until you've reached the point where all seems silent inside of you but you know your gears are still turning like those of a broken robot. You ache to quiet them for good so you take the barrel and make it roll. A loud, skull cracking noise clutters the air as your gears become blocked enough to cease and cause you to fall into a disintegrating mess. Bye, bye beautiful...

I'm so sick of being broken and you have all my pieces to put me back together in all the correct places. You keep trying to put them in on someone else's vessel and it isn't working no matter how hard you chisel in to try and make it fit. That piece doesn't belong there, not even just one bit.

I find it easy to commit to someone...

perhaps that's part of the problem.

I am made entirely out of glass, if you look hard enough you can see the cracks gleaming through from my insides and begging you to fix me from the outside in. I am not something to be forgotten and yet I always am. I am put inside that box without newspaper to keep my edges safe or bubble wrap to hold me in place and even still those precautions will never be as secure  as your hands once were to me.
I'm getting colder with every piece of me that bleeds into the abyss and will never be seen again. By the time we get home next I will have lost another piece of me that you once cherished more than yourself. I'm apalled that you just let me fall away from you so easily when you once told me you adored me more than you adored most things. You polished me daily and put me on the highest shelf, I was the largest priority to you until I started falling apart again and you found other statuettes of glass to keep your company as you waited for me to glue myself together again.
But that's not how this works. You can't just collect knick knacks like it's your hobby, and tell them you hold such a substantial amount of affection for them and move onto the next without even telling the prior that you were sorry you broke them but their needs were no longer important... or perhaps never were.
As you caress the curves of every other goddess you set your eyes on and you become overwhelmed by the beauty of them all, I hope you shatter under the pressure like you shattered the rest of us. I hope you come to the realization that the amount of perfection that you receive in that specific juncture is not your decision any longer.

I've gotten it brought to my attention; the subject of change.
It's been requested to know whether it's healthy or not.

Yes?
[No!]


Yes!
[No?]

What ever the answer may be, I'd like to find out.
Stop your pondering, that's my occupation.

You ask the question, let me do the rest.
But where does my investigation begin?

Here. It does here.

Every year,
Every month,
Maybe in whole weeks...
I  make companions, or create a monster of myself and accumulate enemies.

That's not my intention.
I am only human,
and I fathom wishes cannot always be blessed.

I'd like greatly to keep everyone as an appreciated comrade,
alas this cannot always be bestowed.

"Friends" they betray, they lie to authorize other people to hate you.
Then you're spoken to of their rumors and you become distant from one-another.

What do you do?
Give up?
Never.

This change is obviously staunch.
It evidently shows the truth of it all.

Those... traitors, they are not worth any millisecond of your watch.
They are not worth any view of your pupil.
They are not worth an iota to your person.

Those embraces, perhaps, you shared
that maybe were accompanied by grins of merriment...
or apprehension and distress,
they meant nothing.
They were empty achievements that subjected us to change.

Change, there's that lexeme; repeated.
Difference.
Adjustment.
Variation.
Innovation.
Vicissit­ude.

Is it in fact a valuable commodity?

No?
[Yes!]


No!
[Yes?]

I admit;
It is; only in solitary incidents.

Change, this subject was brought to me.
Do you permit this to be the feedback of your confusion?

There's a reason I notice your name where I never thought it belonged before, and I don't think my heart can project my feelings where I set my eyes to look because if it could it wouldn't jump so hard and fast at the slightest vocalizing of your name. I try to shut that book like I violently slam the door shut on any negative thought of you. I've never seen signs like this before, it's almost as if they were flashing neon lights that were actually important to someone.
No.
Not someone.

Me.

Ten in the morning at the table without you,
still waiting for recognition, but you're gone.
It's the same **** on a different day,
and I know you'll be back tomorrow screaming you were wrong.

You left me as a burning flame,
saying not a word.
I heard those ******* keys fumble
as you rushed out of the door.
I'm not a ******* puppet,
I don't have any strings.
I'd like to hear you tell me
you've heard a puppet sing.
No, I'm not Cinderella,
I'm not wearing any rags.
I certainly don't clean the floors
for some ungrateful hags.
I'm not a tiny trinket
that you can just abuse.
I'm a ******* human
that you really shouldn't use.
No, you never loved me
you said that so yourself.
You just keep me as a toy
that you can put upon a shelf.

And now here you are, right outside my door
in a drunken stupour, struggling with the lock.
But the door was left wide open
at a dark hour on the clock.

I'm not ******* perfect
but you're just so much worse.
You argue with me *******
like I'm a ******* curse.
You don't ******* love me,
that's exactly what you said.
You'd love to see me choking.
You'd love to see me dead.
Your words are like a knife
stabbing through my heart,
but it's your ******* fault
that you used me from the start.
You're a pretty bleeder, dear.
Your head is on my floor.
You shouldn't have ever left me
or closed that ******* door.

What am I?
As I search for answers in the void of the unknown I find none of the conclusions I am looking for and begin to feel intolerable.
To myself.
To others.
People stray away from me like I am some sort of disease, yet are still talking about me as if I could never hurt them although we share occupancy within the same room.
I find excuses for their ignorance and continue on my way and I still begin to wonder if every encounter I ever had was in vain because I refused to poison them with my sense of independence.
What am I?
I control substances as well as I control myself. I become unsure on how to stop my self-abuse and it occurs to me that I may just be as ****** up as they say I am.
I may just be a reincarnate of a bundle of people who have ******* up everything they've ever had. I'll never know.
What am I?
As I sit in the darkest corner of the room with my head in my hands I contemplate the truth of the words that spew from other people's mouths like a plague of ***** deemed to destroy those who beg themselves every night to gather the strength to stick around for at least one more day.
What if I told you I was planning what could be the most creative ending yet? Whether my own or another's you'll never know... and I couldn't wait for you to see the star of the latest attraction in Life's circus on display.
I saved you all some oxygen, I hope it's to your liking.
What am I?
Well what have they always told me?
A dead end?
Disappointment?
Failure?
No. Something much worse.
Nothing.
I am nothing.
And we've all tried to make something out of nothing haven't we?
Didn't work very well did it?
Hi, my name is Nothing and this is the last breath you'll ever see me take.

The writer is scribbling with an act of such passion,
but ideas can run out in an untimely fashion.
Ecstasy in fingers only lasting so long,
a poem in composition, some kind of song.
It won't be forever until I have you where I want,
soon you'll be mine. [You'll be mine.] Mine to flaunt.

Your lips against mine, a show between lovers,
those words are unspoken; letters read between covers
of a book that has barely been touched,
but in the hands of my other is where they are clutched.
I'll let them be vocalized,
fly and flitter like butterflies.
A hopeless romantic with a great deal of gratitude,
if the reactions I get are of the right attitude.

In the end I really can't help how I feel,
the emotions I have are far from unreal.
I'm told to follow my heart to see what is true,
therefore here I am following the road to you.
It might be quite a distance, a difficult strife,
but I've experienced plenty of those in my life.

It's funny how just words can make me love you more,
I don't really believe I've felt so ecstatic in someone's presence before.
Even a whisper from you can make my cheeks flush.
A smile covers my lips, it was caused by my affectionate crush.
Now, it won't be forever until I have you where I want,
soon you'll be mine. [You'll be mine.] Mine to flaunt.

Hello Suicide,
it's been a while since you've passed by.
Do you remember who I am?
I was once your favourite lamb.
You use to taunt me, day in and day out,
I use to ask what it was about
and you always told me to give in to you,
oft times I felt there was no more to do
than submit myself to the succubus of death;
the craver of humans and their pale flesh.

Hello Suicide,
can you teach me how to fly
out into the world were the dead resides?
All of this pain, it just hurts my sides.
I can't stand the mirror as it stares
deep into my core... can it hear my prayers?
I just want the beauty of the feminines I see,
it's so hard just to live here, so hard being me.
I'm nothing but a harlot for this blade inside my hand,
but then again I'm not so sure this affliction I can stand.

Self-mutilation,
with a side of complication,
I'm living in a nation
where love is lost of patience.
I'm no symbol of perfection,
I'm use to the rejection.
I look in every section
of my heart for my reflection.

But it never works just like my fragile heart,
without him I'd likely break apart...

But it never works just like my fragile heart,
I took the cowards way out, I found a different art...

Hello Suicide,
it's been a while since you passed by.
You were my lover, you were my friend,
and now I'm stuck inside the Devil's Den.
I was overcome with wonderous lust
to feel that liquid that tastes of rust.
It's been a while since we danced,
that blade and I were so entranced.

Hello Suicide,
you taught me how to cry.
You taught me how to shiver
with a pain that was shown in every sliver
of my heart as you crawled into my soul
and over took me and my being as a whole.
No one really likes you, you're full of desolation,
you took away my life and named it celebration.
No, I'm not your slave, so I bid you adeiu...
but it's too late, I complied to you.

Self-mutilation,
with a side of complication,
I'm living in a nation
where love is lost of patience.
I'm no symbol of perfection,
I'm use to the rejection.
I look in every section
of my heart for my reflection.

I've come to understand why some people do not find hope in anything, at any time, in any place.
The constant disappointment when you love and lose something precious to you is too much to bear.
The weight of every failure you've ever had to face drags you down to the dirt; the taste of soil is filling your mouth as you try so hard to get back up again but keep getting buried even further.
It's almost like the time you went to bed and plugged your phone in to charge only to wake up and discover you forgot to plug the **** thing into the outlet in order to get the desired effect.
We're a society of broken people built on shattered expectations because no one knows how to keep their word.
If you love something, set it free because nothing is worse than getting caught up in hoping that love will go somewhere when it never mattered to begin with.
Those you consider close to you will leave you sooner than you can beg them not to, and you'll find yourself groveling in the dirt you constantly pull yourself up from.
You'll start sleeping on the couch again for two reasons. One: Your bed is too empty to sleep in alone. And two: if you keep sleeping where you rarely get a wink you'll end up sick enough to pass away unnoticed.
But you try not to get your hopes up for someone to fill that empty place in your bed or for that unexpected sickness to come around.
You just sit and ponder on the conclusion that you've conjured yourself, but are too cowardly to set forward: you're better off in the dirt.

Twenty plus miles away seems miniscule to those who have never felt love so existential and unconditional.
Sometimes people just fall further and further even if they can see the person on the lower end has no intent on catching them and wills they drown in someone else's ocean.
But you... You taught me how to swim in any body of water I had happened upon and I keep choosing yours, hoping to reach the heart of this ocean eventually.
Even as the ebb and flow pull me in multiple directions willing I stay away your face is all I see, your gentle voice is all I hear, your emotions are all I feel.
I am becoming one with you, as every intimate detail of your soul is etched into my brain and deemed something of the utmost importance.
People beg I come back to shore where I belong so I can discover a different vacation spot, but I refuse to quit you.
Until your storm occurs and murders me, until it washes me away for good- this is where I will remain.
Because I refuse to quit you, and with you I will stay as a permanent ornament to this specific ocean. History can not be destroyed, it can only be created.

Tonight I'll sleep with my clothes on, because I don't want to wake up from dreams of you kissing the delicate skin of my back to find that your existence is no where near me.
I don't want to suffer tonight knowing that when I wake up I'll be colder than I was in your arms when I saw you last and the only solace I have for heat are layers of fabric instead of your skin.
If there's one thing I could ask of you now, it would be to make me your lover, and make this your home so I can guarantee your safety myself instead of relying on someone else to keep that ******, beating vessel all in one piece.
I don't trust anyone with you but me, because I know things about you that no one else does and God forbid I even try to share your secrets anywhere but in the air directly between you and I. Let me grasp your hand in the dark and have you feel my warmth, so you know I'm there. So you know I won't let go.
Make me your lover and make this your home so I can cherish you like no one else will. So I can remember all of my favourite things about you and help you mellow the things I don't. So I could kiss you every night and be guaranteed to still have you the next morning. So when we say goodbye to one another, I know the timeframe it will be a goodbye for....
Because it won't be goodbye. It will be 'see you later.'
But tonight I'll sleep with my clothes on, because that way I don't have to bear my scars to anyone else but the dark beneath the fabric; so my heart can bleed freely and maybe you won't know of the loss I've suffered for you.

There will come a point in life
when you find out things you didn't know
'cause everyone keeps things hidden;
locked them up behind vessel and bone
to never be brought into light again
until someone finds the key.

"I'm secretly a Satanist."
"I'm secretly a Christian."
"I secretly cut myself
because you never listen."
"I secretly don't like you."
"I'm secretly a *****."
"I secretly listen to what you say
behind that closed wooden door."
Everyone has secrets,
and everybody lies,
everybody gives someone pain,
and everybody cries.
Be careful what you wish for,
be careful what you say
one day you might regret it all,
and you'll watch everything decay.

I feel beat and I feel bruised,
I feel broken and ******* used.
Why can't I seem to get it right?
Why can't I seem to find the light?

Emotionless is who I am,
this ain't a joke, this ain't a scam.
I feel one thing of any feeling,
I feel as though I am not healing.

This pain will be the death of me,
and all because you're too blind to see.
My smile won't seem to just shine through,
unless I'm acting out to you.

This morning I'm shattered,
tonight I'm battered,
tomorrow I'm crying,
the next day I'm dying.
I don't want to take it,
but I can't seem to shake it.
It's hard to go with the flow,
from today until tomorrow.

I sit on my bed, awaiting something good.
I dream and wish for the thing I think I should.
A salty rain runs down my cheeks as I beg to god,
and I feel I must rip my chest, to prove I'm not a fraud.

I need to find my laugh again,
I want to have you as my friend.
But if you keep on hurting me,
it won't be possible for you and me.

My anger comes in many ways.
I need some questions answered these days.
I want to know just what I did,
I've a right to know, for I'm no kid.

This morning I'm shattered,
tonight I'm battered.
Tomorrow I'm crying,
the next day I'm dying.
I don't want to take it,
but I can't seem to shake it.
It's hard to go with the flow,
from today until tomorrow.

I want to be done with crying tears for you,
I want to forget everything you put me through.
I'm so sick of feeling broken and bruised,
no longer do I want to be beat and used.
It needs to be easier for me to go with the flow,
I wish it were better for me to know what I know.
My dreams are always being shattered and torn,
and as this keeps happening my hope is starting to be worn.

This morning I'm shattered,
tonight I'm battered.
Tomorrow I'm crying,
the next day I'm dying.
I don't want to take it,
but I can't seem to shake it.
It's hard to go with the flow,
from today until tomorrow.

This morning I'm shattered,
tonight I'm battered.
Tomorrow I'm crying,
the next day I'm dying.
I don't want to take it,
but I can't seem to shake it.
I still can't go with the flow,
from today until tomorrow.

I've been alone for so long I'm forgetting how to cope with the inevitable sense of dread I swallow when I finally lay in bed.

You lay in your bed that is void of anything but yourself and memories. You ponder to yourself over the

Words.

Embraces.

Silences.

you once shared with... Them.

You find yourself missing... Something...

Pieces of yourself you once thought you had but you lost somewhere in the hole of nothingness They gave but you searched for significance within daily.

Crystals form in corners of pink flesh and your cogs churn harder.

It's increasingly difficult to breathe. There's a force unknown by you that is pushing against your lungs.

That unceasingly shattered vessel beating harder in your chest, but if attempted to be heard it comes off as shallow. Nonexistent.

Who's there?

No one.

Not me.

Not Them.

No... You.

YOU  took me and didn't give me back. You took me...

You... You pillaged my body for pieces and left me broken in a junkyard life.

Tears.

Pity.

Depression.

Nothing left but a pile of pieces that no one even uses or cares for anymore.

I can't believe you could tear me apart like that and not make an attempt in repairs. Instead you stole dire parts and tried to find someone you could change.

The truth is, you can't take pieces of something you never truly cared about and attempt to apply it to someone else because it will

NEVER

bear any significance to you, your heart, your mind, or soul.

You're a sad excuse for a waste of territory.

You apathy is pathetic.

He wrote her a letter
"Hello,
I miss you"
And she replied neglecting legible correspondence

Your hand fits perfectly in mine,
you'll lead me places I need to go.
All will be just fine,
with you right by my side.

This love of ours has just begun,
and if we're lucky, it won't ever be done.

I have a smile plain to show you
just how much you mean.
And me? I'm being showered with a love
that makes me feel so clean-
clearn of heart, so pure...

You'll never let me go, never let me fall,
you'll be here for me throughout it all.

...and your fingertips are on my cheek,
they're on my skin.
So gentle they are, I feel so weak,
as they begin to rest right beneath my chin.
A kiss, a kiss, a kiss you place,
so softly, against my lips.
The hormones drive me crazy
from the trigger that you trip.
Your fingertips are loving,
and as caring as can be,
I can barely think...
you actually came to me.

Happiness begins to crawl
straight from within my heart.
I can't believe it's happening,
but I won't tear apart...
Won't tear apart from you,
no, not from you.
A fluttering beneath my ribs
is all I need to happen,
just so I can recall
the certain kind of fashion,
that I need to drop into your arms.

I feel so alone without you near,
I can't feel without you here.

...and your fingertips are on my cheek,
they're on my skin.
So gentle they are, I feel so weak,
as they begin to rest right beneath my chin.
A kiss, a kiss, a kiss you place,
so softly, against my lips.
The hormones drive me crazy
from the trigger that you trip.
Your fingertips are brushing,
running through my hair.
It's funny just how many people
wouldn't find this fair.

We're already there, I can barely think...
you actually came to me.
(To me.)
And everything is just as perfect...
as it could ever be.
With your fingertips against my skin,
and you being with me.

Your fingertips... my skin...
You being with me...

I'm miserable at best.
So what am I at worst?
The tears can flow
a heart can ache.
I'm searching for a smile
that isn't fake.
I'm starting to wonder
what to say...
what to do...
Where would I be
without you?

Will you be alright
knowing I cry about you every night?
Your love is far from sight,
but I swear I'll find it- for you I'll fight.

I could be a dream catcher
that crushes every nightmare that you've ever had.
I could be the single eyelash
that drops and you wish upon like you've nothing left to lose.
Or I could be a human,
with a beating heart inside my chest and a love for you like no other.

I search for logic.
Then what's a lie?
My eyes can close,
my vessels can quit.
Rememberance can cause amnesia
but the diagnosis doesn't fit.
I'm starting to ponder
what I look like...
What I really feel...
If you were never here,
would I even be real?

Would you be okay
realizing the things I murmur and say?
I'm a magician with ways,
because one thing I know is love always pays.

I could be a dream catcher
that crushes every nightmare that you've ever had.
I could be the single eyelash
that drops and you wish upon like you've nothing left to lose.
But then how would I be human?
I've a beating heart in my chest and I love you like no other.

I am not at liberty to blame anyone else for what has made me who I am today,
but I shove the salt of guilt in the wounds of others like their pain is all I long for.
If anything I'm a *******;
seeing you in agony assists me in feeling alive.
Not because you're hurting,
but because I am too.

It gets easier to recognize your demons when you're alone again.