i want to be the red crayon on a policeman's birthday card i want to be the algae in business women's shoes i want to be the rust in my mother's wedding rings i want to be the lace curtains my father sobs into as he breaks down on our hard wooden floor

i have been rambling all these things don't you dare tell me you understand me

Rule 1:

This is depression, not an alien invasion.

Rule 2:

These are disorders, not disabilities.

Rule 3:

These are hallucinations, not possessions.

Rule 4:

This is love, not confrontation.

Rule 5:

This is sadness, and sometimes aggravation.

i am afraid
that my bones will rust
before these buildings do

i am afraid
that my soul will fade
before this ink does

i am afraid
that i will lose my tongue
before the world loses its flavour

i am afraid
you will (not) be there
when the bullet strikes

Lazed beneath the sycamore,
we laid upon the forest floor
amidst the myriad hues of leaves,
so picturesque in reverie.

As we basked within the shade
we'd reminisce our latter days.
Our dream come true in years to come
with hope our threads of fate stay spun.

Kiss me here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.
You'd draw me close into your soul;
not once could I resist your pull.

We'd traipse the earth between the trees;
forever yours I thought I'd be,
until the day that you weren't there...
until the day that you weren't there.

And just like you, the leaves were gone;
not one lone branch did they lay upon.
Our footsteps where we once had walked
now cloaked beneath a sheet of frost.

And from the sky poured shades of gray;
the sun will hide to mark this day.
I'll be right here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.

Our dream come true had turned to naught,
just as our tree had fell to rot.
Now there's nothing left to find,
save for the memories left behind.

Razed beneath the sycamore,
I wrest my soul forevermore.
Our cherished past runs 'cross my eyes,
and dies within my own demise.

destination: heartbeat city