Everyone sat
criss-cross-applesauce
in our hearts.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

I try hard to sound
important,
when I write *******
because
there are bodies
reading this *******.

And bodies grow and wither.
They thrive and survive.
They get married
and die alone.
They die.

To become dead.

Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

God stared down at the Earth below him
and burst into tears.
"What happened?" he whispered.

Whose umbrella will you be standing under when the skies come crashing down

You think you're a lost cause
but you're just stuck in the middle.
Life's been hard since you were little.
I don't know every thing,
but I know it's getting warm outside
and you're going to be fine.

You think you're a cancer
but just wait and see
that you'll heal yourself,
like you helped heal me.
This may sound cliché,
but it's getting warm outside  
and you're going to be fine.

These dead stares across the shopping mall
Wouldn't I care if I could have them all
Fingerpainting these eyes
**** photos: camera shutter sighs

But her breath is morse code
And my words are falling
Her dial tone dilates
As her moans are calling

She fell in love with a filter
And I fell in love with someone's daughter
We took pictures in the summer time
And she threw them into the water

When she lies, her cheeks flush
She swears that she doesn't care much,
as she sits in her underwear
with a light grin and a heavy heart.

She felt her pulse by the bed light
She was sad that she was alright
I watched her paint her dad on fire
while holding infant her.

I heard the window shatter
She never said what was the matter
I found her on the driveway,
broken like a family picture frame

I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.

Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.

Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."

In a dark and distant galaxy-
Upon a new world I seek-
You're healthy and smiling-
because, because, because, because
there is nothing as romantic
as dying on your kitchen floor-
There is nothing romantic
about waiting for you
to come home
from war.

Daughter, daughter
on the wall-
Why'd you let your picture fall?
Killing yourself for instant
pseudo-safety-
Killing yourself for nothing, maybe-
But the gun is still pretend enough
to put into your mouth and bluff
And say that no one can
save you now-
because, because, because, because:

You are your own lover
and you are your own daughter.
And you're left in hot water
but you stay in to try to forget
that you're cold inside.
And you drown yourself
so you can hide.

Look and you will see the tragedy that is bestowed upon us,
Children of the universe.
It eats away at our hearts like acid
Yet we grin and we grit our teeth.
Our spirits are roaring with the ache of insecurity.
We are the children of the universe.
Our thoughts are a twisted garden of vines
And no trespassing is permitted.
Our minds are guarded mighty and high.
We rise every morning and put on a smile,
Ready to show the face that we have chosen for others to know.
Our exterior is cool and prepared.
We conceal the flowers that bloom from our minds
And pull them out as though they are weeds.
We sacrifice our identities to satisfy society.
Every word we speak is one that is cautiously selected.
Our insecurity has its hands on our throats
And is slowly suffocating us.
We are all dying under the weight of hiding our truths.
We are the children of the universe.
When will we say how we feel?