*******, its the apocalypse.
Survivors clothes full of rips.
Nothing but beans and blood stained jeans.
The occasional shambling zombie, blood thirsty and ripped to shreds.
I just wish they could be healed with meds.
I remember the days of plumbing and grocery stores.
Thats all gone know, and all we have left is each other.
You must band together to make it out there.
Or you will turn into a zombie that's losing its hair.
To survive you must trust but choose your allies wisely.
Some will back stab and some are true leaders, or maybe they want to be led by you.
Everyone has the potential to be a leader, but only few have faith.
To even survive you must be smart.
But being smart is just the start...

Today was grocery day.
I didn't want frozen pizzas or chips.
I wasn't looking for juices or dips.
All I was looking for were crackers, And crackers Is what I got.
Three boxes of Wheat thins.
The family sized Cheeze itz game me grins.
Tons and tons of triscuit crackers.
Gliding across the stores bar code trackers.
But best of all was my glorious box of Chicken in a Biskit.

2 a.m.
the alcohol starts to consume me
and the worse side of me prevails
flashes of anger, neverending madness
so i drink the sadness away
drowning memories of you in this bottle
flushing thoughts of you astray
now i'm nothing but nauseous
but i can still see you and your stupid face
and i scream and yell
these drinks have done me nothing but rage
and as i start to take my final sip
i start to crumble and break
cry as many tears as i've drank
sob as many breaths as i've had to take
extracting every single burden
in this horrible, vulnerable state
so i guess these bottles are my excuse
to let the hurting go away
but thoughts of you drive me insane
and though it's not enough
this will at least ease the pain
it's almost 4 a.m.
i'm still waiting for the sunlight's rays
still anticipating for better days

*-djs

He was an interesting man to say the least.
Thank god he is now deceased.
He killed lots of people, mainly the jews.
He didn't even provide them with shoes.
On the bright side, he was an artist.
But defiantly not the smartest.
He was a short little man.
Shorter than my uncle Dan.
He was famous for his ****** hair.
It was just a tiny square.
Goodbye ******.

I promised myself I wouldn’t waste
another ******* minute
chasing things that wouldn’t satisfy:
chasing ***** with ***
and letting boys I didn’t care about
chase me, but they didn’t care about me either.
I didn’t (and maybe I still don’t) understand
why two people have to be in love.
What if we both want each other,
what if we both don’t want to love?
The thing is, the outcome of that
is always this:
broken phones, empty bottles,
and endless drives at four am
when we both aren’t talking
because we can’t talk without screaming.
I swore to God I’d leave,
two months ago,
but it’s been six months since
you moved six hours away.
I swore to God I’d leave,
but I haven’t been able to pack up my bags
that I unpacked in your heart.