And I wish you would know that
I know how you feel.
How I know what you've been through.
And how I've been through it
Too.
Because then we might talk,
Shattering unscratched glass with the first sentence,
"What did you get for Number Seven?"
You would say, "Negative eleven, just factor..."
Maybe one day you'd text me and
Ask what the homework was
Because our teacher didn't tell you
From when you were sick.
And eventually, after tons of small talk,
After "How's the weather?"
Got old,
I could finally tell you
That I know.
I'd tell you that
I'm here, not the fake kind of here,
Which sounds like,
"I-know-and-I'm-here-and-you-can-talk-to-me-goodbye-forever­."
Not like that.
But the kind of here
That asks what ****** about your day,
And sends you links to cat videos,
And the kind of here
That texts you at two in the morning
And asks if you're alright
And doesn't take yes for an answer.

brittle bones
in skinny jeans
***** knees
from falling
                    in love

midnight kisses
in haunted woods
broken hearts
from being
                    in love

true hope
in false words
months and months
of staying
                    in love

i am the morning
you are
the night
yet you seem
to shine so bright

you are the restless
i am
the sleep
so close your eyes
breathe me in deep

if I could never wake up again, I'd pay a million dollars.
Instead of being in pergatory where the sun shines, and the sky's blue
where people laugh, and smile and yet
for me all I see is the gray against the gray that is my life
the sadness that fills from an everlasting well
to which others quench their fill of their grief or sorrow
only to leave me alone once again.

there is no rock bottom
no ending to the hole that I am falling through
As I fall I see good things, and when I was young
I believed that they meant I was going up
only I realized these were the good things that people left behind
as I descend into nothingness

If I could **** myself I would
Death does not scare me
I see it as a end
an escape
a finale
the last movement. But
that's out of the question.

because there is one thing left to do.
To love someone and be loved with all my heart and soul.
However, that too is out of the question
For who would fall in love with me?

The friends that I cherish I cannot leave because I care about them too muc
The music that I love I care about too much
But the pain and suffering that is acquainted with it
is too much for me to bear.

I imagine the sound of a thousand screeching nails against a chalkboard
or a hundred wailing babies
All I hear is the screaming in my end to quit and give up on this life.
Minute by Minute
Second by second.

All people want in this life is to be understood.
An impossible task for someone like me
For who can understand me?

The skies are flawless tonight,
Like a plum blanket with splotches of tangerine,
They stretch out across the earth;
Embracing and tucking me in.
How I wish they were your arms instead,
Wrapped around me and keeping me cozy.

I hear the chirping of the crickets
With their symphonic chorus soothing my eardrums
As they hum me to sleep.
Nothing could be a lovelier sound;
Except perhaps if I would hear
Your whisper of good night to my ear.

There goes a soft puff of air,
Caressing my face as it flows away;
Taking a little of my weariness with it.
But still, the only thing that could revive
The life that was once in my eyes
Is your kiss good night.

Now I am lying in silence and repose
Beneath the comforts of my home,
With my head wandering among the clouds;
In a lost cause of finding you in my dreams.
As I close my eyes and fall in deep slumber,
I tell the stars to bid you good night.

If I
could go
anywhere
I would
travel outside
my own skin
because
God knows
there's better
then the
trash I am
and the
garbage
I aspire
to be

I disappear
down that
long
dark
tunnel

Run around
this
crawl under
that

no one will find me here.

Leave for this industrial wasteland,
it'll treat your heart like coal -
pile it up in heaps of dust,
then use to warm their homes.

As I sit, astound, in this classroom,
and let my yell jump off the walls,
I realize - I always write
to define what I'll never own.

And so I'll scribble her down, like a madman,
just to hear her words,
and they'll blur with mine until my mind
can't remember which ones we've heard.

Leave for this industrial wasteland,
where the ground's a soggisg grey.
Where toddler drink beer and the introverts fear that
they were once like them.

Leave for this industrial wasteland,
it'll solve your troubled mind,
'cause if you cannot feel any extremes,
then you'll know you've already died.