****
i know its typical but
i wish you still looked at me like you did
your eyes are an ocean
and im lost at sea
i forgot how to swim.

i know its typical but
i'd swallow poison
if it tasted like you.
especially
if it tasted like you.

i know its typical but
it feels like you were the only drug i need
popping painkillers never compared to
you.

i know its typical but
feeling your lips felt like
being giddy, high, drunk
you were ***** when the times got rough.

i know its typical but
i miss you

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened?—till was paid
Respect to every inmate’s claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with ***** call,
And “Merry Christmas” wished to all.

i simultaneously long for life and death
i want to **** myself, but don't want to die
i want to disappear into a nothingness
i want to float up into the sky
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

in crowds, i get panicked and weepy
alone, i suffocate on the floor
i belong to no person or thing or place
and i fall to pieces behind that bedroom door
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

sometimes, i'm just teeming with emotion
the pain and the love and the best and the worst
all of the feelings get twisted together
until i'm sure that i'm going to burst
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

on the contrary, sometimes i feel numb
i'm immune to the pain of this place
i can't feel the good or the bad or ugly
it's amazing what you can hide behind a happy face
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

i constantly feel like i'm empty
and that i've got nothing left to give
i feel like i'm broken and done for
and that there's no reason for me to live
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

i write suicide notes in my free time
and count the number of ways i could do it
and hide pills away in the drawers of my dresser
like my own little "how-to" death kit
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

i keep razors and knives in my bookcase
i have methodically placed lines on my wrist
i long for the pain and the blood that it brings
i flirt with the demon of death, and then give it a kiss
     (but maybe that's just a teenager thing)

i live in a world of pain and anxiety
in constant fear of the people that i'm supposed to love
i think that i want to die, but what is want is to be free
depression's the cage, and i am the dove

but i guess that must be a teenager thing.

Well not quite

I can say to anything
But there are still dreams
And sealed hope

Broken wings
Are only clipped
But...
They seem beautiful
As if they are holding onto the magic -
Mystery children know first,
And adults thirst for
At four
When the days isn't done
Or about to come

The moon is stuck in between
Holding the spell for freedom

Our wings struggle
Because we want more
Only,

Not quite sure
What that is yet

Memories fade
As fast as sugar dissolves in my tea
And I feel myself do absolutely nothing about it.
I'm caught inside myself, some deep, silver trance,
And I can't crawl out of it.
Because I see you leaving, with the storm,
And the clouds are dry heaving because they don't know what else to do.
Should I prepare my goodbye, or should I hold on tight,
To someone I hold dearly in my heart?
Stories are Stories,
And love is love,  whether it's young or naive or both.
So if this is a novel,
A big detailed adventure, of my story and of my home,
How do I tell, if this chapter is long,
Or if it Is merely a page long?
I cannot tell, and neither can you,
So we are forced to sit on the frozen grass,
Remembering and forgetting the past,
And realizing nothing is sure.
So I plead to rest my words,
Silence my tongue,
Before the cold comes.

So broken
Like a family portrait gone wrong,
All smiles on the outside
Behind the glass,
But hands interlocked and fingers intertwined
Behind backs
Led to the frame splitting down the middle,
Shattering already crumbling
People,
Same blood
And it runs cold throughout.
So with this twisted
Broken
Family portrait,
How can i ever mend the cracks
And break free?