Oh hell,
said the vulture to us as we fell,
out of peace out of love we could tell,
when our ties were unbroken we'd yell
And we stitched up the woulds from the fight,
from the fight.

Oh cry,
For the heartache unable to die,
think of times we were able to fly,
when the maggots eat, our throats are dry,
And we wonder why we looked so grey,
oh so grey.

And always you hold value in the corners of my mind, and we hold our bags of feathers to remind us how we fly, how we fly with such purpose, how we fall with such stillness, and always you will look at me as if I'm just your illness.

I sat down In a book store and read some poems.
And they were all ****.
And I thought to myself, what makes me so special?
To be able to call another persons artwork garbage.
I guess that You can call mine **** too though.
So I guess it's okay.
I just have bad brains.

"I puked in your ******* bathroom dude"
it's true.
I did.
It was dope.
It feels like the only way I can take away my pain is by throwing up in bathrooms.

It seems that all that we can do
is keep their picture on the wall
and nail its frame into our chests
and carry grief with every breath

It is very possible
that nobody wants me
and that the only will that is keeping me here
is mine.

Tonight was only a matter of time.

I just wish you weren’t there to see it.

It's been 7 months since I let your sinful filth between my lips.

I still crave you every day.