I've gotten too old for this angst
Paint on my smile alongside
My contour and eyelashes
My pain is a personal serving

I'd like to think time served here
Means something for later on
When I collapse in my grand finale
Curtains close and the symphony stops

You have no idea the lengths I go
To keep this silly old show on the road
Pointless battles on bathroom floors
The shadows kept behind closed doors

But, I've gotten too old for this angst
So I stay grateful and wide awake
Never biting the hand that feeds
Wiping crumbs and dirt from my knees

Pop the cork, pour one
down the drain to symbolize
a new beginning.

I used to be so open
But lately this ain't true
I just can't remember
Half of what you "helped" me through

I see you can only hurt me
Feeling nothing ain't the same
I'm the one to blame
Who knew numb is worse then pain

And now with us apart
I bloom just like a rose
I'm just proud to say
That I've kept that bottle closed

tv shows on mute,
mouths moving but making no assertions.
a silence that doesn’t satisfy
slipping over the air like margarine.
loneliness in stillness
The feeling before you cry
but no tears are produced,
like a dial tone
with no intention of an outgoing call.
serenity’s evil twin,
a vibrant color muted with white.
no longer deep or dark,
just with the volume turned down,
apathetically pastel.

I never realized that sobriety would become a personal hell.
I played with fire.
Hell, I laughed at the first spark
And as the days grew shorter I began to wonder
How many sparks till I get a flame?

The fire started and no help came
I lost my hands and eyes to collapsing beams
Yet no help came
I thought, maybe it would be better to let the flames take this home
But the ash and dry wall coated my lungs and nostrils
I screamed for freedom
For release
For a hero of some kind
For water, even a drop to bless my dried and cracked skin
For some ******* air
And as the fire claimed my home
And my body
And eventually, my mind
I grew silent.

The fire is gone now.
I can't feel the sun kiss my skin over the scars that encompass my roasted corpse.
I can't sing. I can't speak.
My screams are a whisper in the wind of a storm already passed.  

And as I recover my footing and senses
I am forced to remember what my own personal hell was
And face it

In the process of Failing to notice
That I was Falling in love with You,

My mind made you a part of me and
Now that I realize, I came so far and Loved so long,

I don't even remember what you were like,
All I have left is a figment of my stupid imagination and That!,
That doesn't even amount to a fraction of what you are.

you are made of
strawberries & cigarettes

when the smoke clears
wish you'll still be here sitting pretty

when the senses return
wish you'll still hold my hand

when the eyes are sober
wish you'll still look at me