tiredim tired of only writing about being sadive triedwritingabout things that make me happybut these thingsare dwindling quicklyfalling through the cracksof my baby cupped handsand im starting to wonderwhat will become of meonceeverything that makes me happyhas slipped from my hands?im tired of only writing about being sadbut the few things ive writtenabout sunshine and daisesand the castles of my dreamsall fell apartand rotted awayand i was stuckwith torn frayed yellowed pagessoaked and burned and lived through agesof days where all i didwas tear myself apartim tired of only writing about being sadbut frankly thats all ive got to write aboutthats not to say im never happyi smilei laughi make jokes andi livebutfor some reasoni cannot find anything poetic in my smilesor the few daysi muster upthe self esteemto just barely like methere is no real loveno real lifebut im stuck in this shallow gravestaring at the sunlight,yet unable to leavethe cold ha
sometimessometimes,i forget i was ever saddays where i can hold the sunas if it were the hand that kept meholding onnights were i can kiss the starsand tell them i think imbettersometimes,everything seems like its okayand that its always been okayand that it will always be okaywhen the clouds look like cotton candyand the grass is soft and greenbut sometimes,even when things are goodi find myself pulling my sleevesand pulling my shortsto cover up lines crisscrossing across my skinand i realizethe smiles were fakethe sun is just a starand the stars dont care for kids like mesometimes,its the empty look in my eyesempty as the heart that lies insideand i wonder how long i can keep it upa fake facadea mask of sortssometimes,its more than being emptysometimes,its being angrythen being sadthen empty againsometimes,its crying myself to sleepbecause i am afraid that im not good enough for anything ive gottensometimes,its the fear thati dont matterto the people w
we were never in love but i loved youwe were never in lovebut i loved youi could spend an eternity writing youthings youll never readand another realizingyou could not be confined to wordscould not be confined to the torn and frayed pagesconfined to this heart of mineso i let you goi burned all the pagesand tore apart the cage that wasmyselfto let you gowe were never in lovebut i loved youi always believed you were something specialthe light caught your eyes in ways i didnt think possibleand you always said you were clumsy,haphazardly handing your heartto all the boys you thought you wantedand tripping over the broken pieceswhen they said they didn't want itorwhen they said they did,but to three other girlsand so i picked apartmy own bones and heartand helped you put yours back together each time it fellwe were never in lovebut i loved youit wasnt until one nightwhere i found myself lying under the starsslowly going numbfirst my toes, my feet, my legscrawling up the spaces between my bone
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
Is It Love?If I hugged you,would you never let go?If I kissed you,would you cherish that moment?If I reached for your hand,would you take mine gently?If I needed a shoulder,would you let me cry on yours?If I needed to talk,would you really listen?If I needed to scream,would you do it with me?If I needed to go,would you come with me?If I fell for you,would you catch me?or just let me hit the pavement?
TapestryThe morning is a tapestry...tripping over last night's grace,I watch you weave your skinand shake out your hair -soft teal and jonquilshadowing your cheekas the curtains part between your hands.Threads tangle as you turn,telling medawn is a gentle lover,and the tumble of birdsplaiting their soft noteslingers on the pillowswhere your smile is my undoing.
You Selfish BastardDrink the poisonand pretend as ifyou aren't slowly killing yourself.But that is your intentionand you've dedicated your lifeto this self-destructive path.Married to addictionand divorced from self-control,you're willing to let your body dieand force your loved ones to watchjust so you can havea night of numbness.Your death isn't going to shock anyoneif you keep down this road.
my grand piano the winds are howling but I'll stay here and play my grand piano; the frost gathers on the panes and the cold edges into my marrow but I will stay here and continue to play my grand piano - and when the sheet music is done and the snow has drifted against my door
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
bones and bodiesyou tell me aboutthe skeletons hiddenin your closetsand i tell you about mine,hanging on mydoor