.love grewand died repeatedly;she tore it out atthe root
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
.some thoughts get so loud thatyou cry out for them to leave;they scatter like birds startledout of their trees, before landingagain where they wereand after a while,you just have tolet them sing
.he stood on the shore,and told the sea he loved her;the jealous wind tore hisvoice in two
.the breathin my lungs -you tookeverything
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.you pulledall the strings;now i connect morewith the puppet thani do the puppeteer
.your heartalone shouldremind younot to beatyourself upyour pulseshould remindyoukeep steady
.everything i hold deari hold too tightly;i am so sorry you weremarked when i had tolet you go
.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.hell isthe devil's chest,an empty red cavernhe's simply tryingto fill
.and like a stone atthe bottom of the riveror the sea,i think life might just beflowing right past me
.in the nighttime you arebetter; moonlightembroiders yourskin and stitchesyou up with apurer love, untilthe morning comes,the sun runs histeeth through yourseams again, splitsyou open
.pour love allover, then strikea match;the fire willburn itself out,but the ruinswill smoulder
.i wanted to bathein fire; for the amber tonguesto lick me clean, pure
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
War.If someone tells you, "War is hell." They lie.There are no innocents in hell.
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocatingon the stars of my pastlike horny gentlemendo with innocent lookingwolfgirls at 3am- their bitefearless as thieves.My lilac lungs are breathing indust and the tears of Saturn’snameless moons,while the rest of me -well, shes warm off wineand poems leftunfinished.
Moving OnAll I can tell you isI haven't gotten farwalking throughtwenty years of yesterday.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?They ask it like a dare.As if letting your unlikely dreamsslip from the safety of your mindcould bring their owna little closer to reality.
VeinsI wishmy veinsof ocean blueflowed not justto my heart,but toyours too.
Slow, LoveI am a box of bones; attic-drenched,mildew-hearted remnantsgathered in the grief of storms.I am a catalogueof failures, listed alphabeticallyfor ease of use; God knowswhy, since no one ever looksbeneath the covers.
.x.the roads are empty, but, my dear, so am i.y.take me back to somethingmore than suicidal thoughts andslacking intentions.
you're so blind.here i am drowningand you have no idea what to do,you're so lostand panicking.why don't you take your handsoff my shoulders?
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me