Like peas and a plastic cup of cyanide,
release me,
please.

I'm a mess that can get up,
that scream the taste of you out of my
******* mouth.

I only live for one second,
and nobody sees me at night.
If they do they see something
beautiful at 3AM;
Something gorgeous and
wounded
like me.

Got the box in the mail,
tried to cry myself to sleep.
Stood me up 3 or 4 too many times,
and all I can do forgive you.
I'm not capable of much,
but I swear it's just
because I'm a princess

and no one wants to sweep me off my feet.

No one wants to face getting wounded for me.
They all want to test my armor,
but I'm dressed to impress
&
They stabbed me so many times
I was nearly stabbed to death.

I'm a mess and there's nobody here
quite wounded like me.

You are a maybe that made me say
"what if"
And passed by like a hurricane
&
I thought I was trouble,

But I hold my immorality tight
And they call it "honesty"
And I lose sleep because;

They say I have a beautiful soul
(I don't believe in)
Gorgeous eyes,

They say I'm wonderful
I hate that.

Would they love me if they knew my secrets?

Would you kiss me if you knew I'd been kissing gravestones?
Knocking on their front doors,
Begging for superstitions?

I live in a hurricane.
Something tumultuous.
I wonder if the trees also
die habitually,
seasonally.

There’s this ******* first shift and she’s ******* magic and won’t be mine because I’m trouble and I break ****, and she’s fragile and lovely.

She tells me she’s unstable and damaged and I could cry every night if I wasn’t so convinced I can get over this.

I half *** so much but I obey my emotions.

When she gave me her number I sang, “what if?”

When she asked if I was in an open relationship I thought, “I wish.”

When I was single, she came over and I whispered, “I just want this.”

However, I try to play it cool and send love subtly, but I’m a ******* and a *** and a loser and I can’t drown my sorrows in anything so they keep me up at night.

She came into my life like a hurricane and I was swept off my feet, but I made the conscious decision to be loving to her. I cut a hole out exactly her size and she kissed me on the lips and said no.

She got diagnosed with cancer again and decided to quit fighting and I want to kiss every inch of her and make her feel like she was always deserving of the best love someone could give.

I want to kiss every part of her skin and make her better again because she is the light of any room she’s in.

I want to kiss her, but I’m ***** from throwing myself in the gutter,

from trying to **** strangers,

from singing sad songs,

from losing more sleep every night,

from hurting people I love

and

hurting myself to hurt them more.


There’s this ******* first shift and she’s absolute magic and I loved her too soon.


She’s fading from the inside, out,

while I rot from the outside, in.

When I'm sad I read john cage,
Play a game, listen to jazz,
Watch a tutorial,
Watch the professionals,
Exist distracted.

I am a meat cleaver of a creature,
I am an old ******* and a ***.
I  am an adorable disaster,
A cute catastrophe.

I am...

Wearing a lot of yellow
To get through today.
Van Gogh ate yellow paint,
To be
Happy on the inside.

Make everything around you like Jazz.
Some variation of jazz;
Cowboy Bebop, 3rd Strike,
Folk Music, Dress in Yellow,
Moon Knight or Doom [PhD]?,
Zero, Coffee or Water,
Late night chinese food for dinner.

Sleep on floral patterns.
Flannel.
Hang Christmas lights inside.
White T-shirts.
Hello Kitty.

Feminism + Nihilism,
Ethnicity? Are you half black,
or
half white
?

Make everything around you Jazz,
or some variation, write music,
write a poem, try to move on.
Stay autonomous.
Keep teaching yourself.

I don't know, I guess.
I was trying too hard to be brilliant,
however, **** it I'm a genius,
and brighter than a million suns,
and they might never look at me,
but at least I'd know why.

Stay autonomous. Teach yourself.
Make everything some variation of jazz.

It seemed like a good idea.

We face the new cliches;
Hell is on earth and we keep it here,
we stand in it’s way.
Obstruct it’s path.

I am certain of very few things now

,but if anybody thinks a blank page makes
“4′33″ [John Cage],
they’re a ******* idiot,
because

If you’ve sat in silence in love
and sat in silence with demons,
and sat in silence in the rain,
or just outside it

You learn a little bit about silence.

You never thought to ask what was wrong with everyone else.

People are horrible, and we will tear you out of the sky,
just because you're above us.
We will push your face in the dirt, boots on your neck,
just to ensure you're beneath us.

You are perfect, and beautiful,
and when you were born all that was missin'
was a pair of wings so you could
fly above us all.

All the bums and shitbags and
silver tongued ******* with hearts like copper,
yet so close to gold.
We haven't got an idea what's up there where you are,
but you have every idea where we've been.

We weren't born with wings.
We had to make due.
We don't hate you,
we just learned to hate the sky.

Clouds are like thoughts passing by,
and so many are beautiful,
and so many hide lightning and rain,
and they **** all over us,
and they strike down on us without mercy.

I'm pretty sure I've killed a lot of things now;
Just shooting into the sky,
and picking up what fell down.
Pretending I'd saved something beautiful.