Dress up in your Sunday best like god hasn’t seen you at your worst

Women washing their hair
Down the drain of lost cause and subpar advances
Strands cling to necks, to fingers, to *******.
You cling to hands, to shoulders, to waists
But just like the dead pieces of myself
You go down the drain.

I had always wanted to grow my hair long
So watching it spin around
With the suds from my shampoo
Was a little like saying goodbye to you.
I knew I wanted it to stay attached to my body
But that I needed to let it go so I could grow
Longer
Healthier hair.

So I lather it in conditioner and use a wide tooth comb
To get rid of all the left over pieces.
But even when I get rid of the dead hair
Its still stuck in my drain.

My future is probably all sprawled out on his girlfriends bed
Just like you’re sprawled out on mine
Both crossing their fingers for forever.

The smell of brains frying
nerves running short
teenage desperation
all mixed with lubricated hail marys
poisoned self medication
because we know best
and we best know
how to do it ourselves.

The failed attempts at self justification
cling to the lockers trying to remember
a time in the last 4 years that they took a breath.
Anxiety floods the student population
when they realize that the alcohol
can't drown the reality anymore.

If you though that having me wrapped around
your finger was something to be proud of
prepare to suffocate because i have nothing
else to hold onto and i am drowning.

His kisses were safe but never made me feel anything
Yours make me feel like i could fit our galaxy inside my body
but despite both
i want to be the one to make myself feel something

Freshman year we went camping for 3 days
I loved the scenery but hated staying there
i guess thats how you perceived me

Your head was so big that there wasn't even room for my body
In a place full of people i thought the most important person was you
In a car with the two of us, you also thought it was you.

The strobe lights are invading my sights
The smell of bodies creep into my nose
The room is shaking
but i feel nothing but you.

The type of silence that can't lie for anything, who everyone knows that something is itching to seep out of her mouth, yet it only seeps out her eyes and not everyone can read it.

The type of silent that is so loud that you can't ever understand the meaning. The type that refuses to say what they mean, and leaves you with a handful of tissue paper but no gift.

The type of silence that is love letters written on the backs of receipts, that you put up your sleeve. Why do you do that? You'll throw them out anyways.

She spent days building ice castles in the sun
He spent days trying to light fire to his house in the rain.
She drank coffee laced with poison to nurse her soul back to health
He took tablets of visions so he could hide from himself.
And when they met the fires thrived
the poison killed
and the visions overcame
and the ice castles turned
to puddles