I am assured that I am not the best influence,
but I have great plans
that will become great failures,
and you will stop being proud of me
long before time calls me old.
With cuffs around my wrists that chain me to my own shadow
I walk down the only road that helps me stop staggering
drunk and blind
holding the hand of the devil
because I sold my soul to rock and roll
and the chances of what could have been.
What might be.
My worst fear is being bored,
and that's it.

Do you remember the times spent sprawled across your bed
when we never noticed or cared when the sun had set
how you'd trace patterns into my shoulders
and I'd pretend to fall asleep;
anything to memorize how it felt between your sheets.
I miss the fire in your eyes when you craved my flesh
I miss your unforced smile, the scent of cigarette on your breath
it feels like weeks have gone by since I last felt your kiss
I guess it's the life in you, that's what I miss.

sometimes i seriously doubt
if i will ever recover
from this loss,
this bruise
from losing you.

sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night
to sweat soaked sheets and mascara-drenched pillow cases,
curled up in full fetal-position
and i think about you
and how i'm lucky that i even accomplish falling sleep
at all.

i think that's just the difference between the body and the mind -
the body won't stop contorting itself to match your
dissected heart
just because you did or did not decide to say
goodbye to someone.

and this is why i woke up with a knots like stones
inside of my back,
practically paralyzed
it's like my body is trying to punish me
for going against its
ferocious nature. all it wants
is to be back inside you.

sometimes i seriously doubt
if i will ever recover
from this loss,
this bruise
from losing you.

broken has made a cold home out of me.

I don’t want to be something someone asks you about just because they don’t know any other conversation-starters.
I don’t want to be the last drag of your cigarette only for you to say “Oh well I’ll just light another one.”
I don’t want to be a suicide note you read over and over again trying to understand why you never understood me.
I don’t want to be the symbol behind your sorrow, I don’t want to be the last lilac sitting in a vase on your kitchen table watching you try to keep it alive.
I don’t want to be that song you listen to over and over trying to recreate something that you never even experienced to begin with.
I don’t want to be that picture you keep above your bed, I don’t want to be the half-eaten meal you fed to the dogs instead.
I don’t want to be compared to that thing that is killing you that I can’t control. But I am. I am. I am.
I’m sorry.

What's a girl with a face to you anyway?
Just another human with the curse of curves?
Someone to be the heroine to your heroics?
A girl you won't write songs about?
Most definitely not the only exception
The liquor to make you love drunk
The one to tell you 'give me love'
Who will say 'kiss me' but only to be loved
Not necessarily a girl to be your everything
Just the one to follow your lightning with thunder
A girl who hoped you see two is better than one
She doesn't want to be a secret valentine
It won't take long for her to fall for you
Cause everyone knows most boys like girls
And she'll take a rocket to the moon
Just to hear a secondhand serenade from you
Don't let me fall and I'll be that girl for you
But not just a girl with a face

Red lines appear as
I pull this silver blade through flesh
Blood dripping, oozing from the cut
Red valleys and redder rivers
Scarlet is the only paint I know
Allowing, of course, for silver
A lovely edging, with a dangerously
Wicked edge
Then you add fire
Flames of scarlet orange and yello
Licking, touching, brushing the edges
Lightly trailing against the surface of meat
Burning, cooking, melting
Delicious
This fire burns so deep it sears
It melts the very fat, hidden beneath
And then it's over
It's done, finished, complete
No more flames
But the blades are back
Slicing up the scorched flesh
Anyone fancy some steak?