the black lines
i draw across my wrist
have nothing to the red blood
that washes away with my tears

the black lines
i draw across my wrist
keep me sane
because i can
rinse away the sorrow

the black lines
i draw across my wrist
can't take away
the pain of tomorrow
but can take away
the pain of today

the black lines
I draw across my wrist
can't compare to
the sharpness of
the smooth silver blade
i tore out of a
pencil sharpener

The black lines
i draw across my wrist
won't last for long
not leaving a scar
nor a sign that shows
i am not strong enough

There once was a totally wasted sloth named Erk.
He decided he wanted to learn how to twerk.
We told him it was dumb,
But he was drunk on ***,
So died trying when he fell to his death out of the tree although it was okay because he always was a ****.

The perfect man does not exist -
No matter what they say.
Because every man
Has the tendency to walk away.

your hair is unruly and unkempt
and i can't seem to form a coherent thought.

your very being is a colorful illustration
that i could study endlessly.

let me drink you in.

i promise not to leak.

i will savor every drop
and never let you flee.

It seems for the first bit
I was always Gatsby,
Lightly tugging on threads
but never having anything unravel.
I'd march madly through the world
Missing the point, by love I was blind.
Daisy, oh Daisy,
To have her love again
'Twould be divine.

And then I lost my Daisy.
"She" flirted with the idea of a return.
But it never stuck, call it bad luck
Regardless, a lesson was learned.

In Part Three, the now,
Gatsby became Nick.
I saw my own self.
My self drawn hell
And I knew Gatsby
couldn't stick.

And I thought quietly to only myself...

To never return to Gatsby, old sport,
would be quite swell.

Busted lips.
           Frazzled spirits.
                          Hollow eyes.
Promises full of lies.