droopy eyes, hour long goodbyes and fried up ice, you think i look nice. kiss me twice. we were not bred for lead roles. we are in charge of the cameras wearing all black hiding from the audience. and one rock makes your bed. while lonely home life makes paintings up all night and in some cafe. i had hoped you wanted to show us to the world. so? maybe just the city. people who drink coffee and study groups of girls who stare at girls. so much has happened your fairy tale lies sound like mysteries making friendship history. mr p and dr p two very different and so much alike. and we differ in the taste, but we know theyll both do like we want them to til we argue that dr p is always first because i made it first clues burst into the explosions of one second ideas traveling at the speed of light to dissapear into thin air above plenty of chairs filled with an applaued of the audience that is clapping at the addict who just lost his life to a bed of rocks and dirty socks and took goldie locks with him so they could live forever in black without worrying about an audience to see their pale skin bones being thin and bristle and perrywinkle crayons always had the prettiest name but the ugliest color that went on pages like feathering lipstick on that woman in the casket that used to talk to people who werent there in her basket case head shed borrow thread to sew the boys rips from the chains on the bicycles in my head and on your minds cieling these things always get me back to feeling like i was never numb at all like last fall when i thought i was alone but there was always someone on the phone trying to call and hangup to leavve a voicemail that didnt make any sense to anyone who had sense enough to realize it was love coming through the waves that splashed in your face they say it came from outterspace and overrated djs that run the new hipster race while i pace back and forth in the dark, i run into another wall and find that theres a switch to flick and so i did but nothing came on and so there here we are, blind and dreaming like we always are take anything we can find and scream like we always are to get far far away from here and see things like colors any color i want like the song that reminds me of when i used to listen to more emotion than i have ever forced out of the way i used to be because i finally realized you have to open your eyes to see that everything evaporated with the intention to advance in the fucking of its gone and dismisdirected information turns into secrets sourting from the ground like gifts that decieve with a twist of beauty as if you could keep your knees still the book ends up to be the only one of thousands but its borrowed and free to hold up some table in your basement like damaged goods when your daughter finds it to give you reminders that we still smell like spring and start taking what your offered in the hands that youve bitten because i knew you were hungry so i fed all the pretty mysterious lies and perrywinkle colorful candies to you so youd put pressure on me to decide that we'll never just....say it. finish it. do it. the dotted lines never told us where to go only where we want to be inside the lines that we cant help but be all over the map that led us to the riptide of sailing away from eachother just to see if wed ever come back to find that breadcrumbs dont last forever while im hanging high swinging in my favorite noose singing my quiet blues in your not so jackolantern socks to watch you beinge for these words that the bots couldnt create while the sand sifts through our fingers in the sandbox like the quarters for the dryer at the soapbox out back we climbed the stairs but you stopped at the first step while i charged to the top and fell back down to where my ears didnt pop and make my head hurt all the time like i wasnt even hollow because the sponge in my head was so full with bullshit that i had to take more bullshit to drain it out that made me feel like i dont own you or owe you anything else because our sets of fits feels like an overwhelming thing to keep doing it the the person you love it just takes too much time avoiding the front we both dont know about and we keep telling telephone til' someone says, its time to wake up.

kitten, sleepy head, slippery head, its time to wake up and look at the stars. i've got my bags packed and im ready, to trip. you dont smile anymore, and i'm always telling you, but you're never asking. but i can't let the silence turn into the cancer we're not afraid of. but it heats the car, and dries the pavement and makes the worms all crusty like when i used to write, good. well. he'd rip out his tongue if it meant loving him. and he digs with his left, hand but i told him he has two. he has two. he has too, use them well. and get them dirty. he gets them dirty. but he's in all the wrong areas. dirty bastards. evil little boys. older. boys. little older. they are standard size. they are connected with the others. and the pact is broken, but they all feel so connected in their brains. but i wonder if the ten percent that their aware of is worth all they're talking about. ten percent more ego, ten percent more godly, more sucessful, more powerful, ten percent more to give a less fuck about. ten more percent of waste. for some. of them. im calling your name, kitten, lets go and put our hands out the windows and keep them from hitting the top because you dont believe in jinxing anyways. so what's real if none of this is. what real, if you're not. lets hitchike the dead roads and watch the sun come up in a valley far from home. and the funny thing about trees is you can hit them really hard and they'll never really bleed. they just have wet moisture under their brown. and i told him to eat the glass with the tree blud on it. but it was really just the protien in the tree. the layer that was green. and im sure if i cut you deep enough you'll bleed. but i'll teach you to be a tree. if you'll teach me to be free.

i promised you i would quit this and that and get on top, of everything. i'm like a beetle on my back and i cant get on my own 6 legs, again even if i never tried in the first place, i'd still need you to pick me up and turn me around. and i'm always lost in the dark, even though my eyes adjust quickly, even with all these chemicals in me. you keep playing the games i taught you eventually you'll turn into a sad evil crushed boy like me. and youre never running, you just walkfastlypastme when i asked you not to. but you forget sometimes, all the time. except for dates that everyone else forgets about. but we like that, but we need you to be more, we need you to be our robot with robot eyes, and robot hair, and robot understanding, we need you to understand. but robots don't breath, but maybe you don't either.

in second grade i made a 100 on the EOG. It included everything i needed to know. I was the luckiest brain in the class of 27. I'm 18 now, and i'm the unluckiest brain out of a million. I let the fuckers bring me down. Although they've never been on top, i havent either. I feed myself for freedom. I clean my face so I don't look dirty, just to rub more dirt onto it. I dont use cross walks, and my natural hair color isn't anything that of natural. they say you either swim or sink. i say set your fucking sail and go where you go. were you terrified the morning you woke up and realized you were still young? young and dead. or have you always been scared, that you've always, and always will be, young. and dead.

quiet. chills shake over you. the bug are just trying to get out. our of your skin. and into. something less, dirty. you ask a question, i repsond with a masked answer. the only empty i feel is in my stomache. but i just felt, my heart drop and im so full of, shit. of dust. of frail combinations of microscopic nothings. i am breakable. you just dont understand my, bones, these bones, they're bearable. i am sinking, my eyes are sinking, my eyes are twitching with sleep, but i know i should be awake. writing. this. shit that you will read and re read and forget. and re forget.

This is everything. This is it. That is all. I cannot extend. I can't pretent I never felt, anything. Because I am feeling everything. I build these boxes of things that I find, or things i'm given, or things to remember, I never get rid of them because my mind tells me not to because I will have bad luck. But it's all bullshit. Two fucks don't make a right. I still keep them. The boxes are full, but my faith is lost. These are all lies. You are all, all lies. One trip you hate everyone. The next you are conected with the dirt. You have carpenter hands. Strong and stiff. You tell me to let it happen. I don't speak. So you stay at home with the kitchens bill to pays. The height of the hills you walk. And my fog through pills. The loss of my. will. innocence. i was ready when you were. hasnt anyone ever told you, no means yes?

i am corrupt. i am only as corrupt as i let them make me. i am fake. just like you are fake, just like they made us. just like we were too vulnerable and too young to take advantage of our feelings. but we're old and we're conformed and we can have opinions. but then someone proves you wrong. and then we've all gone crazy, haven't we? we start doing drugs, and we get sleepy. we dont sleep because we say its overrated. we eat drugs., but we dont eat. the protien. we need. the protien that was meant for us to eat. that society BELIEVES we need. how are we free if we are told what we need. how are we free if we are backed into a corner out of fear. i am not scared and i am not ready. but i am here. and i am screaming this is it. and i just lied because im sitting in a room filled with smoke and shit all over the floor. and i am a failure. and i will continue to fall back on everything i say. i am alone, and i am afraid. i am independent and i am not scared of anything. i am free but, i am stuck in this corner. i am loved. but i am forced to make decisions that make me not loved. i am ready, but i have noone to shoot the gun. i am fake. and so are you.

i had trouble finding my cleanest dirty shirt. smoked my brain grey, on cigarettes and my bestfriend Jane. packed the razor baldes in your backpack, smallest pouch. using them for sewing, with no needle or no thread. i know the pills you crush, and skim them with the blade. suck them up your nose, for all the boys that never stayed. or all the boys you never kept. a cigarette for the night you never slept. and this is for you mrs. mcGee. and ive got a death wish you see, im not afraid to scream it, im sure the rest of the town would agree. and if you ask me to sing one more song with you i ask you for a cigarette or two. and if youre not happy with the choice you've made, it's easy to take things back. the feather you crushed in your hair, indian giver is the only thing we share. you can add and subtract me, but i'll never be an equal. kiss me on nyquil, that was the prequil. to be continued... this is for you, and encouragement theres life after you've spent all seven lives trying to kill them all. and spent them all trying to give them all. you gave them all away. the boys, they'll never stay. would god answer if i'd pray?

no matches. everything scratches. dad hits you harder. you know moms smarter. porcelain dolls don't cry. but they can burn. and the things you hear, they make your stomache turn. smoking cigarettes. did you think the polluted pond was beautiful? i did too. are you tired? i know youre not but i am. we're all dying. forget me knots. forget me. forgive me. i surrender. i''m sorry.

at the end of frayed ends because we all make ammends with dead friends. burn the frays, make a noose. take a sip, it will make you loose. cringe at the thought of something improving. sincerity chalks up to losing. my knees are bruising. right reasons keep cruising. by. cling to late night calls, poor reception, mistaken deception. blow a kiss. waste a wish. backseat innocence. beat the clock around the block. its always the fucking clock. your cigarettes are out of stock. go fuck yourself. i need myself. too many acquaintances. left undeveloped. and youre wrong. youre wrong. youre wrong. and what is wrong? nothing at all. and its not right. its not wrong. are we all alright? are we all, all right? i watch mrs albright. on the tv at night. laugh with the image of a pipe. and we created the mistakes we learned from. and a message in itself its a message i have forgotten. found my self concious in a fourtine cookie. invidiuality, for mrs congeniality. sex sells. propaganda is living in our sells. and would you fight, be my knight for the night. catch a flight, be the termites in my head, call me bright, show me light, sometimes spite. we dont have to fight. but would you be mine for the night, mr. white? and sex sells. and propaganda is living in my cells. and the bugs are in your head, are crawling in your bed. when they become contagious, i promise to be outragious. i promise to be envious. but iwill leave with disgust, and if i can't, i must. repeatd circles. good friend quinn. you always win. thats a big secret. i am ugly. you are pretty. still my favorite thing about the city. i am always scared. and you are always off. for the night. and when i took the dare, they all stared. painted faces. misplaced. places. crumpled ones, no free refills. six blue pills. one two many shots. and please dont tell anyone. i have the hots. for boys in the long sleeves. and they all say please leave. and noone sticks up. around. for me. i hate you. who is that. i hate you. i sit by the red cups. watch all the break ups. and after. one two three four for me. i crack up. get up. and throw up. cheeks are pink. couldn't you tell, i was already fucked up?