right some more shit, write? cuz that fixes everything. cuz i just feel so much fucking better after i've "created something." total bullshit. i do it cuz i can't fucking talk. might as well give all that shit up too ( Read more... )

playing a video game so i can kill myself.

you know my scar stories. well this is just a love story. shoulder bites and scratch marks up the back. you fell in love with a monster - now attack ( Read more... )

my pillow still smells of you. i couldn't even lie to save the truth. my body aches after you've left. for various reasons cuz you know how we get. i never thought i could smile for so long, even after you've been gone-it's hard to sit. a hurricane got a hold of mr brady and that's how we met. i was seeing in black and white til you gave me 3d ( Read more... )

there's a reason i write in rhyme ( Read more... )

let's see if i can do this ( Read more... )

i'm not won for dramatics.
just tied in a knot. ceiling fan style throat hung. chandelier broke a thousand dollars worth of spinal cord whore neck line.
i practice beating my mistress bloodly on our love matress til she's bleeding enough to not breath a simple i love..
suicidal throat cut. i only think in red blood.
are you scared enough?

i always write these things with music on but not this time. i don't deserve the pleasure. i'm so sick. of this. it's getting quite old now just like me but i never seem to fix it. once again can't even write for shit cuz my days have been the same for years now. not looking forward to anything but sleep. whatever. what's the point ( Read more... )

so i'm finally almost all better from the worst illness i've ever had. i think it went on for a little over two months. it started with the worst cough i've ever had. than pink eye in one eye, than the other while i was still coughing. than dizziness and fever that both came and went plus more bad coughing. than i lost my appetite and i think that ( Read more... )

not to be a dumbass but holding this pen like i'm a writer makes the blankness of these pages seem the wiser. my feelings get expired when the ink begins to dry and i'm not fine with the final result - or am i?

there's always the morning after read through,
and the fact i can't write good without some type of self abuse.