maybe it’s not about
what i’m trying to find
and it’s not about where i’m searching
i might just be a square peg
trying to fit myself
into a round hole

i’m not made for this world
the rotting brain in my head
whispers secrets to me daily
about how i’d be better off dead
and i don’t even hang on
because i want to
i do it because i am too afraid
that if i let go
i’ll be remembered for all the things
people think i am
when in reality,
no one should cry when i’m gone

the days keep getting harder
i try to laugh
because it’s the medicine
i have the easiest access to
but the fake smiles i paste to my face
can’t replace everything i’ve lost
and all that i’ve thrown away

my potential fades more and more
each day
and i keep getting wasted
so the feelings all fade
until the sun rises again
and the past is replaced
with more of the same

Love it.

The faster the tail wags
The quicker I fold.

The more the tail droops
The more I raise.

And at the end of the night,
I walk out with a bagful
Of doggie treats.

Could we convince our scars
That the world isn't sharp,
That it means no harm?

Sometimes when sorrow sinks in
I worry a wailing might screech from my chest
And every person for miles might hear it.
Or feel it shake the air, like hot flame
Ripples carrying my saddest indulgence
As the beast that weighs me down, croons.
So that people quaking, step out of the way
And we have room to sing the lonely wail, some more.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.