I found the cure and no one cares--it's just another thing to sell.

I am so far gone that I'm eating my own dust. I am withering and reaping what I sow. I am NOT what I told you I am. I am the biggest and worst liar out there.

My baby's four neighborhoods over and I can't be bothered to leave the comfort of my bed.

Every time I look for you the sun goes down (also see: the difference between hate and really really really not liking someone.)

I stand on your porch and blink out the sun. I never was the best at clearing my head, but selective amnesia's becoming easier and easier.

But hear you me--you had lipstick on your teeth and your thighs around my waist.

Also see: kitchen counters.

Also see: only not hurting the people who don't matter.

Also see: enjoying this too much for your own good.
The only factor that taints it is your own poor attitude, and honey you had never seen a worse one until you met me.

I used to make my parents proud.

Spilled your fingernail polish, sang louder than I've ever heard you, and polished off my heart. Are you full yet?

No matter how many snide remarks you make, you've still got a bit of ventricle stuck in your canines. You've done something with it, I see. Braiding my vocal cords together and wrapping them around your ring finger wasn't exactly what I had mind, but it's creative and done skillfully enough. Your picket-fence ideals have impaled my last shattered breath and I'm broken.

Also see: propoganda and thought control 101.

Also see: hangnails galore.

Also see: how I can't get what I need but the things that I think I want come at me like shrapnel, and I know I shouldn't be comparing one small misery to the next, much greater one, but I can't take my own advice.

Scraped my knees on your linoleum floor, swallowed your porcelain tongue, and cut open my esophagus. It's gory but the goosebumps are indicative of how little I think of you and your eyes and your smile and every. single. word. that punches out from behind your perfect teeth.

The poet in me is screaming for justice but poetic license says

I scream the words I want

and he doesn't have to be satisfied. I have known you in every life I've lived.
By your shaking ankles, I KNOW she has murdered me. (murder me, murder me)

We rise to defend ourselves just as quickly as the hairs at the nape of my neck raise to meet what they're sure will destroy them.

I have a ringing in my head and no one to help me answer it. (Gotta love how it's somehow all on me.)

It's so difficult to be what you deserve but this is all really only another excuse.

Sometimes I wish I knew what I wanted before it was too late.

Also see:apathy vs. empathy.

Also see:copernicus and galileo and eveyrone else who couldn't give themselves a break.

Also see:total destruction of the soles through the reconstructon of the soul.