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It comes in the night...or maybe in the day. I don't know anymore. It's all the same. You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach where you know you might have just made a big mistake? Like buyers remorse but 10 times worse. This time you lost something. You're all ears to anyone lending their open mouths. Waiting to hear what they have to say before you go ahead and run your self into the ground. There's always a good side, right? Wrong. What happens if it happens again? All the same things get said and done and you just go through the cycle again. Maybe you should spend some time alone and collect your thoughts. Sounds un appealing, I've done that too much, I do it too much. It hurts too much. I'd rather not think about it. But like I said, sometimes you ask your self why you do what you. What makes you act like a bug attracted to a bug zapper. There's never anything better. Or maybe there is. I think there is. I see that there is. But is it what I need to be complete? These days what does it take? There's always something wrong with me. There's always something going on. Maybe that's what I need, maybe I always need something to need to feel complete. Instead of just accepting the fact that things aren't that bad. Well they were, in your head. Maybe I need help. Maybe help doesn't care anymore because they've tried, called, and came but I never cared. Who knows. You can't arrest me anymore. You can't accuse me anymore. I won't fail you anymore. I won't fail me anymore. I won't be here anymore. I won't breathe anymore.

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Dear Reader,

I want to warn you of everything before it gets too late. I want to tell you how everything we ever say becomes parrallel to how what feel in the end. And all the words we meant just end up becoming regrets. I wasn't born this way. I was made this way. I want to tell you that just like them, you'll be another regret. I can't help but feel it.
When you're this far from heaven you can't help but feel like you belong to hell.
I'm telling you this post trauma because I didn't want to ruin the moment. I write these words to remind me to tell the next one...fuck it. There won't be a next one. I write these because it's not fair to you to let you go with out an explanation. I was a child turned wolf. I'm no longer wolf. I'm not even a man. I'm a shell stuck inside of a shell, inside of a shell.
When you're this far from heaven, you can't help but want to go to hell.
I'm staring at the sun one more time. This time I hope I go blind. This time I hope I really die. Heaven doesn't want me and hell doesn't need me. I don't need me.

Stoned Dethroned

Consider this a warning.

There are two minds I own. One has the faith of a child who knows not of the world, but of those 4 walls that keep him safe while he dreams, who falls in love with everyone he meets.
Then there is a boy with jaded eyes, who hates the world, who doesn't want to meet anybody else in fear of being let down, who feels confined within those 4 walls that keep him safe, who blames his past for forgetting names, who secretly wants to forget names, who's probably less fucked than he thinks he is, his chemical imbalance tells him otherwise.

I sit in rooms wishing I was outside but really, there's nothing out there for me. I literally feel like I need to be in my room charging my self for the rare occasion that I step that one foot out knowing what I'm leaving behind. I tell my self I'll be back. I know it. But sometimes I don't want to come back. I want to leave with the record player skipping and the lights still on. Ink still in the pen and the hum of the shower pipes still audible from when I just left, as if I just got ready to dissappear. I want nothing more than to be kissed and missed.

Consider this a warning. I'll tell one and I'll tell all. I'm broadcasting my downfall.