Truth

I'll tell you this much.

I could care less, or more, about everything.
But I have every right
to hate myself.

Sunken, undercover.

That's awfully funny.

I think, you thought, for even a moment, that you understand me. 
That's really, truly, awfully funny.

There's nothing to understand, understand?
There's nothing to get, because I am no one. 
There's nothing
absolutely
absolutely
nothing
Here.

I am sunken ships you can no longer see,
hidden underwater,
as if someone drowned me.
And seaweed, and algae covers
and fish, no longer lovers.
I am in darkness, underwater.
Undercover.
And I am cold. 
But here,
here there is nothing,
no one.

Here I am alone,
so I do not exist.

Here, I am here.
But the schools of fish, of sheep,
they avoid me, walk past me,
veer away, ignore, forget about me.

I'm drowning, drowned.
Just the skeleton of a ship.
Just the skeleton, the sailors are gone.

Sunken, underwater-undercover.

It's awfully funny, to even assume you understand this analogy. 

The fight

Tie a rope
around your wrist.
While it chokes
You insist.
I am blood,
and lines I stutter.
I'm nothing more,
I'm just a cutter.
But pain is black
and bruises too.
I know I'm fat
I'm telling you.
So help me starve
each word I say
Tie them up
and hide them away.
And then it's silence,
and then it's cold.
From here, we're quiet.
From here, we're controlled.
Careful cuts
and careful cups
Of waterwaterwater
now you're telling US!
So you say to stop
to see the world.
But no one tried
to see this girl. 
While she held back
her words, her thoughts,
others drew swords
with which they fought.
They gave her darkness
they gave her fear.
So this is why
you just can't hear--


--hear her words,
they're calling out.
She's wrought with pain
from all your SHOUTS
Now you don't see
the lines so red
with string, with blood.
It's all we have.

We hide behind
these masks so white
and hide in dark,
we hide from light.
With rods inside
that hold us up
we must confide
or else we stop.

Now words grow small
and skin, and bones.
We're getting thin,
while throwing stones.
But stones are lies
and lies are short.
We're running out,
straight through the door.
As we pass through
the monsters gawk.
Making faces
with which they mock.

We're fake,
plastic
fools,
who want one thing.
But if it costs us
our life,
we will be thin. 

Drowning

Hold me down, and I will choke.
I will drown, I will be soaked.
Hold me down, let out the air.
Things are fine, here.

FUCKFUCKFUCK
LIESLIESLIES.


Hold me down.
I'll sit silent.
Let out my breath,
my breath,
my air.
Cover my mouth,
my eyes,
my ears.

I'll stay still,
while you choke the life out of me.
Drown me, go ahead.

I dare you. 

Things are FINE! :] Ish.

So I'm hiding,

From reality.

And it's notgoingtofindme.
Because today,
I hid under my covers in darkness.

And no one talked to me.
Not even one word was uttered,
so things are fine.

But things aren't really fine, just not terrible.

Or at least not yet.

Red string

Of course I replaced it. Who would I be without it?

But my grandmother...she asked me if I was wearing it because of this religion.
This religion, that seems to wear red bracelets.
I said no, I'd never heard of it.

Should I have told her, my quest is just as noble as any?
Should I have told her why I was really wearing it?

Mistakes

You know the saying, "We all make mistakes"?
Well it's true.
So true, in fact, it's honest. But it's pointless, because everything's MY FAULT anyway.
No one else really makes mistakes, no.
Just me.

Just. Me.

Happy!

Obviously I'm fooling someone.

Disarm

Disarm, disarm. 

Put your weapons, your hatred, down. 

And walk

away. 

Disarm yourself, 

and stop waging war on the world. 

Ah, friendship. What lovely things you have brought me -.-

She was talking to me today. Something about wanting to rip her veins out. Something about wanting to dig so deep there's nothing left but shreds and blood.
Something, but all I could think was, "am I the only one who is happy?"
And then I laughed out loud, because I'm not happy. 
And I told her. I told her that, no, she doesn't want that. She wants to make her last months in England count, make them fun, and then start again.

I told her, "at least wait until I can talk to you in person. At least live until then."
She promised.
She promised she would.
So she has to.

And then the two of us can be happy, together. Just like how it used to be, only ten times better.
Ten times better, but.
Not really.

Red bracelets

I always, always, always 
wear a thin red string along my wrist.

Yesterday, it tore in half and ripped off.
The question is, should I really replace it a second time, or
am I good enough the way I am?

I don't know what to title this.

All these things, you know--

people slipping in and out of my life. Yes, they do that. Friends just packing up and leaving. Things breaking, and that not-caring-enough-to-sit-down-and-put-them-back-together attitude. Like, I don't have the patience, really. Things burning rather than existing, that darn reality. Words blurring past, like, wow. Like, what?
I don't know, you know? Sometimes, like, I ask for someone to explain it to me. Just, say something makes sense, sure? But they tell me
they don't
understand.
And that's peachy. So, fine. I can't talk about myself, because every time I press on for details about someone else, they jump into an hour long conversation about their life. Which is interesting, and I care and all...but sometimes it'd be nice to actually feel comfortable enough
that I know they're not just asking to be polite. And it's like, they don't ask again. Maybe once, maybe twice, and that's that. They're perfectly fine to go on about their lives.
And that makes me wonder, do they care at all?
And that makes me wonder, do I?




--all these things confuse me so much,
but my patience fizzles out like a snubbed out match. Yeah, I'm not really going to figure this out anytime soon, am I?

Talking

Talking.

Talking is words covering paper. And when I talk, I barely finish a line.
But that's fine, because the words I do say mean more than countless pages of scribbles and ramblings.
Sometimes.

Sick, twisted irrelevance.

I don't believe it, I'm almost angry, I don't care. 
I bet you're lying, I'm close to rage, I don't care. 
I can't believe it, I am angry, but I don't care. 


This is stupid. I still don't care. 


Probably.

Gossip.

You are clothed in your words,
and if someone were to force you into silence,
you would have to face the world naked.
You'd be exposed,
and we'd all see you for who you really are.