Picked up words.

Because arrows our in our ribs.
We become bitter.
With sand minds.
We go the road not taken, headed right for us. Flying.
The pressure of our parents.
Imaginary Friends, with imaginary promises.
The grief is lying on the bathroom floor, with violence laughs.
Distance between the light.
My breath is sandpaper on my lungs.
My brain is dying for love.
With unfair music.
I have anchored headaches.
And don't you ever wonder,
how did this happen?

How to life.

Print this page out.
Burn it.
Done.
You did life.

My Nicotine Lips and Whiskey breathe.

My nicotine lips don't speak they only know how to,
Inhale you.
My liquor liver can't process without the purity of your pleasure.
I can't get you out of my system, the bodies natural reaction is to absorb you.
You are my deadly poison. You are invisible like the fleeing in my cheeks like
they're pulling in a smile with your nicotine lips.
You are more deadly then my cigarettes and whiskey they at least burn as they go down.
You just make my nicotine lips smile like they never have before.

Alive..

Alive.

We are all fed up of emotions and deepness.

We're fed up of love songs.

And love.

And sadness.

And Happiness.

We're fed up of poetry. And tears, watching the sunrise at 6 am.

We've learned that those thing won't fulfill, what we really want.

And we've always wanted to feel alive.

But now we want to be still. We want to lay somewhere alone, with our eyes closed in silence.

And feel the rush of the stillness mixed with the silence.

And bliss of the loneliness.

We don't want passion, tenderness, or romance. We don't want to be comforted, held, liked or adored. We want the neglect and to be rejected.

To be left alone to feel the beating of our own hearts.

Only then,

in that feeling of complete stillness, a stillness that we imagine is close to death.

Is when we truly feel alive.