Pressure pain.

What's your favorite color?
Green? My eyes are green.
You think they're pretty?
I like yours more. Brown.
Let's switch, shall we?

Grab the nearest spoon, I'll look for a bowl.
Sit down at the kitchen table, grab a towel.
Keep 'em wide open, don't blink.
Ignore the blood gushing down your cheek.
Stretching the socket, ripping the chord.
Tears mixed with blood, it's a cute look on you.
Sit up straight, open the other one.
Don't make me rip off your eyelids, too.
Good girl. Hold still, just like that.
Cheeks drenched red, unable to breathe,
you're the perfect doll just for me.
But dolls are weak, they bend and break.
I'll take your eyes as keepsakes.
Disposed, used and abused.
Wash yourself up and stop crying.

Promise is just another word for lie.

She said "I promise I don't snore."

And he said "I promise I'd be a better cuddler than a pillow, if you don't mind insomnia and me getting up in the middle of the night to write down lyrics and thoughts."

--------

Put your eyes to the sun and said "I know, you're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding." Robbing lips and kissing banks under this moon.

Because sorrow is just all the rage.

suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE suicIDLE

Am I sick enough for you yet? Next time I'll be writhing on the floor in a pool of vomit and blood, we'll see what you say then.

TAKTAKETAKETAKETAKETAKEITAWAY.
My eyes are like bruises. Black and purple, puffy and sore. Look at me and I'll burn through you. Or will I? I feel like a lost astronaut. No oxygen. Nothing to grab onto. Nothing to pull me back down to earth. The view was never this good down there anyway, I might stay for a while.

Close your eyes, play pretend.

Making out inside crashed cars.

Baby boy, I've never had a thrill quite like the ones I get when I pretend I'm you. Or with you. You think I don't get you. I think you're right. But I try. Fuck, I try so hard. And when I hold him for you I'll whisper all the things in his ear that you wish you could.
Cruel, isn't it? This game I play with myself.
I'm just trying to hide. I'm just trying to hide. I'm just trying to hide. I'm just trying to hide. I'm just trying to. I'm just trying. I'm just trying. I'm just...

I won't make promises I can't keep.
I won't keep promises I can't make.

Maybe tomorrow is our day to stop being suicIDLE. We'll see.

Sleeptime.

Good Morning.

I can't get back to sleep.
I wonder if you have mornings like this as often as I do.
And I hope you don't.
I hope when you wake/woke up this morning, you are/were happy.
When you wake up,
I hope your eyes aren't sore.
I hope your throat isn't dry.
I hope your body doesn't ache.
I hope your head isn't pounding.
I hope your stomach isn't growling.
I hope your fingers don't hurt.
I hope your mind is well-rested.
I hope your nose isn't runny.
I hope your neck isn't stiff.
I hope you're happy most of all.
Not just when you wake, but always.
I hope you wake/woke up next to someone you love.
I hope you hold/held them tight and wait/waited for them to wake up.
I hope they wake/woke up and hold/held you back.
And make you happy.
Because I can't.
And your happiness is all that gets me through mornings like this.

edit
And your words are all that get me through the day. I thought I should add that in case you didn't already know.

I am the dreamer, you are the dream.

Sitting in this room, in the dark, I'm nauseated by the way she makes me feel.
I can't be myself around her, and the worst part is - it's not her fault. She doesn't tell me not to be myself. But she forces this on me.
If I do something wrong, that look of disapproval burns me down until I'm exactly what she wants, and I think she likes that. I think she comforts herself on thinking I choose to be a good girl for her, but she's wrong. She makes me this way. Let me be myself.

Do you know what my/your mind can do to you/me?
Nausea, dizziness, sore throat, leaking eyes, shaking legs, blurred vision, eyes roll back, knees buckle, lips tremble, fingers twitch, crimson river drenches my lips and chin.
I'm not sick. Sick in the head, maybe. Fix me?

Do you know what your mind can do to me?
I need you to give me everything/nothing. Talk to/ignore me. Love/hate me. I love how your hair looks like shit and when you don't give a fuck and how you never really smile.

Fuck smiles.
Fuck happiness.
Fuck the pain away.
Fuck just to say you did.
Fuck because you want it.
Or need it.
Fuck because you don't care.
Fuck 'because's.
Because I don't care.
Whenever.
Wherever.

Whatever.

These walls are caving in, baby, and it's burning a hole in me. I can't see a thing. One more thought of you and I swear to god I'm going to spill my guts. It's going to be rainbows drenched solid and liquid candy from here on out. But you WILL be the last thing I think about tonight and I want you to know. You will be the only substance to my dreamless sleep(less night).

I promise.

I'm an heir to a great deal of [mis]fortune.

Desire to be pretty like girls in shots by paparazzi, so glamorous when they're dressed like trash and drunk off cheap beer.
The voice of an angel, able to sing any note and speak in the right tones at the right times.
When the talent just comes to you. Writing, working, piano, guitar, bass, drums, speech, looks, grammar, fashion sense, walk, talk, breath, life.
So rich you could buy a Hummer just 'cause you feel like having something cheap to drive drunk in in case you get in a wreck, or a house to move to when you get bored of your OTHER million dollar estate.
Normality is either golden or rotten, and I'll either bore you or disgust you. It's all in your perspective.
And me. I need this. I need anything you can give, because god knows I don't have any of it in me already.

--------

The pros and cons of breathing stack up like weights on a balance. Always trying to even it out. Add a pro, add a con, add a pro, add a con. And then you'll run out of one or the other and just keep going until the balance tips over. That's when you're like "Well, fuck. " There's your answer.

--------

"I feel like I just died a little inside."
"Why?"
"I don't know, but I feel like I'm always tearing people apart, trying to get to the bottom of them. Thinking, maybe if I figure them out, I won't love them anymore, and I won't have to. So I rip off all the layers, and... It's so fucked up, it just makes me want more. And then, when I run out of layers, I move on. And it's just so hard doing that over and over and over again. I hate it and I love it at the same time. I just try to figure people out. Or things, like, I don't know, books. Movies. Songs, especially. Thinking if I figure them all out, learn every line, break down every metaphor, then I'll grow numb to it. And I do, but the thing is, that hurts just as bad."
"Mhm."
"And I hate how the only people I like enough to talk to, like my mom, or the few friends I have, don't really seem to give a fuck about me or what I feel. It makes me want to just..."
"People are like that. And it's pretty fucked up."
"But I'm not like that. And that's why I don't get it."
"I do give a fuck though. A weird, kinky, sweaty, friends-with-benefits kind of fuck. But still."

-------

I use people, and I push them just to see how far they will bend. If you associate with me, you WILL be my personal therapist on more than one occasion, like it or not. But I love my friends. I do. In a weird, knock-your-front-teeth-out-and-then-fuck-away-the-pain sort of way.

I love everything about you that hurts.

Analyzing every single thing about you.
Trying to find a flaw.
Hoping.
Thinking maybe if I do, I can let you go.
And it all just makes me fall so much harder.
Makes me fall right back to on my fucking face.
Like I'm hearing your words for the very first time again.
When was that?
Three years ago?
Four?
Two?
I'm so bad with time.
But it doesn't matter.
I didn't love you back then.
I really didn't care at all.
And I hear the same words I did then.
In the same way.
And now there's something extraordinary about them.
They didn't change.
You didn't change.
But I see you in a new way now.
And I know you could crush me with your voice.
Make me or break me, the choice is yours.
Because I hang on every last word.
You could write it better than I ever felt it.
And I love/hate you for it.