On nights like these
    I'm drawn to the
Submission of headphones
    and a razorblade.
You couldn't understand
How my mind works
    So you underestimate
Me
    in vain attempts
To Simplify
    and rationalize
Why I do
What I do
    You just
    Don't get it
Well maybe
    my gratitude is
in order.
    I won't show you
    me, as I am
    You wouldn't like me
it's just like, pleading with
an Alcoholic
    Works.
So waste your time;
    tell me who I am
  To you.
Why let me show you
    when it's much more
aesthetically pleasing
  to judge me
        and
I won't stand up
    and disagree
It's simpler to stay
    and take the abuse.
Letting you in;
    that takes time
you don't have.
our definitions of love
    and forever
    and honesty
differ vastly more
    than I'm about to
        admit.
I'll be a doormat
    letting my guard down
for 5 seconds
  of passion
    and you?
You can lie and tell
        me you love me
So it repeats until
    You're fed up
with your definition
    of drama.
On nights like these
  I feel like the
Whore in the kissing booth
tell myself it's all for
"a good cause"
    and you'll
"find someone better"
because then
    I don't show you
my scars
my fucked-up lungs
    I wish I could
take just one
    breath that wasn't
clouded and smoke-impaired.
    I wish some
of them had gotten to
    to know me
    or listen when the
last one had me tear bound
                "He's got his guard
                down! Go for the kill!"
        and another
and another
    set of skin creases
    makes it's way to my
forearm.
  My Bicep?
        I save that for
every one of them
that showed me
the disposable trash
    I've become.
To prove a point,
    There's never been
a cut made that
    didn't bear a name.
A down-on-his-luck
  drunk once told me
"Everything after the
but is bullshit."
        "I don't want to
hurt you, but..."
    I think he was right.
"What doesn't kill you
can only make you stronger."
    Sure, unless you
cut yourself to cope.
I'm still waiting for
    the girl who accepts
and honestly tries
to understand me.
    I think she's somewhere
in my imagination,
  but it's been so long
that I forgot her name
    so misplaced-existence
makes my dreams blind
    I just feel so lonely
    on tragic
    Nights
        Like
            These
Where tears only mean
    I don't breathe right.
Stopped asking "Why?"
    when rhyme and reason
and rational decisions
    were accidents
        not habits.
Last night
I remembered a
    sick-fuck poem
    about Rabbits
        and that smell
        and why won't
anyone tell me
    what the hell
  'Star-crossed-Lovers' are?
            or what
everyone is smiling about?
    I smile
        sometimes
It happens when you
    feel God
or just don't feel
        Real, anymore
I don't see the use
    in living metaphorically
These suburban days
    that mask is gone.
I remember EMOgirls
    I remember young
undefined
images of Uncle Kracker
    tongue-tied
Teenage... errr
    So maybe my
        Best
            Sex
was dishonest
    and best intentions
        led me on this
  Road to ... Hell-lo
pretty little thing
  it's safe to assume
    I can tug
at your
"What the fuck is a
        Heartstring".
Time-out
    I just had a
Vast Bout
  with
Terminal torment
    of adolescent
        fixation.
You realize don't you?
    You based life on
peer degradation
    in High-as-a-kite
school
        life was
self preservation.
    It's nice
        on nights
            like these
to remember how
    music induced
Adrenaline abuse.
  One minute on the
  verge of tears
Next: overemotional
adolescent fears
    made way for
anguish and
                angst
"Anchors Down!"
        I sank
        I sank
        I sank
and a pretty face
    didn't mean much
with a blood alcohol level
    and blood shot eyes.
I remember love
        I had wanted it
for so long.
Within a brief interval
  it was
    "So long!"
  I remember hash talks
    and
"Wish-that-it-was-a/cid"
walks
    Suburban city kids
and all we had was
"weed-speed and birth
                control"
        The last of which
had lost it's touch
    and vodka
was our winter vice.
    she came and she went
but brothers stay true.
  So this is where the
  magic happens.

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