I can do it

It's gonna hurt like hell.
Nothing more am I sure of.
But fuck, I gotta live through it.
Nothing less am I sure of.

Recuperate my losses.
Turn them into gold.
Gotta make something of my weary self
Before I have turned old.

Won't think of you in vain and lust
Won't give away my sacred trust.
Won't take promises from silly boys
Or let stupid girls make me their toys.

It's gonna hurt like hell
I won't take this smile for granted.
But fuck, I gotta live through it.
Will take time, but i can do it.

I can do it
I can do it
I can do it
I can do it
I can do it
I can do it.

Don't need nobody who can't prove it
Don't need nobody who'll leave me.
Don't need no time to be grieving.

I can do it.
Can't I?

A Ballad For Scarlett.

Tonight with my guitar
I'll be a star
So I can declare to world
How beautiful your eyes are
Bright and blue they shine
Say that they're only mine
only, mine.

Red are those lips
I long to kiss
I long to caress with my tongue.
Your laugh hits me like a gun
Just like a bang from a bullet
Once you pull it,
I'm a goner.
Lost in love.
In, love.

Surname Johansson, Forename Scarlett
Be my starlet
When I see you on the silver screen
I know you belong with me.
You're a winner, I'm a sinner
To be so pleased
When you locked lips with Penelope Cruz
God it hurts to lose, knowing
I'll never have you.
Never, have you.

In The Island with Sir McGregor
He really got it better.
He got to see doubles of you
And steal a smooch.
Oh god,
What a film.
What a girl.
What an unfair, lonely world.
Scarlett I need you.
Need, you.

Surname Johansson, Forename Scarlett
Be my starlet
When I see you on the silver screen
I know you belong with me.
You're a winner, I'm a sinner
To be so pleased
When you locked lips with Penelope Cruz
God it hurts to lose, knowing
I'll never have you.
Never, have you.

Here I stand,
I declare
That my love for you is there.
And I swear you'd feel it to.
If only I could be with you.
Be, with you.

Surname Johansson, Forename Scarlett
Be my starlet
When I see you on the silver screen
I know you belong with me.
With, me.

Attack.

At first it's calm.
Overcast in my head.
It thunders, but no lightning.
Not yet.

I think about all the things i shouldn't
The people i hate, the places that remind me of all the wrong i've done.
Committed sins and foul play.
And soon i feel sick.

My stomach rolls like a ship on high tide.
It tosses and turns, throwing acid into my throat.
I feel my eyes swell. It burns and it bleeds.
I start to cry. I start to feel.

Violent tears and angry, silent screams.
My teeth grind and my heart aches.
My hands are numb.
My legs shake.
My toes curl in so tight i could turn coal into diamonds between them.
I vomit.
I am sick with sadness.

My chest heaves in and out, my head is throbbing.
I can barley breathe.
I wish i could suffocate.
I wish i could die.

I squeeze my eyes so tight and hard
against my face.
I can see all the moments I've done this before.
Vivid as a picture book.

My ticker races, mini heart attacks rage
through my chest as if they might never cease.
For moments i calm, i collect, i review.
I remember, and i cry again.
Louder, angrier.

I clench pillows against me.
I hold them tight, so tight that if they were people
i would break their ribs into tiny shatters and scarps.
I wish it was a person.
I wish i never cried.
I wish i could smile straight.

My nose bleeds, my throat burns with stomach acid.
A foreign feeling i am so familiar with arises.
As if I've never cried before.
Like the first time I've ever felt.
I pray it is the last, but hell.
Nothing is.

I pass out.
I sleep.
I wake up.
I pretend.

This is a manic attack.
I have one every day.

In the wrong

When I think of you, my toes curl tight.
My heart pitter-patters.
I don't feel right.

My arms feel heavy.
My palms bead sweat.
Every time I think of you
Is more reason to forget.

I feel you in my running shoes
Pushing me to continue farther on.
Your memory haunts my every step
And reminds me that I'm in the wrong.

When my back stings and aches
When my my legs feel weak and shake.
I feel you there.

You are my pain, and still my bliss
My failing love and longing kiss.
I feel you here.

You stand for fault
And correction alike.
You are my heartache,
My blurry sight.

I feel you here.
And there.
And everywhere,
that we have been together.

Changed my life.
I was wrong.
And you were right.

You are always right.

Giving Thanks.

Bow our heads
Who's turn for grace?
Pass the butter for heaven's sake.
Let us pray,
Good bread, good meat.
And of course, good god
Now hell, let's eat.
Uncle recalls us with his tales
Of ships at sea
Battling rain and hail.
Auntie dishes second helpings
The family dog chirps out loud, rude yelpings.
Mommy yells to "sit up straight"
Daddy says "the turkey's great!"
Grandpa passed out long ago
"Diabetic friendly?" Grandma has to know.
Can you pass the salad down?
Drentched in gravey, turkey drowns.
It's on today that we are gracious for living,
That's why today is called Thanksgiving.

1 outta 2.

The first time we met, we never really did. She smiled at me from across the dorm and bowed her head towards her PBR tall boy. She was a hipster. I didn't care.

It was a party. The room smelt like incense and hash. Someone's iPod mini shuffled through The Shins several cliche college living albums. People talked about philosophy, people stared at their hands. She stared at me. I didn't stare back. I should have, courtesy if anything, but I didn't. I didn't flatter her ego, I didn't make eyes, offer her a drink, ask for her number. I didn't care.

Her name was Marilyn, but she was no Monroe. And I was no Frank Sinatra. She was taking cardiology, I was doing environmental sciences. Her eyes were brown and big. They were nothing special. She had a scent about her that reminded me of tea. Her lips were always dry like winter, even in the summer months. She had dimples and a nice smile. She was plain. And I didn't ever love her. I didn't care.

I dated her for 6 months. She used to worry a lot. About school, about us. I told her I wasn't going anywhere and neither was the campus. Well, 1 outta 2 ain't bad as far as lying is concerned. She wanted me to meet her parents. I was on another page. I hated the fact she chewed her pencils and I hated the fact she loved me. I didn't care.

I told her I loved her too. I bought her a ring for her birthday. It was green, her favourite colour and I'll be honest, that's all i seemed to known about her. I knew the little things she would bitch about if I didn't. Movies, music, food, colours. Favourite jeans, biggest pet peeve. I never really knew Marilyn the way I wanted to. I didn't care.

When we broke up, it was messy. She cried and she broke things. My things. That's all I could think about when she screamed "I HATE YOU DARRIN" at me. All I could think about was my things she was breaking. I want to ask her to pay me back for them. She told me she hated me. I didn't care.

And now it's all over. I see her around campus but I don't say hello. She still chews her pencils. And my coffee table leg is still wobbly. I see her a lot.

I didn't ever love her and I didn't care. Well, 1 outta 2 ain't bad as far as lying is concerned.

Q & A

"Where do you get your inspiration?"
Up my arrogant bipolar asshole.
"It's so natural."
Because it comes so fluently from my loud mouth.
"What's it like?"
Like my stomach got dropped kicked
and my heart got tackled just before the 50 yard line.
"You're beautiful"
No, I'm not. I've aged incredibly because I cry so much.
And 8 hours or more out the day I bottle my shit up
and send it off to sea because god fucking damn it
I will not be vulnerable to the people who make me weep.
"It'll be fine"
It's a pre-dug grave in my honor. The tombstone
is up and every day shit gets worse because someone,
something wants me in it. But I won't move. Because you
make me feel guilty about what I don't understand yet.
About depression and about feeling.
"Are you okay?"
Mother fucking no, I'm not. I'm dying of a broken heart,
my head is full of sick suicidal thoughts, I can't write,
I can't sleep, I can't smile sincerely and I can't create.
I can't survive and I need someone to listen.
But damn, that's hypocritical. I can't even talk.
I can't express and I can't verbalize shit all because
no one taught me how. I'm growing up so fast.
A mental age of 21-25 who doesn't know how to talk
about my problems.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
Do you wanna listen or do you wanna hear.
There's a difference between feeling in the loop, feeling trusted
for your own egocentric and big headed gain and looking me in the eyes
because you care.
Because it's me, not my problems.
People don't wanna fix people, they wanna fix
problems.
People are challenges.
And let's face it, were lazy.
Were better than your shit or yours, or yours.
"Smile"
Make.Me.

Sorry.

I'd start now
But i don't know how.
Never have, never did
Wanna love, wanna give.
Can't.
Don't.
Won't.
Negatives.
Contractions in my head
that do not fit.
Depression is a burden.
Learning.
How to deal.
So unreal.
Can't feel.
Felt you.
Had to move.
Had to get away.
Huge mistake.
Fucking LOVE YOU.
Not like.
Fucking LOVE YOU.
Wanna fight.
For YOU.
No one else.
Wouldn't cry.
Ever.
In front of no one.
Too strong, or weak.
Depending if the view is bleak.
Regarding me.
Fuck this, fuck life.
Not okay and not alright.
Need you.
Can't admit.
I'm too stubborn 'bout this shit.
Couldn't feel, tried to touch.
Use depression as a crutch.
Fuck, I'm stupid.
This is I know.
For my past has proven so.
Sorry.
Honest, sorry.
No, I mean it.
Sorry.

Itchy Love

Do you recall the man
Who scratched so hard
He got to the center of his heart?
The man who pushed and pulled
At his skin so hard
He figured out where it starts.
Where the love grows
Where the love knows
How to breathe
And receive.
Do you recall the man
Who scratched that hard?
I do.
I do.
I recall him vividly
And the noise it made
Everytime his chest did itch.
I recall him vividly
And the tears he cried
Everytime his lover stitched.
See those eyes a'burning
That heart a'yearning,
For a feeling that can't be fixed.
I idolize the man who scratched so hard
He got to the center of his heart.
Damn, I adore the man
Who scratched so hard
He go to the center of his heart.