Dying inside my soulThere's a holein my chest,I should shoota bullet,just to fill it .But what's the useit'll only passright through.
Die Slowlyi'm tired of breaking up with meaning - she's as cageless and unfaithfulas a life full of grace and hope and so am i, it seems.i wear your unspoken wish as a dark clasp: the gleam of scales to abradethe color-paper walls of your chest, thumbs pressing for your sweet dissolutionand open arms for the maniacal hysteria of a sad child's chaos machinein a twist of hungry prongs that twirl your limbs into a vein wreath.here, i was built to plunge your delusive dream back into the black hood;i know it's blind and cruel as a storm, my dear;dumbly, the grey weight of you will burst without a cloud and the hellfire left cooling in your eyes will unbalance the galaxyand gravities will rain your days back into a bottomless hollow.perhaps i'm just an interloper, a demon trail running from each disasterto feed a fetish for broken smiles.~*~quiet barbwire wallssit and rust with no disputeSummer, die slowly
The World I Want To Live InI want to live in a world where no one has to come out. I want nobody to ever have to go through that emotional and physical torture. I want there to be no reason to come out. Because in this new world, it wouldn't matter! Nobody would care who another person loves, because it's love and none of their business!I want to live in a world where no one cares. I want apathy, not acceptance. Because, there's no need for acceptance because there's no chance of rejection! There's nothing wrong with it, so rejection and persecution are logically ruled out. I don't want to hear this dialogue ever again "I'm gay." "Good for you!" Good for you? You don't hear "good for you" for being born with hazel eyes or being heterosexual. Honestly, there is no difference, stop perpetuating one! It's just like when a little kid gets hurt, you don't tell the kid they're hurt, because if you did, they would freak out. If we never recognize it as a difference, then there won't be one! Everybody is the
Lines in a diary.I wish that I could justwrite it all, everythingI've ever longed to say.Cut it out of my chestwith the dullest knifeI can find, and display itlike a murder scenebetween the crumpledsheets of this notebook.Sometimes I wishthere was really somethingwrong with me. That I havea legitimate reason for feelingthis way. Sick, emptyWordless.