Tuesday, 13 September 2016

It's the small crimes, the white lies, The good and bad times, Holding on too long for something which wasn't worth the burden. But I can't help holding on for you, And worse still, to you, worse still what else would I hold on to?

The Crutch i use to cut Myself.

Death is such an unspeakable insult, why can't I be forever. Did you leave the bin out? Wrong night... .. . Still hell to pay, on my phone in a restaurant telling the person on the other end how could it be possible to feel this way? She wanted more then I was willing to give in such a public place, and i just couldn't say about the feelings that wont go away. I couldn't hear too well but I made the most of what I could, answering questions that I could never really tell the truth. The room is in charge, and the light when fully charged turns blue. But then what else can you do? Got to work a way round this, more then a crutch, because there is nothing worse then the feeling when it isn't her that could of been, but wasn't, just passed. I wish I was a better sleeper. I shouldn't take these tablets for a crutch, but then again sleep means so much. Like a lay in, I'm not sleeping. More dancing, no peeking.

Call me Guilty Call me Frail

Travelin for miles with only broken glass in my pockets. my mind splintered, my heart no longer whole, and every hole an own goal. Nothing pure just let go. And who'll phone the taxi cause it's probably time we should go. I don't know if it was real, or really made up. But I'am split in two between the monster and the child that won't grow up. so hurry up the place is empty, were i keep my secrets aplenty. To many memories, and some might say not enough days. But i know you can help me, just promise you won't be mad when i run away