I guess I just can't get you out of my blood,
It's always a waiting game, I'll be tick and you be tock,
And I just don't understand how love could never be enough.
Fuel yourself on what you never found, what you never had, and never got.
Never felt, and never touched.
My tissue's slowly tearing and I need to readjust.
My heart is ice, my eyes are fire, and my ribs are slowly being crushed.
I need to breathe, I need to think, I need to stop, I need to sleep,
I'm the thieving wolf and they're always the innocent sheep.
I'd wear their skin to get them in,
Then strip them down and turn around,
Never looking back again.
But you've got me looking back again, you've always had me looking back again.
You need to keep me, lock me in, hold me down and carve your name into my flesh.
Break my knees, tie me up, bite my lip, kiss my neck, and tell me to "stay put".
It's never been a matter of wanting to leave, it's just that leaving's what I know best.
It's what I know, it's who I am, it's what I learnt as I grew up.
Like the mother to a baby duck, only I first laid eyes on "never give a fuck".
So is this the wrong way to go?
With each step down each notch of my spine I always think "Let's just run, I've had enough."
We'll flee to the North, to the South, West, or East...
Coast to coast, and sea to sea.
We'll tear up highways, cross borders, mark miles and never stop.
Fuck, I'll take you to the moon and we'll play the part of astronauts.
Because this is exactly what I don't let them see.
But there's that charm that they always talk about,
I guess it's like a clue that sits inside of me, begging to get out.
That shimmer in my eye, that tiny diamond shine,
A hopeful rupee of what I could be, should be, would be, if I could break out of this rut.
It's what keeps them coming back to me.
When the light hits it just right you can catch it, faintly, apparently.
I'll save you, and you save me.
You have to get this out of me.

My eyes feel like acid and the only thing heavier than my limbs are my eyelids.
I'll dry-whistle a slow tune, while you wet my lips, in a void of semi-consciousness,
And that's all this ever really is.
Exhausted air pulled by exhausted lungs, escaping puckered lips in broken song.
I'd sooner run than tag along,
the well-spoken song bird and the bastard son.
Severed ties and two-decades sleep deprived.
Poison spit and venom eyes,
Dilate to catch the light, while conscience quits and instinct hides.
I lay still like wounded prey, on a bed of moss with fractured legs,
But, still awake I salivate.
Coins of copper and nickel protrude the pink of my teeth.
Blades of grass and ivy leaves.
Bleed me your toxin and I'd suck your flesh to simply taste your cells,
Rabbits feet and wound rat tails,
The turquoise nights that fade to black, to gold, to yellow.
We're the bloodless bats, rabid wolves, and the hollow owls.
I want to break, infatuate, recreate and abduct you.
Breed our thought's kin, choke you, hold you and fuck you.
You'll bruise gold and I'll bleed diamonds.
And we'll run away rich, scared fearless, and young.
Our eyes never shut and we never quite love,
But as dark fades from light, we tie tongues as days meet their nights,
and as the moons chase the suns.
And you don't say a word,
And I don't speak to anyone.

Countdown to twenty twelve, in a time machine all by myself.
The past moves so fast and the present's not quite the gift I'd thought I'd wrapped. Stuck pages flipped with finger tip spit.
I'm just looking for a sleeping pill that puts me down like a fist, and keeps me up under eye lids, without the nauseous sedative.
You remind me of piano notes, fretted string strums, light key strokes and stick needle pokes.
Bird nests, hair dye, bath tubs and spelling tests.
I'm too tired to be sick, but there's a beauty to illness.
Dying wishes, lost innocence, raspy breaths.
That hopeful cling that sets in between cold coughs and colder sweats.
I want to feel you like cancer. Perfect in a lot of the ways that it makes you think.
Get into my blood stream, get under my skin.
Rack my brain, make me scared, make me tear up, blink hard while I hold back the knot in my throat to save face.
I just want to feel you.
Be my friend.
I want to tear into your chest and break your ribs while we kiss.
We could speak in crossed tongues, chipped teeth and shared spit.
You remind me of swimming pools of sweat, cool nights in the grass lost in thought... only, fucked up.
So long as I've got two feet on the ground I'm grounded. It makes sense, I guess.
Step back to reality, I felt that pinch, I feel that pinch. I can see my breath. Sometimes I pretend it's a cigarette.
I want to stay up all night to see your raccoon eyes, and have you hate me the best.
Be my friend, take my hand...
I feed on your thoughts. You shouldn't have expected anything less.
You know that played out shot on the rooftop? Where it's quiet and still, and suddenly the pigeons take off? I want you to feel that.
I'll take your name, spell it out, say it out loud, and break it in two under stress.
Drive one half to my head,
and one to my chest.
I don't even know you, but hate me the best.

She's splattered paint on drapery; I'm a blood-stained mess, a lying thief.
And to be honest I'm not half of what you seem to think.
Vacant lot, a water drop, the kettle to the blackest pot.
When I drop closed my eyes, another censored soft core scene: Stripped of what you want to see,
twice as slow and half as deep.
Split cells, egg shells, royalty. Black puffed eyes and vulgur speech.
Knocked him out for pushing speed,
and she still tastes like ketamine.
Breath held blue to miss a beat.
Blow clean your lungs of nicotine,
cut my throat and breathe for me (please).
Press your lips to slow the bleed,
I want to feel your breath in me.

Drain your soul and cross your bones don't make me do this on my own.

Remember what it used to mean?
'cause, I remember what I used to be.
A portrait of a boy who grew,
into a man who never learned.
I used to do a lot of things.

"i realized last night that life is like ghost riding a car

youve just gotta like, dance and have the pimpest moves and the best time, even if your car crashes

just get back in, drive back onto the road, put it back into neutral and dance down the street"

- MFNeil

I've filled my heart with hate and what some might call a break-down I call a face-first fall to broken teeth, with a blank expression sitting comfortably on an unshaven face. I'm following the white rabbit and I don't have an ounce of fucking anything left in me for second thought to hesitate, so don't hold your breath on me. I wouldn't wait for me.

Don't remind me, don't rewind me. Make it stick and turn me to stone. Break my heart and wear my bones.

So now it's in the air and in my breath. I can taste it in my spit. Through my veins and in my lungs, my heart, my sight. I feel it like instinct and re-think it like reason. And when was the last time I looked at the sky? The stars? The sun, or the moon? It makes me sick to my stomach that before the last leaf wept from green, to yellow, to orange, I didn't even take the time to appreciate a single one. Not one. Not even for a minute, not even for a second.

Write out the wrongs.

Everyone's an animal. We're glamorized livestock with more brights than a highway, and more right than the ninetieth degree... right? You've got more ammunition than ambition but who the fuck am I kidding? So do I. But, my brain fires rounds like a rifle and you wouldn't know a sin from a sign if it hit you like a train wreck. I will never know what I'm looking for, or maybe I gave up trying to find it. "No, I don't know. But... You know I'm right, right?". I felt you like a car crash.

I never wanted to survive you. I never planned to survive you.

I just want to stay in to paint, and draw, and think, and continue to allow my brain eat itself away... subject to it's own demise.

I feel like my heart's playing to the tune of a slow beat and my brain is just so, so, so hungry but can't feed on any knowledge other than what it's already previously fed on, digested, re-thought and built itself, it's morals, and it's concept of reality with.

It's a beautiful cannibalism.

Starvation is an art form in it's own... But so is the the satisfaction of hunger.

The latter just happens to be easier for a simple mind and a half-hearted heart.

And, please don't ever let your heart settle for anything less. You're one of those few people out there who "gets it". Unfortunately usually when you realize what you "get" is the fact that you have no tangible understanding of "it", but the capacity to feel it is the most beautiful thing in the world in itself. (You know who you are).

"I hope to god I figure out what is wrong"

I hope that for myself, I find something to believe in that allows me to never forcibly believe in something I know is nothing more than a lie through my teeth and the world around me.

The second most people find hope is the second they've given up on it.

Most people never love or allow themselves to be loved. Most people will never do something without the expectancy of receiving something for their actions. Most people will never think past the point of retaining and re-using information... never manipulating or re-evaluating.

I want to burn down the churches and burn down the schools. I want to burn down the offices and burn down the halls. I want to burn down the factories and burn down the conveniently located commercial outlets; vendors of heartless, lifeless goods that evoke a false sense of emotion through consumption and the exchange of dollar bills and shiny metal coins. I want to love and be loved. I want to feel and smile and hurt and cry. I want to burn down humanity and sweat and kiss and look just one person in the eye and feel them, and appreciate them, and connect with them and fuck the apocalypse away.

Everything that's right is wrong, and up is down, and forward is backward, and love is tension, and hate is passion.

The whole fucking race has been on a race to the finish and there's no end in sight.

I want a fucking reason to wake up in the morning. I want a fucking reason to stay up all night.

The second you lose hope is the second you strive to really find it.

Unfortunately the hole you stuff with foreign dicks and faceless strangers doesn't fill that forged, hollow space inside your heart you dream up to create a reason to cry yourself to sleep. Swallow loads to wash down your pride. Talk tall, cum quick, finish short, run, hide, buy buy buy. Trust fund purses, internet purchases, prayer to a vacant sky. Talk shit, shit talked, swapped spit, empty kiss. Another swig, another fling, another puff, an ever fading high, an open wound within yourself eating your insides. Tough love, tougher trust, eye for a fucking eye.

I WANT TX BURN DXWN THE FUCKING WXRLD.