And blood was running down
Her dress in streams into her hands where she
Was stitching on the flesh had left
In sections on the carpet near a bed that
Never slept while she was sleeping
In her clothes that he had laid with on
The floor with all his fingers crossed
In hoping that that distance
Wouldn't grow.
But how it grew, And how it hurt,
And how it hallowed every memory had
Never felt was threatened by a thing the world
Could conjure up to kill them, but he let it kill them
What a bunch of fools we lovers are.
And now she's smiling, with her self put back together,
Just a shadow of the past before the war.
All sewn together, like a city sick from storms
And sick of waiting for a god to call the floods out of her home.
What a bunch of fools we lovers are
When tempted by the taste of flesh.

"My boy, you are nothing more than a thief and a whore
In a suit of the finest of armor." laughed the vulture.
"Pathetic little child, I am embarrassed for you."

"It's lovely that you got all fucked up and you don't know where you have been. Are you lonely or just fed up with the shape you keep finding yourself in?"


this runs through my head every single day.

i try to live by "treat others as you would like to be treated"
but maybe i dont treat others as well as i thought.
im not trying to be selfish.
but apparently i come off that way

im sorry

Death. Well death hits us in the face like a ton of bricks falling off a truck Final Destination style. But Life. Life is constant. It is always there. Like a good friend that we may not always see as often as we would like.

This might be why sometimes it is easier for us to focus on the inevidable, while really we should put our focus on what we have had all along.