BloodSuckingFiend

Isnt it awsome that you made her cry. Are you happy? You did it. She cried over you. You poor poor little boy. I am the 15 year old agnostic, bitter, fatherless woman who needs to take pills to be happy. And your the 31 year old little boy who needs to constantly be consuming beer and wine just so he can survive our oh so hard fucking life. Really now. I know having to go to work is so hard. Oh and expecially the part when you come home every day and sit and drink and do nothing and pretend we dont fucking exsist. Do you think mental disorders and depression and anxity just happen randomly. No, they dont, most likely something causes it

the light that makes your eyes shine, makes me wonder how is it you ponder the world around you? life is a series of questions and i often find myself wondering what are your answers i've tried standing where you do but i still dont see it your brain is a multi-colored manafisto of unaswered questions and obvious observations your soul is a album collection of music unheard and your heart is a constant slumber undisturbed by reality your mind i will never fully understand natures best artworks is those that everyone looks at but no one see's you are a wonder in itself

The funny thing is you used to be my hero I thought you were Superman I was never scared as long as you were there I remember that day on the beach When I had even less a concept of reality then I do now I remember the feel of sand in my toes I remember shoving spoonfuls of yogurt into your mouth I forgave you ever time you kicked us out I forgave every word you said to me that felt like a slap in the face I could bathe myself in the tears you have caused But I still forgave you Time and time again Now, I’m not 100% sure what made me forgive you over and over again But whatever it was it has clearly ran out And I’d lik

I’m tired of writing poems that aren’t worth reading I’m tired of scribbling angry and depressing chunks of my brain that no one ever really understands I’m tired of clenching my fists in angry balls that I pound into walls because I have no one to blame for my problems except myself I see your fists as saviors And my fists as demons But in actuality they are just fists So why are mine so different? Is it because on my wrists I have angry scars that scream that I am not worth it And the more you learn about me the quicker you realize you didn’t know me at all Every breath that I take is getting me closer to