isnt-highschool

I've always thought that there was something poetic about a lighter as a cure, and I love the way the moon can be your only way of knowing the world is still there around you, and that it hasn't just dissolved to black. And it was almost beautiful the way everything stopped; and as the paper caught fire we all died a little inside. And last night I came home smelling more like cigarettes than myself. And when she kissed my forehead it was almost painful. Days spent black and blue or down and out are better spent plotting my own demise. I'd be lying if I told you I don't think about you all the time. And I'll be wondering if I'll catch you bef

Gasoline pours from these dead end wounds, and the barrel of this gun is staring me in the face. Then I would agree this chaos is the static we breath. I would like to take this moment to describe the feeling of the ignition of the flame that starts it all. For all it's worth, it will burn. Tonight the stars will be the sparks nessecary to set forth the blaze. Writhing with an unparallelled impulse to flee. The need for a role model so lackluster that we might drawn in is making itself shown. The roof is now the gateway to Hell; Heaven has never looked so inviting before. The gauze is soaking up my blood in a way similar to the purging of yo

I'll burn a hole through my lungs she screamed, "tonight we'll burn the sky" This nicotine is my sermon to the living tonight. and the clouds went up in flames. Our breath tonight will fog this glass Scrap the blueprints; I'm going for something new. This smoke raising towards the sky Blessing my lungs like the priest lowering the casket to the ground. Packed into paper and sold to people who know better Hey, and I guess you should have listened When we were whispering in the kitchen We were watching your funeral broadcast on tv. This war is something the likes of the world will see. You know the only thing we might die for. T

Reallllly, to tell you the truth, and to be a total asshole, my grandmother's death really hasn't affected me that much. Or at least in the way you would imagine, but on a more subconcious level, yes. I have been affected, not so much by the memories and tears, but by the things I've had a chance to think about over these past three days away from everything, and everyone. Death, really, is a mysterious thing. Which is really obvious, I mean. Everyone knows that. Any young child can tell you that death is mysterious. But I want to say right now that my grandmother was something I held close to me, and that I had a love for her that was incred

Been chiseling out the story for hours And I've been beating at the gate that won't open, Been kicked out of every bar That I never wanted to be in in the first place. When you've been down this long Another slash on your arm Feels like up to me. So these are my scattered dreams All the stars are screaming in my face, They're falling from the heavens And I'm not understanding much of anything anymore. So write this on my gravestone, This is my fucking epitaph. These words are the daggers in our backs. I am the Shakespeare of my time. These ingenius lines have been crafted One million times before I'd trade these intelligent t

Everybody trashes this town like it's the worst thing ever, but I think a lot of that is convinent thinking. One person says it, another agrees, it gets blowed out of proportion. Or, we really don't know what it's like living in other places and just assume this town is shit. Actually, sometimes I think about not living here and I almost cry. I have such fucking strong emotional ties with some of the people in this town, I wouldn't function right without them in my daily life. I have such intense emotional ties with just some of the houses in this town, corners, sidewalks, potholes in certain roads. I couldn't live without the sight of certai

This was something sacred. I'm choking on your fading glory and drowning in my fucking hopeless attempts of redemption. The last fucking thing I need right now is a bathtub full of blood to deal with, but you're the first thing on my list. This was something sacred to her, to me, to you, and I guess that I might call this blood running down to your chest from your throat sacred too. Well you definitley weren't far, but you'd tell me you weren't even fucking close. I can't do much to account for the blooding flowing from my nose, guess I'll tell them the truth. Guess I'll tell her the truth. And I can't blame her for not wanting to be with you

(These words are laced with anger This knife is laced with hatred This gun is laced with envy These bullets are laced with love And according to you, i never could do anything right) I'm growing tired of the nights spent arguing Chasing them with shots of vodka And if i had a mind of my own, i would leave your sorry ass on the count of three Believe me, i can count to three pretty fucking fast But i'm not a liar Go ahead and hit me one more time for the sake of memory Take a picture of these bruises because you would be stupid enough to Go tell your buddies you have one fine piece of art waiting at home I'll be there packing my b

Misery sounds like the click of a gun And with me staring down the barrel I can't tell you that was the right choice But it was nice to know you I'm just better off with the knife in my side Better off walking down the street And never turning around again I don't want to see the look in your eyes This is the murder scene This is the victim..of his own despair You can only get so far being alone And it's no farther than down the block It's not suppose to be this way But i'm living in a dream gone nightmare Of all the things i ever did tell you I never did tell you a lie That wasn't enough to hold onto The bullet through my ch