You.

Can't find the words.
The reasons.
Where even my passion is unaccepted.
By my own.
Broken is seen as bad, feeling a turmoil.
My love-a bee stung scalp.
Where my own words stumble from my head and not my heart.
Signifying, overbearing.
Decision making.
This isn't me.
The heart is where I live.
Your heart is where I felt love.
I miss you, I hate you.
I love life, but bear a sword to my own existence.
Where a word written down sends shivers up, down, into my spine.
I can live, I can love, but I don't.
Twisted, crooked, inexistent, exasperated by mosquitos tasting my ears.
Confused, confusing.
Combustable, exploded.
Black on white, then blue back into my pale skin.
Bring it, bring it on.
Sing, but don't think.
Bleed but don't stop it.
Twisty and unexplained.
Stumbling, muttering defying.
I'm nothing.
Judgement, like vines, twisting, and choking up my legs.
Like fingers searching for buttons.
Ones that I'll rip off.
I've gone bad.
I've gone holy.
But most of all I still love you.
I'm angry, so vengeful.
For the death.
For the bad.
But good and sprouting.
Like spring and screaming.
Your thoughts.
Plagarizing your body.
With every word I paint, about it.
Copying, pasting your smile on every windowsill.
Pattering and skimpering.
Living in the shadows of your mouth.
Touching and feeling, every bad word I imagine.
It's about love, it's about life, no real subject.
Just my heart.
Bared, and confusing.
Moving on to something new in each second.
Burning, casting, mumbling.
Where the words?
What the words?
When scraping for mud, when loving inside bark.
Love, I hate it. Love, I need it.
You I despise, but you I feel.
Everytime my throat closes.
When I smile.
When I cry.
When I scream.
When I laugh.
It's always you.
When youth was zestless.
Creating and deploring.
Different in every picture.
But always horrored.
I'll cuss, I'll murder.
Drink until the oceans turn sober.
Smoke until it tastes good.
Look until there's a meaning.
Where there isn't!
Read my thoughts.
Read my words.
Find the passion, hate me.
Hate me, love the meaning.
Every face is yours.
Where I read these words aloud as I write them.
Over through inside.
Mainly through.
I want to be broken. Maybe to win.
Gritting grass stained teeth.
Holding ink stained hands.
To maybe live awhile.
Forget.
But dying, you'll be there.
First and last thought.
Always.
There's pain.
I'll stand strong, die weak.
Weaker then birth.
Cry because I cut my finger.
With the knife I used on your book.
Hair standing up, tired.
Wavy.
Drenched in what you called forever.
Foul.
So worthless.
Then it stops.
It just stops.
I don't want kind words.
I want you.
I'm crying love.
Nobody sees, just my own stupid words.

A God I've fought for.
And every bloody tear.
Where are you?
Selfish I am.
Wishing you couldn't live without me.
Eyes I used to sleep in. T
eeth I used to reflect.
Unsteady hands I watched.
Even hate feels sorry.
Feeling drunk.
Wasted.
Hallucinaginic.
Where it's real.
Everything, everyone, all of it, is gone.
Could've left you.
One little thing.
One little smile.
A word, a thought, a terror.
What happened to independence?
Trusted no one.
Felt nothing more then unrooted moments.
Like a tear.
Dries so quick.
But not you?
Just.
You.
My light begins to flicker.
It fades.
It exists.
It burns, it toils.
Every I love you cut out.
Dying like an ember.
Like last time I saw you.
One more breath.
One more episode.
Aired, spoken, gone.
Hapless, emotionless, done.

And then it dies.