My Hell

I know that smile of yours
The one you rarely show
The one I coaxed from your lips
Only a few times
And I know what makes it hide
The demons you despise
Cursed objects of your admiration
For what can make one such as yourself
Cower in pure fright?
But I also know of a lighter topic
Of a river of tears
So damn strong even the mote of my thumb
Cannot hold them back
Because for what you weep
Is a separate demon all on its own
One of beauty and loss
Of love and fear of loathing
A demon you play with often
A demon you chose over me

Who the fuck is Julie?

So I Thought

Learn and live
But never forget
Advice flows in
A constant stream
Pick and choose
Which is right for you
But in the end
No one else can really help
You try to find
Sense in this world
Try to feel
Through everything past
Try so hard
To just move on
But the results are forever
Living on in you
So here you stand
Your breaking point near
Wishing for someone to pull a trigger
Hoping that this is all there is
Poor girl
Did no one ever tell you
This battle never ends
Poor girl
Did no one ever say
That life is
Hard enough
With you fucking up

This Beast in Me

So I am sitting here, an ache somewhere inside of me, and I cant figure it out. It’s gnawing at me, like some wild thing that you let loose, tearing me apart inside with claws sharp as razors and teeth blunt as a fork. Its saliva, I swear, is lemon juice, and I just need it to go to sleep for a little while. But it wont stop biting, tearing, chewing me up. It wont stop and I am afraid that I will have to stop it soon, shut it up and make the howling stop. Oh yeah, it howls too. An incessant noise of passion, driving my mind insane with the things that it says. Yes, it says things. Awful things of love and hate, passion and life long living. I hate this beast more than I hate you, more than I despise you for putting it there. The only thing is, I don’t hate you at all. In fact, I am afraid that I love you. I say afraid because if I love you, then I love this beast as well. And that scars me. Scars me enough to want to kill it, leave its mangled body for all to see, a spectacle for tourists of my mind to point in awe. “That’s the beast that drove her mad” they’ll say. “That’s the thing she loved.” And as they point in wonder, I will lay there, unable to get up after I fell for you.