The sheets on your bed are the flowers on my casket

when im laying in the sunshine i can feel you next to me. i couldnt come up with a better way to say this except for that i know im supposed to end this life we live holding onto you. "i want to be known for my hits, not just my misses" except in hit or miss situations you only ever hear about the screw up. The Screw Up- the kids who've got it made. you couldnt stop laughing if you wanted to. you know as soon as the air comes back into your lungs you feel the pain. the screw ups would rather go on. the screw ups are the kids you say hi to, but laugh when they walk away. because its easier to build them up than to be a decent person. you can't be afraid of death when you never had a chance to live. The Screw Up. He is the collective us, sharing a sigh of relief. exhausted and numb. warm us up, because we're only ever as cold as the glances you throw us. pity and shame. it shakes your core until your bones feel like they are going to bleed. trying so hard, perhaps too hard to make you think that they are worth your time. the screw ups, sharing a sigh of relief when every awkward conversation, every odd moment, and every stupid studdering sentence finally comes to an end.


"Its the sword that we will live by, even if it means we have to die this way."