Book

Everyone seems to be a waste of perfect space and time in a world that cannot spare either.

Fine

It's just beginning to get fun.
We've reached that point where we no longer care and we forgot who won.
I see no strings from my heart to the bottom of your foot,
So I see no reason for me to stay put.
Sometimes I want to thread through your face to the pavement,
Yet sometimes, your hand to my cheek.
Time is flying as your words mean nothing, I think you mistake me for weak.
Well I'm done.
Circles are cool and follow the rules but walking along one gets you no where but this,
It's safe and it's comfy and you can't get hurt,
But isn't that supposed to be what love is?
We aren't venn and I'll tell you when my mind changes completely.
For me to forgive and go against how I live, I'd have to do a 360.
Your goal in life to have fun is spilling into my lung
Because once I feel no hurt at your words
It's obvious that I'm done.
I don't take things quite smoothly.
I like retaliation.
You provoke me with your words.
And your body to damnation.
So until your face is stained with blood, shame, don't run
Because you're still breathing, unforgiven,
So it's obvious I'm not quite done.

November

It's like you're singing me a song, and you're singing the lyrics wrong, but not to the point where recognition is difficult. You're also slightly singing off key, but I say nothing because you're singing to me. Every now and then you pause to see if I'm still there, you sigh to hear me respond, you see, you think you're only fair. And if that is so, then you and I are at the top of the most daring ride, and I rattle our seats to see your reaction. Your face is stone, your skin is cold. It's like you fear no death unto. Not only that, but maybe it's because, if you fell, I would fall too.