to look upon faces,
sweet and harried all the same
looking back from black and white
pictures to match to names.
some in jobs and dreams
some only dreaming of jobs
behind bars, in cells,
stuck in time. lost in time.
some frozen in youth,
never to change, grow older.
buried beneath flowers and stone
peaceful til the end of time,
so is the way of life.
to be here and then not be here,
just a blink in time.
just a blink.



fucking ironic.

she dreamed of being the perfect housewife,
with a white picket fence
and cookies in the oven;
neighborhood children coming round
and happy laughter and rising above
that white trash, low class background.
instead what she got was a broke down,
brown and metal fence
and some foodstains on a woodgrain
and 50 extra pounds that made her feel
so fucking small; fucking ironic.
what a disorganized clusterfuck she was,
no amount of education could make her talk pretty
oh but she wanted to – oh how she did.
she dreamed of being elegant and graceful,
and six feet tall and singing lullabyes
to tiny babies swaddeled with love;
so she settled for fur covered sweaters
and slobbery kisses for the nights when
the wounds wouldn’t heal.
she stared in the mirror every day,
and told herself to be stronger than yesterday,
that she was beautiful and brave
and that she could do today; she could do it.
living in a house of cards on the top,
waiting for the wind to blow
for the cards to fall – no trick aces,
no secret plays –
just a little girl dreaming of perfection
that she’ll never get even though
she wants it so bad she can taste it –
but sometimes who you are and
who you want to be are not the same.
she’s never gonna be high class –
just another empty version of
some shitty town’s white trash.



It’ll consume you.
It’ll burn through you
like a fire you don’t want to
be warmed by.
It’ll control you.
It’ll hold you, steer you
right into the flames of
whatever you’re most afraid of.
It’ll seep through you.
It’ll poison your heart
and your mind and your thoughts
until they’re┬ájust black. Real black.
It’ll drown you.
It will hold you underneath
every failure and mistake
that you have every made
until you cannot breathe.
So don’t let it.
Do. Not. Let. It.
Consume you.
Control you.
Poison you.
Drown you.

If you have to burn,
let it be passion.
Let your dreams guide you.
Let love seep through you.
Drown yourself in the happiness
that you deserve no matter
what mistake you made.
You’re not a failure.
You’re more than that.
So. Much. More.