Hey, here's the sixty-four thousand dollar question's answer for you: There will always be people in this fucking world who doesnt have a fucking idea about what dreams and passion are.

Don't scream and hit me to show that you love me. Why do you live to destroy me? Why do you dance in my misery and revel in my tears? Does it please you to see me covered in bruises and blood? How does it feel to crush my dreams under your feet?

Do you know what it feels like to be...
Wait.. Look over there? Do you recognize her?
Disassemble her dreams. It's my machine!

Pull the trigger of the gun you’re pointing to my head. You're winning. And you know I know it. Drop your pretentious act. Let my sanity run down your arms like spilled champagne. Drown those bitter elegies and pretty lyrics strewn worthlessly across the floor, beside my pride, my life.

Let's celebrate.

Hey, here's a sixty-four thousand dollar question for you: If I told you I am leaving, will you let me drive away, instead of chasing all your dreams?

I never want these moments to lose their clarity. I want them to stay so sharp that I would cut my fingers when I touch them. Hell, I'm not letting go of this pain. I want them to remind me of who you really were.

Hell yea, I want to be anywhere but here. I want to be someone else, in another unfamiliar city. Anywhere is better than here, bound by blood and gratitude. Anywhere is better than here, smothering in your love.

The biggest mistake in your life was giving life to me. You should have used a condom. What we are now is just a perfect example of the importance of safe sex.

As I wake up every morning, this pain, it feels like a headache, and all the words inside my head won't come through. These words that tumble out of my mouth; they string into nonsensical sentences. Those words that are trying to give me life, they don't make sense.

Someone, take me to somewhere safe, where their lies and the lights won't find us.
Nowa-nights, I go to sleep early, dead tired, but somehow I keep waking up at two or three in the morning. Just staring into the darkness and the faint light from my window. I feel like I have missed something important. I feel like I've woken from a dream; desperately grasping at the memory of something I cared about - but, for the life of me, can't remember.

I can't seem to articulate my thoughts anymore. My hands are shaking. And sometimes, it gets harder to breathe. I'm biting my tongue. I'm clawing my arms. I feel like I'm drowning on air, but I must be dreaming, because this demise feels so surreal.

Would you hold me and tell me it's alright to be scared? That it's just the lights and the noises of those inconsiderate people downstairs that are keeping me awake?
Could you lie to me that life is going to get easier and that it gets better everyday?

It's depressing when you no longer no what you want to know or hear anymore. I think it's depressing when you hear the truth from someone else's mouth and you wonder why you can still hear those incriminating words after you cover your ears. And I think it's even more depressing that you no longer no what to talk about or do and all you want to curl up in your bed and listen to a few songs on repeat.

I feel like disappearing for a few days, and then again, I might be tempted never to return here again. And it makes me wonder, what is left for me to leave here?

And I feel that it's goddamn depressing to know that it's not within my capabilities to survive on my own.

We held hands on the last night on earth.
Our mouths filled with dust.
We kissed in the fields and under trees, screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the edge of the town, but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river.
So we walked through the waste where the road curved into the sea and the shattered seasons lay, and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease.
In our cancer of passion, you said, "Death is a midnight runner."

The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn, as the Ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.
A few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall;
but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I rode alone.

You said, "The cinders are falling like snow."
There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence, of blue and grey.
Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun has stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon, and darkness is a mystery of curves and lines.
Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward; and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.

-AFI, Spoken Word.

I am a sucker for pretty words, and sad love songs.

And I am always running on empty. Empty heart, wallet, words and promises. I don't have any real-life experiences, but I have real-life stories to share. There aren't any happy endings. Just lonely hearts and "how-to-nurse-my-wilted-love"-s.