Life is pure. It's a lot of things, really. It's messy, wild, angry, mean, hurtful, and gruesome. But its also forgiving.We cannot learn unless we make errors. Sometimes life is calm. It's raw. It's learning from us as we learn from it. The universe has its own way of working things out. It make take important things away from you, but it gives you something in return. It is accepting. And even though, we find it difficult to do the same, ultimately, that is what needs to be done. Accept the loss and continue forth. It really is the simple things. The cereal in your bowl, sleeping in until 2 PM and feeling guilty about it. Staying up until 4 AM crying about nothing. Helping another creature who needs help. The way in which the universe works is not what everyone always wants, but it is what is best. Nobody knows better than the universe. And sometimes, you become a stranger. And sometimes all you need is yourself. Distance can lead to mental awakenings. And even with chakras closed tightly, we can all bridge into something more than we once were before. Yeah, we have tender spots. And some of us are angry, but we must learn to forgive and let go. Just like the universe teaches us. Everything is alright. We just have to remember that.

I am small.

I'm feel like I'm falling apart. But we all know you'd have to be whole to begin with in order to do that. And it's like, we're all filled with these cute little songs we play over and over in our head and the singer and song writer understand us, but that just makes us feel lonelier. We have these little accordances that keep us going, moving, never giving in. One day we will reach our breaking point. Then what? I want to know her name. The name of the girl who ruined you. And maybe my socks are aesthetically pleasing and maybe I ramble and maybe I'm the weird girl who jots down all her clever little lines in a stupid notebook filled with such pointless scribble. You exclaim how you want to run up and down her streets and you insinuate that her streets are me but why do you refuse it. You refuse it, neglect it and you take it for granted, and maybe I do too... I told myself my heart belongs to scenic skylines, but what its its no one's for the taking? We're far too young to be this hopeless. Far too young. Sitting in bed tripping to Spektor, crying to folding chair wishes that will never come true. And we knew they were never going to happen. But we clung to this sense of security. That security prevents us from everything now. That vile is still being thrown onto you without even realizing it. And everything is so painful now. joints, muscles, your heart... it aches without even knowing why. It's this dead body illusion. This drug infested rat hole. This memory statically clinging to every crevice corner and line within your brain attaching itself to every thought you can ever possibly conjure up in your sad pathetic lonely little brain. You have to chose between letting go and holding on for dear life and you do not want to do either. You're a child and yet you're far more damaged than anyone else around you. Broken. Letting fanciful ideas take place and fill a void that you keep trying to find words to explain. Warm me up, I am small. I have lost myself again. Does anybody wonder who I am? Does anybody want to share and indulge in this pain? When does it become numb again. The walls awaiting my fingernails, with a message underneath. My tear ducts are tired but my heart is wired. Nobody left me a letter in the catacombs. I've lost my spot. I'm flipping to find it again, but its gone. The pause button doesn't work and we know the rewind button doesn't either. I want to stop you from killing everyone. You killed yourself but in turn killed a little bit of all of us too. We wear our scarves just like a noose. And where is that point in your life that you realize that your selfish endeavors and lack of affection and attention subconsciously killed the girl you claim you love. Till the morning light, you are my sweetest downfall. I am human, just like you. If you want roses then buy a bouquet. Cortesia. it died. The literary devices mean not a goddamned thing to me. I'm tired. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm lost. I'll write you a letter that will never reach your hands. Go ahead, close me out. All I want is someone to listen and share. And you know what? Maybe I am just as crazy as you all said I was. I don't care. The shallow breathing, I cry when I run. I never ran so fast as the day my father died. And I cried the whole fucking time. The painful air filled my lungs and stung like I had swallowed hornets. I regret myself. I regret the lack of effort and the too much effort and the emotional range of a two year old. I regret my inability to learn. I regret what my life has become. It's aesthetic and its pure and I'm not hiding anything. It's everything and nothing. I know myself. and that is all-