If you could breathe.. would you tell me how much you loved the way i laughed at you when you spilled your coffee?
or how much you cried when I told you to go away and never come back again?

Death is ash. We are all lit by our mother's love and when we live we are brilliant and wonderful. Hot; ready for battle as we face the 'real world' and what it has for us. When we figure out that the real world was just a joke and everything, every situation that we ever face can be compared to high school. And that no one ever really pays attention to the real pain that we have, the real fucking hurt that brings us to our knees for no reason.. so that we can cry. Some of us die out not ever being able to surrender ourselves to a real passion, love, fear... no real emotion.. just alternatives to what we would like to believe as true and tangible. All of our TRUTH AND LOVE hidden in boxes that are buried in the backyards of unearthed homes. can home tell me where my heart has gone? I'm shivering in these layers of blankets. Suffocating in the water that is free for me to breath and drown. Giving in to the pressure of gravity. Give me gravity and I will see the True world of hurt and jaded faces.