My day was pretty normal, and bored. Im still not talking to benji, fuck!!!! Well i wrote this poem yesterday, read it: Bloodstains printed in the wall, and the wall pressed in the fusion of black and white, and the drops drained into a stained rug, and swallowed regret over a dried throat. He begs for no more, no more wrong turns, and when the sky meets the earth his body is pressed in a bulimic space. He rather starve than share his pride, he rather cry than be one more, he rather watch himself dies, he’s just too numb, he’s just too numb. Folly drowning into the human pieces: flesh and blood, he will show his devoted harmony of self-perfection once the scars has been kissed with her lips soak in pain. Regret, he won’t be forgiven by the stars, is reward will be a printed memory of love across his skin, and in his grasp there’s only more weep and an empty space waiting for her to be real. Insanity is attached to her love, and blood comes out with his hopes in vain, and red pieces of ecstasy, and black needles of indifference. His room locked is his mock to the world; no reason to stay clean when she has red stains on her wrists, red in black is their tribute to each other, and momentary soothed pain is their perfection of their only moment together.