It's Always 4am Somewhere

this isn't fun anymore

the lack of sleeping, the lack of living

if I finally killed myself, only difference is these bugs might leave me alone 

"(blessed be the thief, disguised in skin,
and blessed are the fingers that gesture him in.)
paint the receiver
to the side of the fake, lying at the bottom of the staircase.
broken elbows, and your coming through the window.
and whoever called night a blanket,
had never the felt the cold.
and whoever called the night a blanket--
so use your fingers, darling. and
tear away at the restraints they call the body.
it's the temporary things that rip us apart.
for the body is but a piece of art for you to tear to pieces.
into the night. under the blanket, under the weight of the world.
this is history to thievery.
it's the crying and the screaming!
for the lying and the lack there of 

and I can feel the blood as it saturates your face!"