Guts to Chelsea

I tend to drink it up the lies and the deciet my heart just lays there limp and waits for me to scream and all the while she thinks is this really me? Grasp the hands inlayed with trust the art of love just ends in lust but black and white just wouldn't burn still, I could pluck the petals off then they'd be broken too you and you're fucking glue you're eyes grind deep into my mind I wanted us to be speak to me don't be afraid I need her here and she'll be safe my little emerald fire i've decided to do these little explainy thingies at the bottom of each of my poems because i want people to see why i wrote them. I know some are crap..but they just chunk out of me sometimes. above: you can never tell whats real or what you want and its scary. i was sick and tired of people trying to tell me i was wrong or broken or all i needed was 'help' or whatever for what i was feeling..