26082025, tuesday
you are my religion, and i am your most devoted follower.
you are the closest thing to God i have ever known. you are the chalice on the altar, and from you i drink. and before you, i kneel.
everything i do, i do for you. every person i love, the air i breathe, the food i eat, the lips i kiss, its all just a show i put on for you. i would give you my heart, and you can do whatever you want with it: throw it away, keep it, i don't mind. its yours to make anything of it.
sometimes i feel like frank iero and i are the same person. i mean, we were born on the same date, and we both love the people we care about with all our hearts. anyways here are some of my favorite poems by him...
(no title) please make me believe in ____ i want to know what its like your hands are so soft yet so cold maybe i held them for too long and the skin began to crack and peel, burned by my stupid little star or maybe i have never held them at all.
(houston 2.0) smacking against rock bottom. fallen headfirst down that rabbit hole out of fucking nowhere, eyes wide, limbs flailing. "im losing sleep, im losing friends." my only apology is that i have none to give. either way, the show must go on (and on and on and on and on and on and quitfuckingthisupnow). marching to the beat of a funeral dirge. but is it mine? who the fuck knows. no one knows anything. metastasizing. losing my place in the li(f)e i apparently lead, and watching it all spiral. "houston, we have a problem." fuck houston, ground control's got no control over anything, just like everyone else. still floundering through empty airspace, gone catatonically comatose. im always sour to the taste, bitter to the end, selfish to a fault. i'd love for you to hate my guts if they weren't already covered in ulcers that only a mother could love. apologize? are you even listening? there is no more room for my skeleton(s). the one inside this horribly heavy, hindered body climbs out of its skin and walks the world, all by itself, light and free. that sickening feeling when you're not yourself. im not myself. who is myself? myself is no one. that is who i am. no one.
(club 27 has reached capacity) your silence is weighted
poured on thick and antiquated
a lethargic bonfire, a mixed bag of emotional six
flags meeting with a muffled yawn
its time
to be
a grownup
or find your own path to heaven
either way, if you are lucky only a handful of
souls will actually notice that you are gone
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
i dont wanna fuck this up
.....ah man. and just when i was geting so good at fucking everything up too. lithium carbonate.