Heavy metal love song, go figure.

I coveted your lips, you virgin rose.

...please. //If you're already a ghost, is it possible to die?//

Because it's pure, because it's soft/ Because it's intangible beauty in its purest form/ And we know we shouldn't... but we do

The constant buzzing of wings is driving me mad. I'm being devoured by parasites.

An essay on the mechanics of society, and how conformity is a necessity to anyone who wishes to survive it. Written from a male's PoV, simply because I feel it's not done enough.

Women are so disgustingly fickle. You only want her back now that you've killed her. Well, baby, I'm sorry.

A very trapped poem written during one of my stays at Inova Hospital. Those tiny rooms make me so claustrophobic.

She only hated him because he chose death over her best friend. On a swingset in the pouring rain, she promises never to make the same mistake.

People have asked why I have such a cold disposition to men. Here is a highly stylized (and bitter, naturally) answer to that question.

Dedicated with love to my old friend Jenna, who traded my friendship for nail polish and makeup, broke my heart, and made me stronger for it.

There's a thin line between life and death, and Limbo isn't always kind to its patrons.

Yards of black fall in velveteen folds over my eyes/ Conceal the bleeding and blind me/ They lied when they said hell wasn't pretty

"You are the one that gave me faith in existence/ Because you knew how to smile when you wanted to cry." For the boy who keeps slipping away.

A rushed English project at one in the morning that somehow evolved into this. Water nymphs, schizophrenia at its finest, and the desperation of a young girl for love.

Humans have always had a rather sick infatuation with beauty.

For all those times you go to a professional who's supposed to make it better, and instead of handing you a bottle of pills, they hand you a bottle of false hope .

She wants to be perfect. So does every other girl on the planet, but how many of them ever obtain "perfection" A reflection on the media's corruption of young women.

Sometimes, when you're going through hell, demons are the most seductive. Unlike some of my other pieces, this one is far from a love poem. (Mild gore and sexual reference)

Did anyone ever tell you, growing up, that rain was the tears of the angels? I never believed it until now.

Very short piece concerning the thought that goes on in a cutter's mind, and why blood is so sacred to some people.

She doesn't love me, and it hurts, but it doesn't matter anymore... my metal angel - he'll carry me home.

The steady dripping of blood is the only consistency in my life...

So why can't I love her? Because I'm a girl, because sometimes nature has its laws, and sometimes even love is forbidden.