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Happy, Birthday. The year has gone by too fast. Happy, birthday. Your life has passed just like a dance, You were a little kid, dancing in parks, And now you're grown up, and you're still afraid of the dark. Happy, birthday. You'll be turning 18 this year, but you're still a little kid, you still need a hand to hold. Happy, birthday. You'll be on your own soon, and you'll make your way, make your way, make your way through everything. On your own, on your own, that's how you'd, rather do it... Happy, birthday. Happy, birthday. Happy, birthday. I hope you're happy now. I hope you're happy now. All alone. I hope you thin

Kill me if I'm wrong about this. I've killed you because you taught me everything I know. Everything I know about bullets and heartache. You taught me what it's like to kill a friend, and I hope that someday I find you, Resiliant and floating facedown in a stream of fire. Yeah I'm still here, and I'm not leaving tonight. Not without a kiss goodbye and a string around my neck. Till I see you on a cloudy summer day, and I'll imagine her body was a temple in July. A pupet on strings, a masquerade of dolls. Clean out my bitter shelf of books and masks. It' been, stacked up for weeks until nothing is left. Everything is slowly changin

I've never done anything like this before. My past is shadowed by moors of horrors. Everything I write is a story in its own right. You'll see all that I've destroyed, you will. Like a phoenix I will rise and fall like the chest of a man who's sits in his home waiting for something but he'll never know. Cuz he's always alone, except for his mirrors. Like a phoenix you will rise out of the ashes overcoming fear. And me, I'm certainly no help at all. If I hide from myself then maybe I wont fall. If I cut out my tongue would you mind at all? I'd feed it to a snake. I'd feed it to myself, and I, would swallow it… My face is covered by a mask

I'd more than give up what I have, just to hold your hand. Make up a song for you on a flute. From the shattered mouth of pan. Write you down a few less words, from the mouth of a prophet named Art. Just use your imagination. Railroad tracks and Tic-tacs, Brand New and Early November… That kid who, if I care about you enough, you could stab me with a rusted railroad spike in the chest, and I'd still sit next to you and bleed while I held your hand. Just be happy, what you have. Make up plans for next time. Wait a while, for demands. We can be alright. Just don't break, don't let your legs crack, don't fall over broken like a porce

My dearest, I hope so much that we may talk for one brief moment today. I did not sleep last night, but stayed awake all night, reading your letters. Over and over. The largest smile fell across my face, as if it were a guided missile, falling towards it's target, and landing perfectly. I hope that the same fate befalls you. My heart was found this morning, littered across my floor. In shards. Yet as I remembered your face and put it back together, it did not cut me once. Rather fell into place, as if nothing had occurred. We have been brought to a point of perfection. To the extreme that I wonder if some of the heart pieces were not mine,