1. Somedays I think I'm in my old home where beer cans take up the front of the house and my mother and father bicker loud enough for the twelve year old me can hear. I hold on tight to my MP3, back when iPods and iPhones where to expensive, listening to Disney music. Begging to be set free - where the trees sing and my hands don't grip to tight on things which will soon let me go.

2. I've been in love with love before, he had brown eyes and bad hair for a while. He stumbled upon me in August and left me in February. There's just some loves you hold on to because they were so damn good even if they weren't for you.

3. I'm still dreaming of my old home where the windows aren't smashed to broken pieces and shattered goodbyes. I would paint on a wall words that I feel for, poems I memorized and sentences speaking to me. Also, cry to my heart breaking and the house that built me would also have to be sold, to be broken and to be separated.

4.  I was careless. I spoke too soon, shameless, betrayed and forgotten. I am an outlaw, a criminal, for breaking my own self. Letting my body have to pay for room in hell. I carved out a piece of art on wrist while flipping pages and let the blood spill on my fingertips.