[x]the villains sleep tonight, but never sleep alone.

it was all part of the plan
keeping the lines of communication open
to see my success their failure
to see my rise their fall
and here i am
suffering the reverse
this was the hurt that was meant for them
all of the villains sleep tonight
wrapped up in the blanket of their justifications
and yet never sleeping alone
i struggle with the lack of poetic justice
but it drives me just the same
when everything i write just attemps to make sense of it all
but can't seem to make it add up
this carrot on a stick denial
how it even possible to lament
something that isn't even real
what never was, what isn't, and what never could've been?
their happiness
and whether benevolent or malevolent
puts a magnifying glass on my loneliness
to the point of where
i'm my own worst critic exponentially
with nothing better to do than
to self analyze and overthink
something that should be so simple
simply leaves my soul a mess of blackbirds
trying to find their way out of the dark

[x]Prettier with the wounds.

playing russian roullette
until all of the love is gone
i've dodged all of the bullets
and maybe that's the problem
when i was a good boy
those bad girls ran right over me
when i was a bad boy
i let the good girls walk right on out of my life
now my soul is covered in tire tracks
and i long for the good girls who i let go
because it was never good enough
looking past what was already shiny
to something shinier still
left to my own devices
i keep everyone at an arm's length
never letting anyone get too close
or fully slip away
without distraction
there is only my reflection
and in the mirror i can see that even though i've healed
there's a part of me that almost misses the pain
uncomfortably numb
i felt prettier with the wounds
than i do with the scars