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age ten i was lost in a story
letting words dance over my tongue  
and fill the space between my sheets  
with roaring emotion.

age thirteen i was lost in my thoughts
letting the blades dance over my skin
and fill every inch of my wrist
with hot scratches.

age sixteen i was lost inside myself
letting the pills dance inside my stomach
and fill my blood with toxins
that would end my wasted existence.
 Sep 2013 cloudsofnothing
Maggie
perhaps,
peter pan did return
from neverland and
straight into our land:

there were no more
lost boys to play
with, seeing as they
were all here;

there was no more
hook or any other
pirates to defeat,
as they were already dead;

no
wendy, john, or michael
either,
only tink
and the mermaids
(who can forget them?)

perhaps,
he decided to grow up
and become a man,
going to school and then
into an office;

perhaps,
when he was in his
death bed, he
weakly smiled and said,

"to die would be an awfully big adventure"

and with that,
his face,
that was shining light,
went out
like a candle.
 Sep 2013 cloudsofnothing
Ams
Worry
 Sep 2013 cloudsofnothing
Ams
Worry wakes me at 2am
refusing to let me go to bed

"Come, let's talk" he says to me,
"about all of life's possibilities;

of life, of death, of what happens after

of fate, of choices, of happily-ever-afters

of sickness, of danger-and even kidnappers,

of careers, of regrets, of blessings and bets

of family, of neighbors, of lovers, of friends.

Come! Let's chat, inside your head.

We have all night, so take your time.
Let's also make a grocery list-don't forget the wine!"


I hate when Worry wakes me at 2am
but I must be polite, so I just smile and nod my head

I listen to all that Worry tells me
but he makes himself comfortable and dwells deep inside me

he visits for days and sometimes weeks
yet when he leaves, he escapes without a peep

Dear Worry, please next time
just knock at the door
give me some time, so I may implore!

Yet, tonight we remain friends
viewing the world through your concave lens

as you rest yourself inside my head
dear Worry, it is time for bed.
on every girls sixteenth birthday
traditionally,
her mother would drape a necklace
crafted out of silver
around her neck
and one day - she'd do the same.
no one would hear her whisper her wish,
due to the chorus of birthday melodies
escaping her loved ones lips.
she'd hug her mother
and dance with her father
until they went home.

but her parents had died too young
so she draped a necklace
crafted out of rope
around her own neck.
she couldn't hear the singing,
for she lay six feet under ground -
the height at which her father once stood.
but it didn't matter,
as her wish had been granted.
she lay hugging herself,
incased in wood.
she could sleep at last,
blanketed in a layer of earth,
for now - she was home.
i wrote this a while ago

— The End —