the freckles that paint her skin make for the most interesting constellations. it is as if galaxies fill her cheeks and reflect into her eyes. but do not connect too many as you will lose count of her.

if you look close enough past the light, you'll see her soul, but beware not to wander too deep in fear you'll get lost in a twisted, endless maze known as her mind.

although dangerous, she has a beautiful spirit, much like the ocean. cold, lonely and impulsive but inviting, mysterious and deep.

she was 17 wishing she was 6, feet under, not years old. The sun had never felt so distant. although alive she was not living, unlike the plants that grew beside her, but like the ones inside her, tainted and uncontrolled .

he was 17 looking for galaxies in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve even a star. wishing on dead dreams with a broken heart. although breathing he was drowned by the alcohol he immersed himself in, found washed up and barely conscious in the local bar.

they were 17 rotting at the soul, waiting for the moment they would fall, lonely. although exhausted and ready to go, found themselves not so much alone. staring in the eyes of one-another, lost no longer, but now found and feeling at home.

the vines that called her home wrapped ever so tightly around her already tainted lungs, taking away her breath.

the petals that once fell ever so softly upon her skin now left bruises and scars beneath.

the tears she cried, like waterfalls running down her mountainous cheeks, left behind her mascara like the rubble formed of a flood.

a mess she was, a disaster, like a cyclone of emotions.

mother nature was her spirit and hell was her home.

I knew a girl in my school once who exchanged the water in her bottle for ***** to blur the sadness she felt inside, even if just for a moment.

I knew a boy who I fell in love with but instead of falling in love back he fell into bad habits to fill his empty, dark mind with colourful patterns.

I knew a girl who I became best friends with, she wrote horribly sad stories on her wrists because she couldn't afford pen or paper.

I knew a man once so heavily institutionalised that he'd rather put himself on his own death row then face the cruel world.

I knew a woman in my street, so lonely that she hugged a bottle of wine every night, temporarily comforting herself to sleep until the next morning.

I knew a man, so distant you could see space in his eyes if you looked close enough.

I know a girl. So within everyone that she can't see herself anymore. Blurred, empty, broke, trapped, lonely and distant she lays there, in her own thoughts, motionless, waiting for someone to know her.

Tombstones marked with years gone by. A personal, though nearly inconsequential timeline that has filed by and left a full life and a hollow body in its wake. The give and take, the motions that propel us into the future one moment at a time until quite suddenly and certainly too soon the track runs out and we all crash into the black. We will be commemorated in the most carefully worded manner so as not to insult our memory, making our lives much more tidy in death than they could ever been seen while we were still about walking. The others left will cry for us and mourn our impressionable personalities and the impending lack thereof. But to passersby, in life we were just a few gestures and a face. In death, we are a Slab of rock and two dates. The question is what shall be done with what very well could be hoarded into an ever-widening stockpile of unused moments, never considering the irretrievable vault into which we place them until it finally swings shut and closes us in  along with them. That is, until we reach this unmovable and unchanging space, disintegrating and replaced by new voices, new notions, and new life. Will you fight? Or will you lie down out of practice and in wait for the steadily encroaching date we all must face.
C.e.M August 10, 2015

I caught you looking at me
It was probably just a coincidence
But to keep myself from falling apart
I'll stick to believing it wasn't

I smile
    
         But I am     sad.

What makes you think you’re so smart
What makes you’re point is right
You should look at your own life

They didn’t ask you what you thought
But you gave your opinion freely
But you’re not very nice, really

You’re not fooling anyone but fools
And they won’t be there when you fall
That’s when you’ll know what it feels like to be small

I hope that one day you wake up
And see the potential in the world
But for now you’re just a mean girl

blow up my ego with helium
let me go when my head gets too big
and watch me exhale into the wind.