"Aaron, you never told me
what happened that night
since I saved you."

                                                          ­                                                     "No.
                                                            ­                     I never have, have I?"

"You were covered
in blood, and there were
so many bodies.
Will you tell me?"

                                                           ­                                          "I'd rather
                                                          ­                                                     not."

"I can't help
if I don't know."

                                                         ­                                   "I can handle it.
                                                             ­  There is no need to burden you,
                                                            ­           you don't need to help me."

"But I want to help.
I'm your friend.
It is no burden."

                                                                             "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

                                                                                             "It was a spirit,
                                                                                  called to life through
                                                                                                     sacrifices."

"Sacrifices?"

                                                                     "I was kidnapped that night.
                                                                                               Off the street,
                                                                               on my way home from
                                                                                                      a concert.
                                                                                  I had elected to walk,
                                                                              which was my mistake.
                                                                                                  I was taken,
                                                                           along with seven others."

"There were only
two other bodies, though."

                                                                                                        "I know.
                                                                        The spirit took the others."

"What do you mean
when you say spirit?"

                                                                                           "I mean spirit.
                                                                                             Demon, ghost,
                                                                                                I don't know.
                                                                                          It wasn't human,
                                                                     and it had no physical form,
                                                                   but it was called by the blood
                                                                                     of innocent people,
                                                                                and it wreaked havoc.
                                                                   The only thing that stopped it
                                                                                    from taking me too,
                                                             was the fact that you showed up.
                                                                                                          It fled."

"How could it take the others,
if it had no physical form?
Why would it leave you,
just because I came?
I don't understand
how this could be possible."

                                                                              "You don't believe me."

"I'm not sure
what I believe.
I always thought
the police were wrong
when they said it was a mass ******
by a serial killer.
It didn't seem right."

                                                                                     "Because it wasn't."

"Did you tell the police this?"

                                                                            "They didn't believe me.
                                                     Said that the trauma caused my mind
                                                  to come up with a fantastic explanation
                                                  for the pain and fear I had experienced.
                                                                            They didn't believe me."

"I think I would believe you
if I could believe
that this 'spirit' left
because of me,
but I'm not so sure."

                                                                                                      "I'm sure.
                                                                             It had to have been you.
                                                                                 What else was there?"

"...
Thank you for telling me."

                                                                      "I'm not sure you can help."

"We'll see about that."

h.f.m.

­                                        
                                                                ­                                       "Terry!"

"Whoa, Aaron.
Calm down a bit, yeah?"

                                                         ­                                   "Calm down?
                                                          ­                                           Seriously?
                                                      ­                In case you haven't noticed,
                                                        ­                    you're in a hospital bed.
                                                            ­    I think that is reason to worry."

"I'm fine."

                                                         ­                                  "No, you're not.
                                                            ­                I know why you're here.
                                                           ­                         The doctors told me
                                                                ­                       when they called."

"..."

                                                ­                          "Do you have anything to
                                                              ­                          say for yourself?"

"..."

                                              ­                                                     "Terry, you
                                                                ­                                   promised
                                                      ­              you would never do it again.
                                                          ­                     You promised, Terry.
                                                          ­                           You promised me."

"I know.
That promise
is how I got myself here.
It gave me enough will-power
to save myself."

                                                       ­                                "That wasn't what
                                                            ­             the promise was there for.
                                                            ­                            It was to stop you
                                                             ­               before this happened!"

"...
I'm sorry, Aaron."

                                                        ­                                     "Words, Terry.
                                                          ­                          They're just words."

"I'm sorry, Aaron!
I don't know what else to say!"

                                                        "Y­ou could've been dead right now!
                                         You would have been gone for good, Terry!"

"I know!"

                                                       ­                                                  "Really?
                                                        ­                                               Do you?"

"I do.
I do know.
I also know
I'll never be able to
make it up to you."

                                                          ­                                                       "..."

"..."

                                                   ­                                                              "..."

"Aaron?"

                                                ­                                                "Sorry, Terry.
                                                          ­                    I shouldn't have yelled.
                                                         ­                     I was tired, and scared.
                                                         ­               More scared than I've been
                                                            ­                    since, well, last time.
                                                           ­   More scared, if I'm being honest,
                                                         because this time was despite me.
                                                    But you're the one in the hospital bed.
                                                            ­  You're the one who almost died.
                                                           ­                                                Sorry."

"No, don't apologize.
You have every right
to yell at me.
What I did was stupid—"

                                                       ­                                   "—not stupid!"

"Let me finish!
What I did was stupid
and ill-advised.
It was a moment of weakness—
Don't interrupt!
It was a moment of weakness
and it won't happen again
if I can help it."

                                                           ­                                            "Terry—"

"No, don't talk.
I'm the one who's sorry."

                                                        ­                                                         "..."

"I'm glad you're here, Aaron."

                                                        ­      "I came as soon as I got the call."

"It was lonely 'till you got here."

                                                         ­                 "Has no one else visited?"

"No one else knows.
There is no one else."

                                                         ­                                         "Oh, Terry."

"It's okay.
I'm fine with just you.
You're the one who's kept me alive this long,
right?"

                                                  ­                                                                 "...
                                                            ­                                      I should go.
                                                             ­                     I've been here longer
                                                          ­                           than I was allowed.
                                                        ­                  The doctor will get mad."

"You'll visit again?"

                                                        ­                                            "Of course.
                                                                ­                            Every day until
                                                           ­                          you're discharged."

"Thanks, Aaron."

                                                        ­              "There's no need for thanks.
                                                         ­                 We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes.
Yes we are."

h.f.m.

"Aaron, I think I'm in love."

                                                         ­                                        "With who?"

"I saw her in the park.
Her hair, unbound.
Unbridled laughter
spilling from her lips
like a sweet cherry wine."

                                                         ­                "You haven't even spoken.
                                                         ­ How can you be in love with her?"

"You see, I'm in love with the way
she tilts her head just so in the sunlight
so a halo appears in her copper curls.
I'm in love with the way
she flashes a pearl-white smile
at even the smallest joke.
It isn't a sort of love
that compels me to be with her
you understand."

                                                   ­                                     "I'm not sure I do.
                                                             ­                                          Explain."

"It's like loving the stars
for their beauty.
You know they are there
even when you cannot see them
and they fill you with hope
even though you never
hope to touch them.
It is like that."

                                                         ­                  "I'm still not quite sure..."

"Aaron, I am in love
with her pure, unabashed
vitality.
With how she is unspeakably,
undeniably human
in everything,
despite everything.
With the fact that
she can brighten the day
of even a stranger such as I
just with her laugh."

                                                        ­                     "What are you planning
                                                        ­                        do do about this 'love'
                                                          ­                     that you claim to feel?"

"Nothing.
That is,
nothing to do with her.
Really, all I can do
is strive to emulate
the ease with which
she portrayed herself
so I can hope to bring
someone else the same joy."

                                                          ­                         "A noble aspiration."

"I'd like to think so.
I only wish she could know
that she has affected me this deeply.
I wish I knew even her name."

                                                         ­  "I'm sure that you are not the first,
                                                nor the last to feel this way towards her.
                                                            ­     Someone, even if it's not you,
                                                            ­                 will tell her eventually."

"I am sure of it.
I hope whoever it is makes her happy."

                                                        ­                                                   "Terry,
                                                         ­                                       do you think
                                                           ­                            there was a reason
                                                          ­                           you felt so strongly
                                                        ­                       about this, about her?"

"Maybe.
I was...
having a bad day.
Everything was
grey."

                                                     ­                          "And she was a spark?
                                                          ­                         She gave you hope?"

"Yes.
I suppose."

                                                      ­                           "I'm glad of her, then.
                                                           ­ Perhaps you may meet her again,
                                                          ­                                       fate willing."

"Fate willing."

h.f.m.

"...Aaron?
What is it?"

                                                           ­                                             "Terry.
                                                                           I need you to pick me up.
                                                             ­                        I think I'm drunk."

"Drunk?
Where are you?"

                                                          ­                                 "I'm not sure."

"That's so helpful.
How am I supposed to find you?"

                                                          ­                                                      "I...
    ­                                                                 ­                                            ..."

"Are you...
...crying?"

                                             ­                                   "Just come find me."

"Sure.
Tell me where to look."

                                                         ­                                     "That place.
                                                         ­                            You know where."

"Oh.
Okay.
I'll be right over.
Don't throw up on me
when I get there."

                                                        ­                                                    "Heh,
      ­                                                                 ­                      I'll try not to."

"Stay on the phone.
What are you even doing
over there, after
what happened?"

                                                     ­                                    "It's all my fault,
                                                          ­                                          you know?
                                                           ­                        If it weren't for me...
                                                           ­                                                      ..."

"Don't go
silent on me, man.
And no,
it wasn't your fault.
You had nothing to do with it."

                                                           ­        "It should've been me, Terry.
                                                          ­                  It would have been me
                                                              ­             if you hadn't saved me."

"And I would do it again."

                                                        ­                  "You still get nightmares
                                                      ­                                     from that night,
                                                          ­                                        don't you?"

"..."

                                                  ­                                     "You still there?"

"I'm here.
And yes,
I do still get nightmares.
About what I would have seen
if I hadn't gotten there in time."

                                                         ­                  "You should have saved
                                                           ­                           one of the others."

"You're drunk, Aaron.
We'll talk about this
at the apartment."

                                                    ­                                "I'm serious, Terry.
                                                          ­                      It shouldn't have been
                                                            ­                                                   me
           ­                                                                 ­             that you saved."

"I'm not talking about this
with you right now.
I stand by my decision."

                                                     ­                                                "Terry..."

"No.
Shut up.
How many times
have you saved me, Aaron?
All those times I've
wandered off,
with no one who would
bother looking for me?
All those times I
woke up screaming,
who was there for me?
I don't regret my choice.
Neither should you."

                                                          ­                                             "Sorry."

"What are you
apologizing for?
I understand."

                                                   ­                                          "Thank you."

"What are friends for?"

h.f.m.

1. If you want a job done right, do it yourself. Humans err more often than not. At least you know who to blame if you're the one who messes up.

2. People manipulate. It's in their nature. So don't put anything precious to you in someone else's possession, or they'll use it against you. Keep your own council.

3. Everything ends. Don't try to hold on to anything -life, hope, dreams. All of it will be ripped away eventually.

4. Trust no one. They'll play you, they'll betray you. This is in keeping with Rule 2.

5. You are not in control. These rules would be useful if you could do anything about them, but what you want doesn't matter worth a ****. You can't change the inevitable, despairing end of this story.

h.f.m.

                                                               ­                               "It's midnight,
                                                       ­       and you're not in the apartment.
                                                      ­                 Where are you right now?"

"I'm lying on my back
in the forest
hoping to take root
so I don't have to
go to school tomorrow."

                                                    ­                           "You're the one paying
                                                          ­                   for your college tuition.
                                                        ­                                        It's your loss.
                                                           ­                                    But seriously,
                                                      ­                                          you can't just
                                                                ­                                      disappear
                 ­                                                        without warning like that.
                                                           ­   It nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You do care.
I wasn't sure."

                                                        ­                                      "How can you
                                                                ­                  even joke about that?
                                                           ­                           I was worried sick.
                                                           ­                              You're in a forest
                                                        ­                             for crying out loud.
                                                           ­  What if you get eaten by a bear?"

"Then I'll see you again
in the afterlife.
And I won't have
to finish college."

                                                     ­                   "I can't believe you, Terry.
                                                          ­                               Just come home."

"Okay,
if you insist."

                                                      ­                                                        "I do.
                                                             ­                                      I really do."

"..."

                                                  ­                                               "Please don't
                                                           ­                             scare me like that
                                                            ­                                               again."

"I won't.
Sorry."

h.f.m.

                                                               ­                                            "Terry,
                                                                ­                     what are you doing
                                                           ­                               on the counter?"

"Eating cereal.
Obviously."

                                            ­                     "You don't even have any milk
                                                            ­                                    in your bowl.
                                                           ­                                       And it's five
                                                            ­                                in the morning,
                                                        ­                why are you even awake?"

"I could ask you
the same question."

                                                     ­                                            "I have a job,
                                                            ­                                       remember?
                ­                                                       That's why you have a roof
                                                            ­                               over your head.
                                                           ­                   Because I pay the rent."

"Would you like
some coffee?
I brewed it
a few hours ago
so it might be
a bit cold."

                                                         ­                          "How long have you
                                                             ­                                  been awake?"

"Since midnight."

                                                     ­                                 "What woke you?"

"...the dream."

                                                        ­                                                       "Oh.
                                                            ­                                 Sorry I asked."

"It's no biggie.
It's only a dream.
It can't hurt me.
So would you like that coffee?"

                                                       ­                                         "Yes, please."

h.f.m.

"Aaron! Aaron!
Listen to this!"

                                                        ­                              "Terry, it's two am.
                                                             ­                    Why are you awake?"

"I had two energy drinks
and ice cream
after dinner!
I'm too hyper to sleep."

                                                        ­                                 "Did you have to
                                                                ­                              wake me up?"

"I wanted to show
you something."

                                                    ­                                                     "What?"

"I... don't remember."

                                                     ­                                            "Go to sleep.
                                                          ­               Show me in the morning."

"...
okay."

                                         ­                                                  "You don't need
                                                            ­                                       to sound so
                                                              ­                                       depressed
                                                       ­                                                about it."

"I think I'm
too tired to
sleep, tonight."

                                                      ­                                      "Listen to some
                                                            ­        music with your eyes closed.
                                                         ­                                 Count the things
                                                          ­             that made you smile today.
                                                          ­                        Do what you need to
                                                                         but at least let me sleep."

"Okay.
I'll try."

                                                          ­                           "Goodnight, Terry."

"G'night, Aaron."

h.f.m.

"You shouldn't smoke.
That stuff'll **** you.
You'll get cancer,
or something."

                                                    ­                                      "Shut up, Terry."

"Aaron, you're hands
are shaking.
At least
let me light it
for you."

                                                          ­                               "...thanks, Terry."

"..."

                                                 ­                                                                "..."

"Are you okay?"

                                                         ­                             "Why do you ask?"

"You haven't needed
a smoke this badly
since that happened."

                                                     ­                                                 "I'm fine."

"Do you really
believe that?"

                                                         ­                                             "If I say it
                                                              ­                                 enough times
                                                           ­                                                   I will
                                                            ­                                      eventually."

"You know
I'm here for you
right?"

                                                    ­                         "...yeah. Thanks, Terry."

"Don't mention it.
It's not a problem
when it's you."

h.f.m.

"Hey, Aaron.                                                           ­                                     
If I die, I want                                                             ­                                 
to be buried in                                                               ­                             
a fluorescent pink suit."                                                           ­                 

                                                               ­                               "If you die?"

"Yeah. And
after the funeral and all                                                              ­              
cremate me                                                               ­                                   
and beat my carbon-ash                                                       ­                     
into a sword                                                            ­                                  
so my descendants                                                      ­                              
can avenge me."                                                             ­                           

                                                               ­                             "Avenge you?
                                                                ­                What happened to the
                                                                ­              fluorescent pink suite?"

"Burn the suite with me.      
And yeah, avenge. 
I ain't gonna die                                                              ­                            
unless I'm killed."                                                         ­                               

                                                               ­                                               "That
            ­                                                             is not how it works, Terry.
                                                          ­                      We all die eventually."

"Not me.                                                              ­                                          
I'm immortal."                                                       ­                                     

                                                               ­                            "Are you high?"

"Nah.     
Too busy for that."        

                                                 ­                    "I can't believe you said that.
                                                           ­                             You of all people.
                                                         ­                          Too busy with what,
                                                           ­                                             exactly?"

"Vita, my friend."          

                                             ­                                                             "Li­fe?
                                                            ­                                            In Latin,
                                                                ­                         a dead language.
                                                       ­                                              The irony.
                                                          ­                        Am I supposed to be
                                                              ­                laughing or groaning?"

"Like I care.                                                            ­                                      
But seriously,                                                       ­                                       
remember the suit
and the cremation."                                                      ­                              

                                 ­                                                       "You planning on
                                                              ­                          goading someone
                                                         ­                              enough to **** you
                                                             ­                               anytime soon?"

"You never know.                                                            ­                          
Better safe than sorry."                                                          ­                    

                                           ­                                                         "If you die,
                                                            ­                                        that means
                                                           ­                                            you were
                                                            ­                                             not safe
                                                            ­                                   and definitely
                                                      ­                                                      sorry."

"W­hy do you think                        
I'll be sorry?                                                           ­                                   
It will probably be                                                               ­                     
a thousand years                                                            ­                            
from now."                                                            ­                                      

                         ­                                                                 ­   "Then why ask
                                                             ­                                       me to plan
                                                            ­                                   your funeral?
                                                        ­                                   I have a normal
                                                          ­                                             life span.
                                                           ­                                 I won't be alive
                                                           ­                                  when you die."

"Didn't you know?                                                            ­                        
You're immortal too."                                                            ­                  

h.f.m.

verb

1. i am no stranger to tormentum, to cruciatu. i have become champion to my own mind, with dead languages on my tongue. Ego summitatem parietum and I will not be restrained again.

2. i choose to be unknowable, to be Intemerata. you must work to uncover my secrets, to comprehend my speech. my soul is not free to any who might stumble across it, as it once was. because of the past failures of others, anima mea constringitur, corrupta est anima mea.

3. calloused and consuevit i stare unflinchingly into the void. i almost welcome the glacies seeping into my veins.

4. pompous and presumptuous, is that what you think of me? you know nothing but my superficial mask. loqueris ad me and we shall see.

h.f.m.

This is the story of a girl who
Picked apart her small-town childhood
Surrounded by mountains and solitude
To settle in a summer-city on a lake
To make her family happy

In the end she tells her mom
That she is feeling anxious
That she wants to quit school
That she wants to stop socializing
That she wants to stop

In the end her mom gives her
Some advice about stress
Some sleeping meds
Some respite from commitments
Some comfort

In the end she feels a bit better, but
Not like normal
Not at the place she needs to be
Not healthy mentally
Not whole

In the end she acts fine
So she can see if anyone even notices
So her mom can stress less
So she can tell if she is strong enough
So she can decide if she is worth it

In the end she knows she'll die someday, but
She made a promise
She knows her psychology
She knows she is supported and loved
She knows she can get better

h.f.m.

This is the story of a girl who
Picked apart her small-town childhood
Surrounded by mountains and solitude
To settle in a summer-city on a lake
To make her family happy

Eventually she comes to the conclusion
That many have come to before her
If you cannot take back your beginning
You could choose your end
But she is too much of a coward

She knows she is easily breakable
She could fall out of a tree
Hit her head and get hospitalized
And step out of normal life
But she is too much of a coward

She understands the temperaments of plants
Medicinal and... otherwise
She could simply eat a few
Kiss reality goodbye
But she is too much of a coward

She does not want her family to worry
To concern the only consistent people in her life
She does not want them to take the same path
She does not want to leave them alone
Because she is too much of a coward

She is too afraid of disappointing them
She terrified that they might disown her
She is paralyzed by the thought of their inevitable ends
She does not want to leave them
But she is too afraid to stay

h.f.m.

This is the story of a girl who
Picked apart her small-town childhood
Surrounded by mountains and solitude
To settle in a summer-city on a lake
To make her family happy

She doesn't feel at home in her own house
She feels like some semi-permanent fixture
In a half-way home
Belonging to someone else
But that's not the issue

She doesn't feel at all present in her body
She feels transient and temporary
In a liminal form
Destined to be dust
But that isn't the real problem

She questions her ability to form attachments
She wonders if she's healthy to be around
In her unmasked form
Emotionally naked and vulnerable
But that isn't the worst thought

She gets caught up in her own head
She gets lost in her own worlds
In elaborate fantasies
Far preferable to reality
But that isn't the biggest concern

She does not want to exist
She does not want to die, but cease being
In this tumultuous plain
Of painful existence
But she does not know how that can be

h.f.m.

This is the story of a girl who
Picked apart her small-town childhood
Surrounded by mountains and solitude
To settle in a summer-city on a lake
To make her family happy

But before I tell that story
You need to know she is numb
And distantly aware
And wants more than anything
To not be a disappointment

Sure, there’s the part where
She drew into herself
With her nose in a book
Searching for happy endings
But that comes later

Yes, eventually she wondered if
She was a good friend and
Started avoiding people
To protect them from herself
But that comes later

There’s the part in the night when
She swore up and down to her mother
That she’d hold it together
Until she was nineteen
But that comes much later

There might even be a part
Where she can’t even breathe
And she closes her eyes
So if she dies her family doesn't have to
But that comes near the end.

h.f.m.

This is the story of a girl who
Picked apart her small-town childhood
Surrounded by mountains and solitude
To settle in a summer-city on a lake
To make her family happy

But before I tell you
You need to know
That she didn't do it
For herself at all

Before I tell you
You need to know
Her roots in those mountains?
They weren't very deep

Before I can tell you this story
You absolutely must know
That she never felt at home in her hometown
Or familiar with her family's friends

She's always been a loner
It's been easy for her to leave
Again and again and again
For her family's sake

And she hasn't gotten attached enough
To the people in this new place
That she wouldn't uproot again
If she was asked to

h.f.m.

I cast a glance,
a once-over evaluation,
comparing to a list I keep in my back pocket.
Could I live with this person for the rest of my life?
Do they fit my (impossibly high) standards?
Uncertainty of any kind leads directly to 'no.'
I seal my heart.

In this way, I haven't had so much as a crush
since grade three.
Is something wrong with me,
that I can discard affection so dispassionately?
That I can disregard attraction so callously?
Is this a cultivated skill I should be grateful for?
Or a curse that will render me forever-alone?

h.f.m.

The broken dreamer hides the pain.
Everyone knows his name.
But who knows who he is inside?
A ghost adrift, oh poor soul.
He just needs someone to make him whole.

h.f.m.

One step at a time, on this lonely road.
One word at a time, that's the story's flow.
One song, one go. Put on a show.
One cry, final breath, sinking slowly down to death.

h.f.m.

I want to slip out of my skin
And sink into the coat of a doe
Tiptoeing past moss-trees
And through thorn-brush

I want to shed my skin
And don the scales of a serpent
Gliding through dappled-shade
And below autumnal-leaves

I want to disrobe my skin
And wrap myself in the pelt of a cat
Prowling in the half-shadows
And morning's false-dawn

I want to dissolve my skin
And absorb infinity into myself
Drifting through space-time
And and the never-never in between

h.f.m.

Endless years
Eons
When does it end?
Will it ever?
I have seen empires rise and fall
I have seen lovers meet and break apart
I have seen the life bleed out of so many
Too many
But never myself
I have lived so long
Under so many names
I no longer know who I am

h.f.m.

Wind and snow
Perfection
Acceptance of the dark, shaking wound
Resurfacing
Oh, Champion, sleep
Survive the tender ministrations of death
Disarming as the winter peace might be
Do not act impulsively
Or the river of souls will claim you
Six feet underground

h.f.m.

Just. Eat a bowl of cereal.
Sit on the kitchen floor carefully so the milk doesn't spill, scoop the flakes into your mouth by the streetlights filtering in through the window.

Or climb out onto the roof.
Slip out your window, hip braced on the edge, and use your arms to pull yourself up, crossing your legs on the shingles and breathing in the stardust swirling around your head.

Create a masterpiece.
Dip a brush in some paint, use your hands to shape clay, choreograph a dance, script a play, write a poem, draw a spring day.

Make a blanket fort.
Tuck the blankets over the couch, pad the floor with cushions, and flick on the TV, so you can watch cartoons while wrapped in warmth like when you were a child.

Stargaze in the backyard.
Tiptoe out the back door, quilt tugged tight around your shoulders, spread it out over the dewy grass and stretch out, facing the clouds and counting the stars.

Learn Morse Code.
-.-. --- -. ...- . .-. ... .     .-- .. - ....     -.-- --- ..- .-. ... . .-.. ..-.     .. -.     - .... .     -.. .- .-. -.- --..--     -.- . . .--. .. -. --.     -.-- --- ..- .-.     ... . -.-. .-. . - ...     -... . - .-- . . -.     -.-- --- ..-     .- -. -..     - .... .     ... .. .-.. ...- . .-.     -- --- --- -. .-.-.-

Have a shower.
Run the water hot so it'll burn when it hits your back, shed your clothes and step into the steam, breathing in the vapors and imagining that you stand in the heart of a geyser.

Go back to sleep...?
No, this elusive peace is distinctly one with the night, and it would be foolish indeed to throw away such a gift merely to function during the bland sunlight hours.

h.f.m.

It is coming
My cataclysm
I am being watched, but there's no one there
I keep waking up when I'm not asleep
The lasts whispers of my dreams
Are the skeletal remains of a macabre nightmare
I am so tired, but I cannot sleep
What is the difference between dreams and reality?
I can no longer tell if I am asleep or awake
I fear the night
I live in terror of my own mind
...
I'd rather stay awake anyway

h.f.m.

Am I a dream-thing?
(Common Characteristics of Dreams:
INTENSE EMOTIONS
FreqUently diSorgANized and IllogiCal
Difficult... to... remember...
Content Is Accepted Without Question)

Is my life a dream-thing?
(Common Themes in Dreams:
------Being chased
P a r a l y s i s
Someone dead, alive
Someone alive, dead

Falling

Falling

Falling)

Is reality, really, a dream-thing?
(Common Misconceptions About Dream-Things:
Perceived as True [what is this 'Truth?']
Remembered as Absolute [your mind really rewrites, and rewrites]
Is tangible [by our own laws, we know nothing actually touches]
Is ALIVE ['breathing' does not equate 'life'])

If the above are dream-things, than in whose dream are they?

h.f.m.

You know that feeling when you walk into a room full of purpose
and then instantly forget what you were doing?
The intention, the action, then the frustrated attempt at recollection.
That's how I feel when I wake up.

You know that feeling when you reach the top of a rollercoaster
and your stomach drops before the ride does?
The anticipation, the adrenaline rush, and then you feel sick.
That's how I feel when I step outside my door every morning.

You know that feeling when you're just going about your life
and then you get a sense that something has gone terribly wrong?
The relaxation, the peace, then the chills across your skin.
That's how I feel when I cross the road.

You know that feeling when you are listening to a song
and then one line loops and loops and loops, like a broken record?
The rhythm, the melody, then the repetition (repetition, repetition).
That's how I feel when I speak.

You know that feeling when you get a new pen, put it to paper
and then it glides, tracing letters cleanly and smoothly?
The impact, the initiation, then the ease of creation.
That is how I feel when I write.

h.f.m.

Do people's raw emotions make you sweat?
Does what someone truly feels set you on edge?
Look into the void in a poet's eyes and tell me you are unafraid.

Fight or flight, you know you're gonna fly,
because how can you possibly hope to fight with soul?
Bare your own? That's laughable.
You'd never let yourself become that vulnerable.

Poets are anarchists above all,
according to Sir Herbert Edward Read.
I am of a mind to agree with him.

Can't take the brutal honesty of the depressed?
Can't understand what someone is thinking when they take a razor to their own skin?
Can't help but fidget when someone tells you about how they were ***** at the tender age of thirteen?
Can't take stories about mental illness, abuse, addiction, identity, abandonment, hate, rage, rebellion, brokenness?

Who knew words could instill such animalistic terror?
I'm calling you out. Face the music, and you might just survive.

Do you feel the ice crawling under your skin, the shivers down your spin? That, my friend, is called Truth.
You are one step closer to understanding.

h.f.m.

Liquid eyes
Pink nose
Four paws
Padded toes
Glossy fur
Long, black tail
Silken purr
Mewing wail

h.f.m.

Logic is the path, wisdom the destination,
and intuition is that little bird with the message tied around its leg,
fluttering through your parted lips to land on your tongue.
You swallow it.

Wings and claws beat against the lining of  your stomach,
gut instinct. Got a hunch?
Trace the wire-line pulling your intestines through skin,
as the crow flies, ignore the hills and hummocks.
Problem found, process skipped, solution acquired.
Teleportation of the mind.

Blue bird, blue bird, sing me a lily song.
This time rational thought takes a back seat,
and psychic-like insight takes the wheel.
Pedal to the metal, highways rendered irrelevant.
Instantaneous liftoff, and we're airborne.
Pluck the answer from thin air.

Let us see where the mind takes us.

h.f.m.

Hey, me, congrats! You made it to 25!
I'm glad.

Remember when you were young and full of angsty anxiety?
Yeah, great times!
I'm still living it now, though.
I'm not looking back at it, like (lucky) you.

It'll probably be funnier in retrospect,
cause right now it sure isn't.
I'm sure your chuckling to yourself,
wondering at your own dramatics.
(Had you ever been that self-centered?
Thinking what you had was really that bad?)

You may not recall,
but you used to need to write up a
mental list of why you needed to
wake up in the morning, just to
get out of bed.
And when you did get out of that bed, finally,
your limbs felt so heavy with exhaustion
that you wondered if gravity would
pull you through the earth's crust
and cradle you in its core.
You'd have been grateful for the peace.

But you've left that all behind, yeah?
You're an adult, in your prime.
You've probably got a job by now, finished university.
You might be dating, heck, even married!
Planning on having kids?

Is life running along like a well-oiled machine?
Everything going along according to plan,
tick-ticking off the boxes on your check-list.
The world's your oyster!
(Yeah, we never knew what they meant, either)

Have any advice for little ol' me,
to get through this chaotic (insignificant) mess?
Not that you'd be able to give it to me.

You're so far ahead as to almost be unattainable.
But hey, you're me, right?
If I color between the lines, on the straight and narrow, breathe,
I'll catch up to you eventually, right?

I 'm allowed to want nice things?

I can be happy?

So, Me of January 2026
25 years, eh?
Can we make it that far?

Hoping and praying,
Me of May 2018

p.s.
I'm counting on you. Meet you there.

h.f.m.

I need someone to hold me
When I wake up in a cold sweat
From the nightmares
I need someone to be my warmth  
In a cold world
And my silence in the chaos
I need someone to hold me down when I lose control  

h.f.m.

Disconnected, floating
My mind is miles away
And I don't know how to return to myself
I am trapped in dreamland

h.f.m.

My teeth are an enamel cage, bared in a pearl-polished snarl,
guarding the hateful words on my tongue—
my razor-tongue, craving blood drawn
from sharp wit and cutting retorts.

My voice is a savage, willful thing,
and unchecked wreaks chaotic, senseless havoc.
It would desecrate all that is holy with foul curses
and disparage friend and foe alike with vile slurs and slander.
Bitter irony and sarcasm are its weapons of choice
tearing into the flesh where it hurts,
where weaknesses have been laid bare,
an uncouth performance of a twisted humor
at the expense of everyone else involved.

And so I lock my lips and throw away the key
to prevent my keen eyes from becoming an accomplice to ******.
My voice would steal the secrets they see
and warp them into a mocking mimicry
to parrot to those who would only do more harm.

The syllables I speak are lethal.
I would rather be mute than wound with my words.

My teeth are an enamel cage, bared in a pearl-polished snarl,
guarding the hateful words on my tongue.

h.f.m.

Paranoia pondered the cruelty of war
Stalked by haunting visages of bullets flying past
Clutched at the last stray memories of the happiest times
When saint and sinner walked side by side
Paranoia pleaded with the skeletons of wartime
Sensitive to the tyranny in the streets
To trade pain for peace
And trials for trust
But the speech went unheeded
Breath gone to waste
The carnivorous dogs of war feasted on hate and fear and lies
They're in the cities and the countryside, wreaking havoc  
A threat of human design we dare not confront
We riot in the streets over small things
And are too ashamed to speak for the victims of our own making

h.f.m.

i feel
s t r e t c h e d
thin,
a thread
u n r a v e l e d
slowly.

i cannot
b r e a t h e
here.

s a v e  m e
please.

h.f.m.

All different, but all the same
Same voice, different name
Loving any of us is a death sentence, isn't it?

h.f.m.

I must begin with an apology, my friends
That I shed no tears for you when you passed
When I heard the news that you lived no more
That I did not ponder on your existence and ceasing thereof
When I continued with the ritual day to day
For this, I am truly sorry

I must continue with an apology, my friends
That I did not acknowledge the cancer in your bones
When you were still fighting, still breathing
That I put out of my mind even the thought of autocide
When your wife was left widowed, your children fatherless
For this, I am sincerely sorry

I must persist with an apology, my friends
That I did not wish to attend your funerals or memorials
When I was given an invitation and a chance
That I did not comfort the loved ones you left behind
When I dined in your homes with your memories
For this, I am truthfully sorry.

I must push on with an apology, my friends
That even now I cannot grieve for the loss of you
When I sit and write this poem with all left unsaid
That I still cannot bring myself to shed a tear, to weep
When I force myself to dwell on this tragedy
For this, I am earnestly sorry.

I must conclude with an apology, my friends
That I am still inhaling stale air, exhaling my ghost
When you have been torn from your families
That I can still ungratefully demand more than my lot
When your potential was cut down without my caring
For this, I am fervently sorry.

So, so sorry.

And yet I still do not cry.

h.f.m.

adjective

1. we were all creatures of the sky, once. so do you remember how it feels to fly? tumbling and swooping through the air, the wind in your face and a laugh on your lips. in your arms it did not seem possible that i would fall. you saved me and i am unable to return the favor.

2. your eyes shine like merry stars and i am lost gazing into their depths. i can trace constellations across the bridge of your nose and when your mouth meets mine i suddenly feel weightless in the absence of gravity. the voices tell me i'm home.

3. the universe is an omniscient creature, and it knows your name.

h.f.m.

If I were to die today
would I have any
regrets?
Would I wish for a redo
a chance to fix my
mistakes?

If I were to die today
would I feel a sense of
triumph?
Would I look back on
what I have done and feel
pride?

If I were to die today
would anyone
mourn?
Would anyone come
to my funeral and
cry?

If I were to die today
would I want another
life?
Would I wish to be
given a choice to be
reborn?

If I were to die today
would I do it all
again?

h.f.m.

If I put these forbidden words down
Here

If I illustrate those forbidden thoughts over
There

If I convey that forbidden idea from
Then

On this page
Will it impact more than
if it was preached to the masses, or
will it be over looked
as simply a poet's boorish eccentricity?

h.f.m.

I have been in love every day of my **** life
I have fallen in love with every **** person I've ever met
in my **** life

I know what love is, I just don't understand how
you can concentrate it all into
one person, exclusively dedicating
this corrosive passion to
a singular individual.

How can you call this
elusive, all-encompassing sensation
holy?
How can you love only one
above all others?

I have fallen in love with humanity
and cannot hope to keep my head above these waves.

h.f.m.