"Dreaming of warmth won't do a thing;
making a fire will."

the sun will rise again, yes;
but wishing won't bring it back
*any sooner

...
☔
"This is a big dream, it may eat you up."
I do not flinch in the face of chaos.

〰
(Forecasters)
I counted as seven gods
ascended the iodine skyline.
We all call them "misfortune in the flesh."
They waltz in pairs but the very last is a composer;
Seven deities promised the sun would catch scarlet fever.
We danced to the music to summon fate and disorder,
building a coffin in the middle of hungry waters,
The sun is our noble sacrifice in ruby robes;
So lets just hope the sea was starving for fire.

(Brew)
Metal ghosts slip among the sky
and lock like iron gates to form an army of grey.
The weight of sober clouds are intoxicated with turmoil,
Unbalanced weight, scales faltering, "no sudden moves please"
Obsidian giants collect the welkin until it boils over
the edges, the pillars, the cage
Why does the dark taste sweeter?

(Beautiful downfall)
The raindrops are ashamed
of the bitter liars we're all becoming;
We've succumbed to narcolepsy by the hand of water;
within the jaws of hurricanes we were consumed,
teeth formed by the angry fingers of the wind
thunder rejoicing as the land buckles down,
rain feasting on the earth in ecstasy
hail and rain are merciless foes
lightning still swinging,
morbidly screeching
chaotic smile,
a sword,
a single,
a cut.

Yes,
I am the one
(☔)
who fed the sky
my name.
...

One day when you'll wake up
and make sense of  the sadness
you've been put through.
You'll make decisions,
brush up the happiness buried in your soul
the feeling you were used to
and you'll hear purpose
calling you by your name.

When I was four...
I lost my great grandmother.
Didn't know her well,
But it didn't take much to see she was a sweet, kind soul.
I stood in the rain and wind at her funeral,
Clinging to my mothers arms,
Staring at the coffin blankly, because I didn't know what else to do.

When I was eight...
I lost my best friend.
His hair was as fiery as mine,
We played at recess every day.
One day he stopped coming to school,
You only knew where he was if you asked,
That's how his parents wanted it.
He came back, once.
Balding, attached to an IV,
Just to watch us play one more time.
Then he was gone.
I still didn't know what to do.
The school put up a plaque in his name,
And planted him a tree to live on for him.

When I was eleven,
I lost someone who was like a second father to me.
He loved me and my mother,
And we loved him.
I never got to tell him that....
He was an alcoholic.
And, it ******* his heart.
My mom woke up to a dead man,
Took him to the hospital.
That night, she watched him being kept alive by machines,
And was told he had no chance of waking up.
She watched his family and friends make the decision to pull the plug.
I didn't know until later, I was with my biological father.
I didn't see my mom for a week.
I didn't eat or drink that whole time.
I was empty.
I didn't cry until they played his favorite song at the funeral,
A familiar one to me.
I sobbed quietly into my mother's lap,
Trying not to disturb the others.

That night,
I prayed for the first time,
Just to try and talk to him.

When I was fifteen,
A mere four months ago.
Nearly five.
I lost another friend,
Who I wish I knew better.
He battled cancer for a year.
We didn't see him for months on end,
Because he couldn't come to school.
And a month or so after he finally started getting better,
Coming back to school,
He got sick....
And his body couldn't handle it.
At first, I was more worried about making sure my other friends were okay,
And then it hit me.
I stayed with them in the counselor's office for the last half of the school day,
Crying,
Writing to him that I was sorry.
I cried the next day at his memorial,
And then at his funeral.
It still hits me sometimes,
Like waking up from a dream,
To find that life is a nightmare.
And I break all over again.

Just before that,
Another friend of mine,
Told me they only had two years left...
There were problems with a vital ***** of theirs,
And they were worsening.
I've had to secretly bear this,
No one else can know.
I'm waiting for that day to come.

A few days ago,
My current best friend,
My family,
Said they may only have a year left.
Internal wounds that wont heal,
Blood loss,
That's all I can think.
If the doctors can't fix this...
Who can?

Slowly,
I've been losing pieces of myself,
Giving it to them,
Horcruxes, if you will,
And when they leave this world behind,
So does that part of me...
Each person that dies hurts worse than the last,
Because it's just adding onto the pile of pain,
That I can't get over.
I hardly have the strength to hold on to who I am anymore...

*Why can't I be next in line instead?

Mirrors are jealous creatures of candor;
beauty is reflected on a pane of self-hatred.