The old man lived in a cabin
At the end of the woods.
The logs are cracked and decayed,
They slant like branches would.

The door is ajar,
Leaving a dark cavity
To show me what’s inside
It will soon be no mystery.

Stepping in I hear the clock
Ticking like an unstopped heart.
I hear the loose papers ruffling restlessly
The papers with the blue-red ink clots.

The dusty typewriter assumes its position
On the shaking table edge,
The corners of the books are bent
Prostrate, on the window ledge.

A glass, stained with the ****** residue
Of stale, musky wine left on a chair
Reminds me of the chilling fate
That, to me, never really seemed fair.

This assemblage of antiquities
Stand here, as a memory, like a shrine
We all leave an indelible mark here
What marks will be mine?

14 years ago, I made a new friend
With bright pink cheeks and stubby legs.
She cried all night, never let me sleep
So I asked my mom if she was ours to keep.

I hid her "biberon,"
I was reprimanded.
She pulled my hair,
And I pulled hers.

She looked cute, and I did not
As we grew older, we argued and fought.

I grew, she grew. We grew apart.
But I really wanted to see the person she'd become.

When she sprays deodorant
I know she's masking
The perfume of Marlboro smoke

And when she locks the bathroom door
I know she has a Juul in her mouth
She's sitting on the marble floor.  

We used to band together, we hated
How our dad smokes, and how he yells.
But now she's inheriting the path
That he so wrongly chose.

Crinkled joint wrappers,
Crumbs of **** and hash,
Lighter-play.
This cannot be the person you've so wanted to become.

I know sometimes you're my shadow
But you're worth so much.
You're smart, you're kind, you have a glow
That I am so SO proud of.

Sister, dear,
What are you doing?
Rebelling? Fighting? Confusing yourself?
You say you're fat, ugly, worthless
And you feel a misfit.

But sister, dear,
You're gorgeous, amazing, worth so much.
I love, I care, I need you,
Sister, dear, enough is enough.

The clock ticks
She’s stiff as a stick.
She counts the seconds going by
Pressing her fingers into her thigh.
She feels the woman urging her to talk
She watched her skin turn white as chalk.
Her mother forces her to go
Her counselor thinks it’s good
But her recovery is slow
And here she never felt understood.

The metal chair squeaks at the girl
She wonders why the girl is mute
She wants to comfort her, pat her hand
But instead takes her pen to write a note.
She has good intentions, she wants to help
What she doesn’t realise is she cannot help
The girl trapped inside the little girl
That’s sitting right in front of her.

These two minds don’t think alike
She won’t listen anyway
To some of the strategies and advice
Offered to her night and day.
She has one side only, her dark side
That she is quite happy with.
What is the point of getting better
When her life will be nothing but bitter?

I once dreamt of a place where time did not exist,
Where the moon always shone, and the stars always glimmered.  
I once dreamt of a watch that did not tell time
A watch that belonged to a good friend of mine.

This friend sat with me, under the sunless sky
And told me of the place where he was from.
He said: “This concept of time you are bound to here
Does not exist for us. It is what we most hate and fear.”

Then he did something rather peculiar.
He took out a small gold circular object
And polished it with his sleeve
And opened it up, and peered into it.

He beckoned at me, “come close,” he murmured.
He turned the object, he turned it, and turned it, and it turned and turned.
“Look up.” He pointed at the sky, “What can you see?”
“I see the stars,” I said, “I see the night.”

“Yes, and for us, it is forever like this.”
I couldn’t imagine a world with no light,
But staring at the momentary darkness around me
Made me appreciate the sun and the birds and the morning glee.

And as I look back on this dream,
I think of the friend, and what he is experiencing.
Day, night, he will never know the difference,
But he will always know, they exist together after visiting me.

My hands ache when they grip the precipice
A cliff I cannot cling to anymore
Implores me to flee that unpleasantness
Of living the fight, the internal war.
If I let go, I can dodge life’s grenades
If I stay, pain will overpower me
A kind of pain that begs  for slender blades
So I must choose the path that sets me free.
Shed a light into my bottomless depths
Of dark demons that stab beyond measure
Spirits that tangle with my shortening breaths
They scare away any remaining pleasure
The suffering is pointless, so **** it
What will it be, the blade or the bullet?

She chooses, silver, but it comes out red
As it bleeds, she thinks of what they’ve said
She puts it back, not guilty, but relieved instead
Then gets ready and goes to bed.
She remembers she can’t sleep
That’s when the horrible thoughts start to seep
She lies there, buried skindeep
In problems she wished she didn’t have to keep.
She hides her sadness with a false smile
All she wants is to go away for a while
She pretends to be fine to beguile
The people living in the perfect style.
She feels the pain fly away once she’s drawn
The little lines, always there and never gone
She’s hurting from day to dawn
Because life is an agonizing marathon.