when i look into this girl's eyes
i see a reflection of myself
she just wants to be happy
but some days she would rather not wake up
she thinks she causes the problems
that rip her family apart
and she just wants to be strong like her mother
the woman that is the rock she wishes she could be
she lets the words of others resonate in her head
and haunt her dreams
she thinks she's a *****
because she was 16 and let herself be intimidated into loving a cruel boy
and everyone told her she was wrong
i want to teach her that there is nothing wrong with sadness
but there is everything right about happiness
i want to teach her that she can find it all inside her very soul
and that she can always find a helping hand
because someone loves her
and someone will find her in the darkness
and help her to realize that the ability to go on
is embedded inside her chest
i want to show her that death is not fantastic and elaborate
but that life can be exactly as beautiful as we want it to be
if we can just light the spark

The mind creates a world in which it controls what is right and what is wrong.
It executes the punishments and doles them out freely.
It refuses to acknowledge the unraveling of itself.
Like yarn, threading throughout itself in a tangled mess.
Knotted up until no longer light can be seen.
It sits behind a nest of cotton.

Bear in mind there is nothing that can usurp it from its throne.
The mind heeds no rules or regulations and without hesitation it will turn the most heinous of realities into a commonplace find.
There is nothing like that which can make light out of fog and spread plagued whispers throughout its own successes.
Tirelessly it works to reach a state at which it must work no longer.
A state at which it can finally and utterly be recompensed with what it has decided it needs.

There is no such state.

What soothes the tattered remains and gives it peace?

Could it ever be told again?
The endless stories of a city torn down.
Repeating a story of love and pain.
Multiples of slaves but one single crown.
Pictures of hypocritical angels on glass were stained.
Barely seeing through, a single boy with no name.

Screaming to who could hear.
The crumbled ruins below it all.
Silent, for the whole of the world, a single tear.
Ancient chasms he did crawl.
Seeing the past and what it did bear.
Something human with the name of God, yet chanting a Devil's prayer.

The moment could be called an illusion.
And the clock did conceal.
An opportunity for light given once;
But by a machine it did steal.
Infinite passages in all directions, broken clocks on walls.
And a phantasmal smile for the eternal Devil's deal.

The Demons were alive and still did crawl.

College is a cancer clinic.
At this university, you either live long enough to die,
or die until you want to live.
Kids drag backpacks like bags of morphine,
and are attached to their planners like they are their heart monitors.
You do your own chemotherapy,
as you poison yourself with debt,
and Friday night nickel shots.

She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.  
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”

Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"

People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.