For the longest time, I’ve said that I loved Wolf because we were the same species; we were the same person under different skin. I said I knew him like the back of my hand, though we never spoke deeply with each other, and rarely spoke altogether.

I come to understand; his species is a danger to mine.

Our greatest difference is what we did with the most valuable currency; Wolf dips his hands into blood for the texture; the information he holds slips quickly and does the greatest damage it can, always staining the secret’s origin.

My knowledge is my blood; it remains within me always. It spills for a cause of merit. My satisfaction spawns within my blood.
I do not leave scratches, stains or finger prints. The Observer watches the decoy, oblivion may know if I was ever there...
watching,
learning,
growing. Forever knowing.

And this is how my counterpart has been hiding for the last biennial, a thief among thieves just as he should appear.
His satisfaction spawns within his blood.
Leaving no scratches, stains or finger prints. The Observer watches the decoy, oblivion may know if he was ever there.

Of course.

The parallel of a parallel,
solitude, side by side,
seeing no one, watching the other,
I close my eyes; reality reveals a new dimension.
I open my eyes; a new spectrum has unfolded. It’s crystal clear.
It’s been a thousand years. What have I missed?
Welcome.

He is strong. More powerful than I knew.
He is aware. His consciousness tempts me.
He is the antithet of the cromulent.
He is weakened by uncertainty and shame.

My strength spawns within my blood. Within my knowledge. Within my satisfaction.

Empty eyes
Uncovered lies
So many tries

Stop.

Can’t decide
I have tried
Can’t be pried out

Stop.

Empty words
I have learned
Something that I should

Stop.

It’s not me
It’s unity
Of my body of three

Stop.

I need to tame
My mind it’s lame
It’s all just one big game

Stop!

The dark is coming
Wanna start running
But my mind is begging, please

Stop!

Tired of lying
Tired of trying
But I won’t give up.

Stop.

To us.
We are born, we strive to live.
We live, we strive to learn.
We learn, we strive to improve.
We improve, we strive to stretch.
We stretch, we strive to strengthen.
We strengthen, we stand to fight.
We fight, we try to fix.
We… can't fix, we strive to keep.
We lose, we refuse to weep.
We weep, we strive to heal.
We heal, we strive to live.
We live, we discover love.
We love, we strive not to bend.
We bend, we don’t want to break.
We break, we strive to mend.
We mend… and we do it all over again.

I'm sorry, man standing outside of the church. Holding the little white paper saying "I have three children, please help". I'm sorry we are so metallic-cold and distasteful- that out of a church full of people, only a few even looked your way. Others walk past you like you aren't there, despite the fact that all you ever did was bless them and their families as they neglected you and yours. They're wishing you didn't make them so uncomfortable, when you had to lower your dignity to the point of begging for a little bit of life sustenance from those who are well past well off. I'm sorry that we, the "children of God", don't have the humanity to even acknowledge your existence on Easter, when we are supposed to embrace others. Yet the choking mass goes on its was to nice homes, warm meals and a family they love, while you have your suffering to go through, that they believe you deserve. They are passing around you like a muddy puddle that is unwanted, inconvenient and will get them *****.

I'm sorry I was one of those people. I wanted to give you money but couldn't. I didn't have my own with me. I wanted so badly to help you but I was afraid of my mother thinking I'm gullible or silly. I was afraid of the tears you brought to my eyes then and for the rest of this Easter day. I was startled with the emotions you called out of my being; regret, compassion, guilt, my own shame.  I'm so sorry that instead of helping you up, we kick you while you're down, put a gun to your head and pull the golden trigger.

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I can feel it creeping in on me, wrapping around me and slowly suffocating me. This disabling sadness is crawling under my skin, leaving goosebumps behind.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. I’m just so tired of not being good enough, of wanting something else, of being powerless. I can’t stand it another day. I can’t stand to be a disappointment in everything I do and am. I can’t stand to be told I do everything wrong. I can’t stand to pretend another day.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. I don’t want to be ‘fine’ anymore. I don’t want to smile for the cameras, though they want me to be happy. They change their lenses to understand, but I don’t want them to see what I’ve fallen into. I can’t tell them the full story.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of being sad, of being angry, of being confused, of being hurt. I’m so sick of it. I hate it. I hate it. I’m sick of myself, of not being who I want to be, of being too weak to stand up to myself, for myself.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I realized that blocking it out is not the answer. Blocking it out is the problem. When you block it out, you block everything out. You block everyone out. You block out the problem, and you block out the solution. Don’t block it out.
I can do this…
I… can…

It's so quiet tonight I can hear the electricity of the lamps on the street through my open window.
I'm sitting, legs crossed on my bed, partially wet hair on either side of my face.
I feel restless, I want to do anything but sit still, much less go to sleep.
It's 4:30 in the morning and I haven't slept yet.
I'm listening to music, I want to sketch something but it's too dark.
The smoothness of notebook paper on dry fingertips.
I run my nails over a cut on my hand, remember the ample scratches on my legs.
Birds singing.
Darkness, absence of light, indecision.

It's 2 am.
What are you doing at 2 am?
Who are you thinking about at 2 am?
Why are you up at 2 am?

It's 3 am.
Who's on your mind at 3 am?
Who's racking your head, braiding your thoughts, blessing your eyelids at 3 am?
It's got to be someone important, I'll bet.
Only the important ones are on your mind at 3 am.
They should feel privileged to be graced with your mind space at 3 am; after all, who can keep a thought in their head at 3 am before it starts fleeting away?

Who's on your mind at 4 am?
Are they still in your thoughts are 4 am?
That's quite someone you're thinking about
if their still in your mind after hours about.
In the middle of the night, your thinking of their face, wondering what they would do if they were in your place.
Who has such a troubled mind at 4 am?
To be thinking about one, the only, at 4 am?
Who's wondering about you at 4 am?
Whose thoughts are you braiding at 3 am?
Who's thinking about you at 2 am?

The one, the only; are you in love with them?

Highschool.
You hear the word, what pops up?
For most adults, the awkward times or the years where you were so irresponsible you can’t believe yourself looking back at the memories. For some, it was violently preparing for university, stressing over your career choice. Many of you had your first boyfriends or girlfriends there. All in all, not bad.

I don’t really have that.
I never felt awkward for a period exceeding 5 minutes or so, I’m barely ever irresponsible (especially not in school), I’m not violently preparing nor am I prepared, especially considering I just realized I should be studying for SATS if I want to go study in California. I don’t have a boyfriend, never did, and I’m not interested in anyone.

Many times, I feel I don’t belong where I am, but not in the sense that I don’t fit in. I can and I do fit in because I choose to, but my full capacity does not. Many times, I’ve been described as wise beyond my years, often asked what I’m studying in university as well. I’ve always connected and interacted better with adults, even as a young girl, and now, my only best friend in the country is a past teacher of mine, while my other best friend lives in England now, and we connect nearly every day.

I am ambitious and intelligent, and I want more out of life. I am deeply moved and inspired by music, finding a passion in it where most only appreciate the tune and connect vaguely with the message. I believe my ability to sing enhances this acuteness as well. I am a highly receptive human being, and I can detect nearly any emotion in the person I’m communicating with, whether they are aware of this emotion or not. I am more deeply aware and knowledgeable than most people are aware of.

I am insecure sometimes. I can be in a bad mood. I’m not perfect. I’m not immune to most things. But I’m always working on it.

It's 1:11am. The silence is beautiful. I'm watching the snow fall outside my window, wondering when I had been in such a cold, warm, quiet environment the last time. Time is slowing down and there's nothing out there, nothing but myself, my little dog and my mother sleeping in the next room. It's quiet, peaceful, empty. I am not bound by people. I am not bound by feelings. I am not bound by myself. I am free. I choose to keep the peace, keep the silence and the stillness as the storm snarls in glory and whips away warm nights.

It's 1:22 am. I hear midnight retreating, morning approaching... The spirit trudges on through the snow, boot heels clicking against eachother, scarf flowing in the snow's reckless dances. Hair blows wildly with the screams of the wind. Eyes open, heated embers sizzle to life, a burning glow  through any storm.

It's 1:36 am. I don't know what to feel, I don't know how I feel.
I should be going to bed, I don't want to.
I lay in bed, tired, not tired.
I am cold, I am not cold.
I can see the snow. I can't see much because of it.
My eyes are closing, my phone slips out of my hands... I hear the sounds, Sleep is within me; I am taken over by now...

We're raising a generation of victims, waiting for a hero who’s not out there. The hero is within. The hero is dead; murdered through decades and decades of suppression, of being squashed to a pulp... There's no telling what it can do to a man, to the deep interior of the mind. It's no wonder, after centuries of the media squandering us into their impossible molds, that many of us, and our inner heroes, have been mentally eliminated; only the outer shell of our body remains. It's no wonder we let it all happen... demise and lies all around, all our fault. Because we didn't take a stand. And most of us aren't even planning to. Therein lies the problem: if you're not going to stand up to the bully, be ready to take the beating. There's no way around it, nothing behind it but more, more of what you don't want, more of what you're too much a of a coward to face, more. A blow to the head, a blow to the heart, a blow to the neck and you're dead.
Get out there, get it done. Stop regretting, start doing. Nobody's going to make your dreams come true; nobody but you. You're a powerhouse; you may not feel like it but you are. You're here, wherever that is. And you can get further, wherever that is.

So get to work. Get strong. Get smart.  Get good.

Being in love is torment. Torment when you’re the only one. One more thing I need to do… Do you realize I’m in love with you? You walk by me every day, like always, like my painful, painful always. Always blind to what you have until you lose it. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t feel right somehow… Somehow, after all this time, I’m still in love with you; you don’t know how much I’ve been through. Through all the things you’ve done, things you said, things you meant, I know. Know you from the inside out, your entire mind. Mind if I tell you what I know about you? You respect me, even if you don’t want to show it. It is unnerving to you that I am your female counterpart, exactly the same. Same fears, same lies, same tricks, same masks for the world, same flaws, same strengths, same you. You know your your **** doesn’t work on me; you’re afraid. Afraid like me, to notice... Notice how we pretend to hate each other,  tell the same lie to each other, pull each other’s strings in the same way. Way to go, you keep picking the wrong choice. Choice is yours from here. Here I am. Am I insane? Insane to have told you in the past, insane to love you in the present, insane to dream of you in the future?

You know how perfect we are together, how we fit each other like a hand in a hand, a head to a shoulder, a kiss…

You can’t place it, but you can’t put it out of your mind. You lay awake at night, mind a turmoil, and you wonder. You can’t be distracted; the mind sweeps back to the feeling. The feeling of complete dis-ease, discomfort, distaste for the situation, whatever it might be. Distrust, distance, possible disappointment.
But you can’t place what’s bothering you.
You don’t know what’s wrong.
You… just know… it’s wrong.
There’s no word to explain it, no face to put to it, no song to describe it. There’s nothing but the feeling of you running your hand over the back of your neck, wondering blankly.
Maybe I should listen to music. No song covers this.
Maybe I should sleep on it. No way I can sleep like this.
Maybe I should write something. I can’t be the only one with this feeling… can I?

Simple happiness for a simple girl. Simple pleasures, simple sorrows and simple, pure, unadulterated feelings.

Who cares how you look? What you're wearing,  what you're doing, who you're with? Why should it matter to anyone but you and that person? You enjoy their company, their mind, their body, their soul; their being entoxicates the world around you, the air you breathe... all you're left with is the excited breathlessness, memories dusting your mind with a fading buzz.

You can feel your eyes expanding, your mind is twisting, your thoughts are running up a hill , through the town , past the red door and right around the block.
And then... numbness. Relieving, laughter-inducing numbness, the breed of which appears just after you avoid disaster. The breed that, despite the serious situation, it throws you into a fit of giggles, tumbling through the green grass on the hill with your childhood friend, wondering, dreaming, experimenting, learning...
Soaking up all of life until you just feel like you're going to explode!

Because life is simple. Life is random, a careless whisper in the wind, a water droplet in a storm as the bullets of water fall around you and Pierce you to your core and as God lets loose a glowing whip across the sky and as the thunder beats the earth and shakes you through the the core.  That's when you know that you're alive.

And as you stand outside the window
Thrilled, afraid, you go to pray so
You can get the one you want,
Because you can throw heaven from the skies
Run the world and maybe fly because...
Because of them. They are the centre of your world, they are the light to your black midnight, they are the beauty for your beast, they are the hours of your seconds because...
Without them, you amount to nothing. And without you, they amount to nothing.