there's a wonderful pain
when metal touches skin
that somehow releases
monsters bottled within
quick hand movements
observed through tear blurred eyes
and if you go deep enough
you can earn deaths sweet prize
but waking in the morning
with red stained arms
leaves you paranoid with guilt
setting off silent alarms

s.s

The darker it gets
the more the words begin to writhe

Writhe and rise

they dance before my eyes
tumbling out of my heartbeat,
the poems
Write themselves.

Clarity is like hunger-
Once you lose control of it, it comes and goes as it pleases
Raging on and off as a brush fire, without your approval
You chase it, going from hit to hit,
Seeking the brightness in your eyes and the dizziness in your wrists
Like an addict
Time is bored and runs from your command
Consume me, clarity
Take me, hunger
Until eventually, there is only
Breathing and begging

*What is it to live?

I carry around my guilt and sin like a tattoo permanently carved into my skin

And here's the story, a snapshot.
My family and I are at an amusement park. It's hot. The lines are long. We want the fun, without the wait.
So we stretch the truth. Or in other words, we lie. We get disability access, and we're off, jumping through lines, laughing in each other's arms. It becomes our own private joke, how we twisted the system to our advantage. It feels like the perfect crime too- all fun, no harm done.

But we are wrong.

The world is a spider's web and we have rattled its threads. Somewhere, a water droplet will fall off.

We decide to jump on one last ride right when the park is about to close. While we are getting on, I lock eyes with a boy. He looks about my age, and he's got messy brown hair. He and his friends have been waiting on that line for an hour, I'm sure.
I smile at him and he still finds it in himself to smile back, despite his long wait.
I do not see the boy check his watch, chewing on the inside of his lip. In fact, I do not think of the boy again. After my family and I ride, we get out of the park just before the crowd. Laughing, smiling. It has been a perfect day to us.

It is less than a minute after we cut in front of them that the boy and his friends get on the ride. His friends are cheering, but he is still chewing on the inside of his cheek. He checks his watch again, watches the minute my family and I stole from him click away.
He'll still make his curfew, he thinks. His dad will be mad at him for cutting it so close, but he'll still make it. So long as they get out of the park right after the ride is done, he'll make it. Actually, he'd wanted to leave an hour ago, before they got on this line, but his best friend is moving next week. It was the one thing his best friend really wanted to do together. How could he say no?
The group of boys ride. They walk out. It takes only a second for them to be swept into the leaving crowd as it crawls forward. He curses and waves goodbye to his friends, fighting his way through. When he finally gets to the parking lot, his fingers are shaking around his car keys.
He can still make it though. He has to make it. He doesn't want to think what his dad will do if he's late. He has a half an hour and he knows he can do it if he speeds. It'll be tight, but he'll make it. He'll make it.

It is like a prayer has been answered when he reaches that light that takes forever to change and sees it is green. He guns the gas. He is going too fast to see that the driver at the red light has not stopped.
The cars don't even have time to swerve.
There are headlights. There is metal and fire. There is nothing.
The boy's watch clicks another minute forward in the silence. Strangely enough, his watch is the only thing to walk from the scene alive. Time, the ultimate victor.

It didn't happen, but it could've. It could've.
The weight of my decisions, sits atop my collarbone, marking me for my sins. Let them know, let them know, that I am the perpetrator, the hypocrite. Let them know, let them know, that I have tried to play god amongst the spider's strings. I have tried to play god and I have watched the water jump at my command, the fall-out raining down.*

The fall-out rains down and all that is left to do is to cry with it for everything I've never and ever done.

Sometimes it just needs to be said
*Im so tired

where wind sleek the beaches ,
though the rustling are due .
where the sand doesn't holds ,
any of the sinking hues .
where life flies amidst the rainfall ,
yet the sky is all dawned dew .
where the depth sinks within ,
there is this weary place of the little self ,
where very often i go all blue .

Sometimes im silent
Not because i dont have anything to say
But simply because
Its hard to talk over the voices in my head