The day I realized I wanted to die I felt as if all the light of the world had fled from me.
In front of me lied my own hopes, murdered.
The flowers withered with me, I could no longer be considered beautiful.
The day I wanted to die never stopped.

Writing was as easy as breathing to me.
I could write for hours about any fantasy I had and it was all so beautiful and precious to me.
But at some point the blank pages started to intimidate me.
I'd hold my pen as if it would tell me all the answers to any of my fears.
At one point my fears became the words that would fail me.
Suddenly breathing wasn't as easy as before.
I'd hold my breath and count the seconds hoping that at one point it would all stop.
My world would stop spinning and all I could think about were the poems I could not write.

Hands that are used to create beauty no longer hold the same passion.
Lingering in my mind are memories and thoughts which have no more use.
I can see in the corner of my periphery a window which shines a bright day.
Maybe today there is more weight in the everyday life I choose to consistently throw away.
From my *****, mussed bedsheets I only see the wall and a phone screen which I use as much as I breathe.
This is living I decide as I discard whatever pride I used to have.
The same songs played on a day that has repeated too many times for comfort.
A vacancy is where my mind lives.

There is a certain emotion in my mother's eyes I am used to.
It drips off her lips and reaches everyone in distance of her.
Sometimes when I glance in the mirror I can see it reflected in my bloodshot eyes.

In my dreams, there is a girl with brown eyes.
I know who she is, she was once in my math class.
In my mind's eye, I still retain her face even all these years later.
I never recall having a conversation with her.
All we had was eye contact.
I  would stare, she would stare; I like to believe it was a two-way experience.
At one point, I started to fall.
My daydreams and nights were filled with her bold eyes.
I loved the way she would face things head-on.
Soon enough I started to create scenarios of us together.
I went insane with the thought of her because I knew that was the only way I would ever have her.
Being in the closet was comfortable in a suffocating way.
I could exist in my own garden without anyone knowing but it was such a lonely existence.
The more I hid the more I became sick with envy.
She was out in the open while I hid in terror.
Even now I still wonder how things would have changed if I had taken a chance.
Furtive glances are not worth much if a step is never taken.
I sit here thinking about a one-sided story that will always stay in the past.
What good is it if I never learn?

I have a daydream in my mind.
It replays nonstop in my mind and has become a guilty habit of mine to revel in as my family lives on so blissfully unaware.
Many times I daydream of what if I was to erase myself from this life, I know it is a sign of depression but I have no other way to cope and manage this mania.
Many other times I daydream of leaving my current life, packing my bags and never looking back as the few people who care about me wonder where I am.
I am so guilty of so many selfish thoughts.
I know if I were to reveal how impure I am I would be turned away from and receive false pity.
So I want to be a coward and run away from what ails me.
I know it will leave unresolved problems no matter what dream I choose but I can not help but live a hypocritical life this way.
To erase is what I dream.

Over the course of the years, I have discovered many things; most bad but the occasional good things make me smile for a minute.
Although I have gained a bit, I feel like I have lost more.
I remember thinking to myself that with time everything will be clear and I won't have to cry myself to sleep anymore or fear myself when I am in a closed, vacant room.
At 14 I understood that time will be a blur and I will have no time to prepare myself.
Even so, life had to get better; I had to get better.
The future is unknown yet lovely.
In the past, I was allowed to have dreams, expectations.
Anything was possible as long as I worked hard; your dreams will not accomplish themselves, but you can work towards them.
What a plan.
What an idealistic plan.
Plausible.
Possible.
I could.
They never said I can't.
I built up a tower; It was knocked over, not everything lasts.
I have nothing to look forward to.
Routine.
Boring routine.
A blank face in the mirror, is that really me?
There is nothing, I can't console you or fix you.
I can only say, "I'm sorry I failed you."