a little less like an alarm,
a little more like being trapped in a burning building,
mistaking the fire for warmth,
mistaking the heat for passion,
mistaking the smoke for breathless bliss,
but things that promise light seldom go unheard,
and you aren't any different

i know it all too well
what sounded at first like the sweet promise of freedom when sung like a breathy ballad tell me what does your siren song sound like? mine sounds like everything i've  ever wanted, like dreams come true. i lived my life in search of warmth and light but i didn't realize that house fires seem a lot like warmth and light when you don't know any better. i spent my life throat choking on smoke, eyes watering, lungs starving, flesh burning, and thinking that i had finally been warm is this what it's supposed to feel like? i tell myself it isnt suffocating me, i just can't catch my breath around them, they take my breath away. i cannot hear the siren alarm in my ears to get out, it only sounds like fireworks, and the heat feels like passion. there is no safety in the tongues of burnished white-hot flames like fraudulent deception masquerading as miracles no, no, it is so much more than that.

There's a kind of surreality that comes with depression. I used to hate that word - depression. I used to be afraid of it, as if naming my nightmare would make it more real. I've become accustomed to its manipulation, now - the way its self-hatred coils inside you, the way its fear winds itself around each of your ribs, the way it twines against your collarbones and strangles you and steals your breath, the way it makes a home of your body by becoming your body, by becoming you.
Your parents always warn you about strangers, but what if the stranger is you?

i miss make-believe raindrop races on window panes down the highway.
i miss puddle jumping in dirt roads.
i miss muddy sunflower boots.
i miss hiding giggles behind daisy patches during hide-and-seek.
i miss scraped knees and climbing trees.
i miss forest picnics by the river.
i miss jumping from porches, believing i was invincible, even after breaking my wrist.
i miss feeling magical and powerful and important.