I feel like I'm dying.
Even though I know I'm not.
I'm breathing, I think.
I have to be,
but I've struggling to feel anything.
Everyone says it's impossible
to die and keep walking the earth
but I feel like the person I am died long ago
and now I'm just sitting in a suit of skin.

Dream, oh dream.
A fallen leaf flowing down a stream.

Wish, oh wish.
Rain boots squish in pretty puddles.

Hope, oh hope.
Dizzy souls walk across the tightrope.

Live, oh live.
Give the empty vessels a heartfelt smile.

And remember, oh remember.
How I left the window open that December.

Dear America,
you're electing a racist.
Oh, why can't you see?!
The country you stand in,
is no longer free.

Symbols for Muslims,
just like the Jewish.
It's ****** all over,
history rewritten.
Don't let people die
because of your mistakes.
Realize that Trump is a disgrace.
Wake up, please.
Sincerely,
A Canadian Boy who doesn't want
to watch history repeat itself

Sugar cubes
and
Salt cubes.

They look so similar
that they're often
confused with
the other

Sit next to me and whisper your secrets into my ear.
Utter to me every weakness you possess.
Give me the chance to hear the stutter in your heartbeat,
allow me to taste your sweet, sweet love
then cut off my tongue.

I created my brain from all of my pain,
I corrected my thoughts through many tied knots.
I'm still here, existing even though my life is twisting constantly.

And; late at night when I think about
the kids who couldn't live another day,
I often question what I'd give to bring them back.
It's not the fact that I didn't know them that
makes me want them back, but the way they
had to act. Because long ago, this little boy had
to act. This little boy had to act everyday. We all had to act.
We acted as if we were staring in a movie that never finished.

**We were known for the roles we played.

Recently I've been having
conversations
with myself, in the dark.
I ask myself questions, like;
"Do you have likes and dislikes?"
"Do you have hopes and dreams?"
"Where do you see yourself in the future?"
I never respond,
I never have an answer to respond with.

She wore heavy sweaters and wrote letters to a boy
who called her a bore.
She sent them day after day, night after night hoping
she might hear back from him.
And as she signed the last letter, number 346, she signed with a
small p.s at the bottom;

"Why don't you love me anymore?"

She wrote letters to a boy who didn't care,
he read letters with a hard stained glare.

Sometimes we're better off alone,
to feel the pain we've always known.
Struggling with insanity, feeling a sort of vanity
and seeing no humanity.

Our heads pound unboundly,
we don't feel anymore.
We'll never heal anymore,
We can't deal anymore.
We'll never be the same,
we'll always feel shame.

Sometimes we're better off alone,
Sometimes we're better unknown.

When we first met I thought we were soulmates,
simple people with an even simpler love.
I was wrong.
We were not easy people,
our love wasn't easy.
We were complex.

You held constellations in your veins
and flowers in your bones.
I was a graveyard of everything horrible,
with blood pouring from my finger tips
and sorrow dripping from my eyes.

We weren't soulmates,
our love wasn't infinite,
we didn't have a happy ending.

But, we found ourselves.
People say when you're lost
look for the north star.
I found you
and I know,
**** don't I know.
That people can't be stars
but, you were.

You were.

Dear somebody,

my therapist told me to write to you.
She said it would give me sight,
make me see what's wrong in my life.
But, I can't see.
I'm blinded by the words they throw at me,
I can't hear because the voices keep telling me,
let go.
I'm drifting.
Trying to lift my arms.
But, I can't.
I try to shift,
but I'm frozen.
Is this what it feels like to be chosen by death?
To feel the breath of darkness on my neck.
To look sorrow in the eyes.

Is this how it feels to live?
'Cause I don't feel very **alive.

My reality is different than yours.
So much more, so much less.
My reality is looking at cars and
wanting to jump in front of them,
my reality is staring at stars and
wishing to be them.

My reality is so much more and so much less.
Not much love, a lot more hate.

My reality is simply to wait.

The sun
can't live
without the moon.
Maybe that's me
without you.

If I could bring memories into actuality,
into this distrustful reality.
I'd dream up the people I love and the people I've loved.
I'd gaze at them and remember what I realized
when love became loved.

Sometimes we tolerate the feeling of love
while we're dealing with the hatred emitting from another's hand
and we can continue slowly dying like a piece of coal in a burning fire
or we can rise up and become the flame.

I can't seem to sleep anymore,
the hill is still steep like before.
And I'd rather fall
and break my bones
than spend one more year
beside all these clones.

I know that I fear more than anyone,
but I'll be fine 'cause
at least my life is mine.

I won't be like you.
I don't want to see the colors fade to blue.
Enjoy the view,
this is a preview.

Of what your life could be,
if you'd try to see.

A life like me.

Cars and lightning
don't scare me
anymore.

I'm not good with feelings,
I'm horrible at goodbyes.
I sit alone in my room
and pass time with cries.
The society we live in,
so small and so broken.
I'd rather  be bruised by
words left unspoken
and to think that once it was much
worse than this,
would make me believe
someone took a hit and miss.

And at nights all alone when I stare at the sky,
I think of the kids and how they all died.
A knife to the throat
A hit to the eye
A gun to the head
A sigh then a bye

I can't help,
but think what all of them missed when they died
and gave their last kiss.
Were all of them loves?
Or none at all?
Did all of them die
with a break in their cry?

Reality is a prison
and they were done serving.
Maybe that means the tables are turning.

Life's glazing by
and we're all slowly dying,
but we'll breathe deep
because at least we're still trying.

In ninth grade, she shined a light in your heart
and you couldn't tell if it was real or not.
You spent life like that for two years.
She was there for all your panic attacks
and depressed nights, but then she broke you.
She took a sledgehammer named "Cheat"
and broke your heart into millions of pieces.
Your depression got worse
and you were breaking down every day,
but you still taped the heart up.
It was broken, but it still worked.
You spent your time planning ways
to avoid going by her classes,
you stopped going to the cafeteria
and ate lunch outside by your lonesome.
You were alone again, but you didn't feel it.
Because, the tape from your heart fell off one by one
every time you see her with her new boyfriend.
So one night when everything got too much,
you ran away into the woods behind your house.
You went back to the tree that you and her carved,
you drew a broken heart on a piece of paper
and signed it "**** Me" with your name.
You didn't want to make a note because
you weren't good at writing and
you didn't know how to explain it.
Then you jumped into the cold river,
watching the moons reflection until your final breath.
You were at peace.

Sometimes I feel like  I'm nothing
and sometimes I feel like I'm not.

Sometimes I feel like a teenager
and sometimes I plain out forgot.

Sometimes I act like I'm happy
and sometimes ignore that I'm not.

Sometimes I think I'm okay,
but most times I realize I'm not.

Sometimes not being makes us
be.

Things are really ******,
but not all flowers
are pretty

Brain flickers,
like an almost empty light bulb.
Realization trickles in
and you think to yourself,*
"What am I really doing?"

You'll try to post pins on a map,
trying to contour your life.
Most of the map will be blank.
A large lack of red pins pushed into the paper.
You'll try to understand why,
you'll look back and regret.

Regret the ticket you didn't buy,
the person you didn't talk to.
You'll want to change it.
But, you can't.
You'll crave to remember how it made you feel,
that trip across the world or that concert.
You won't remember.

And when you're dying,
you'll sit.
You'll wonder,
think
and question.

"Did I ever know what I was really doing?"

*No, you couldn't.

They told me I could become anything, so I
became dead

I loved you,
but I was just a thorn
and you were a rose.

We sat on a hill today, cuddled up as one.
We looked up to the sun and forgot about
the dark man with a gun.

We're both oh so suicidal,
our minds are like big tidals.
But, as we sit side by side,
I faintly hear you cry.
"Why?"
I ask you, carefully drying your tears.
You looked up at me with your glossy eyes and
said "Because sometimes I still want to die."
and as we gaze into each others eyes,
I realize that life was a game
and you were the prize.

Isn't it sad?
We can't even go to our pride
or our safe place without being hunted.