My fingertips ready to type,
Electricity coursing through them.
Yet the words still don't come.

The end is a beginning,
I suppose. But this time,
It's the other way 'round.

If I were asked,
My medium of choice
Would be language.

So unclear,
Yet so certain,
They fail me now.

I see such beauty I cannot describe,
Such chaos I cannot portray,
Such anger I cannot express.

But my fingers remain poised,
Waiting for that moment...

When they are able to type.

We were both there,
Bathing in the sunlight
While the water flowed.

He had such golden hair,
Made brighter
By the shining of the sun.

He had known he'd die,
I knew.
I could tell in his eyes.

He took of his mask,
His final act of defiance.
I wept as he faded away.

Finally, I left.
Unwilling to die beside him,
Even if I had to keep this mask.

At least he had died as himself,
As I had stumbled along in the dark,
A complete stranger to myself.

Someone once asked me
If I was afraid of the dark.
No, I replied.

The dark is not my enemy.
She is my friend,
And has always been there.

The light is fleeting,
Leaving one blinded
In its wake.

But the dark remains,
Slowly creeping,
Embracing the mind.

Regardless of past.
Of horrible thoughts,
And heavy emotions.

She comforts me
In solitude,
And has never left me since.

Did I do something wrong,
Other than being born?
Why isn't anyone here to celebrate?

Another birthday.
Another time where
I blow out the sad little candles.

No cake,
No presents,
No people.

I'm just left alone, sitting in the dark.

12 years,
13, 14, 15, 16,
All the way until 21.

I've come to expect very little from people.

I'm left waiting,
Sitting alone in the dark.
Craving the smallest human interaction.

Happy Birthday to me, indeed.

Time to put away that darkness,
Pretend to be happy.
Only if for one day.

This pain will bloom like a rose.
But that doesn't matter,
Just keep watering it with your silent tears.

Cut yourself up,
If you wish.
Just don't let them see your blood.

You only have to be happy,
Just this once.
Don't ruin this sacred day.

Put your violent past
Behind you.
Ignore your growing fear.

Your instincts were right.
But you're gonna die anyways,
So what does it matter?

And when those judging eyes
Finally leave,
You can end it once and for all.

Peace can be found in anger,
But only for a fleeting moment,
Before it is consumed by guilt.

We then become dependent on it,
The pain we feel,
Regardless of whether it was deserved.

The human moral compass,
Always such a hypocrite,
Twisting the mind so it always blames itself.

The burning of possessions,
Old and cherished,
Only reinforces the fact that we are alone.

But should we be forced to suffer
At the hands of the ignorant,
The jealous, the thieves?

But I still share the blame.
Not because of my actions,
But lack thereof.

Should I still be condemmed
For my refusal to act
Against everything that tears my life apart?

Regardless,
I still have these bruises,
And they were caused by you.

A loss,
We knew
For a long time.

Two cynics,
Sitting at the table.
And another, religious.

A long time coming,
We knew,
Yet the other prays to god.

She cries at her loss,
Refusing to believe it.
All her hope, abandoned.

The other two sit at the table,
Laughing while everything
Is taken away.

The woman's demons overpower her,
And her god is no longer here to help.
She is swallowed by darkness.

The demons return to the table,
Wipe off the blood,
And resume their manic laughter.