I have never felt so sick in my life.

Eating feels like a necessary torture, and sleep feels like an unwanted evil.
Stuck in the same cycle of waking up feeling disgusting, and not wanting to sleep because the longer I stay awake, the better I feel.

But even I can't stay awake forever.

But I try, God knows I try.

So I still live in these infected clothes in this infected house and I can't help but wonder where the hell my conscience went.

I feel weak every single day, and I can only hope that this week...

Can change everything.

So if I'm crying out to the TV watchers and the music citizens. To my best friends... some of which who won't even talk to me...

Help me.

I can't wake up tomorrow thinking that this will not pass us by like the sickness it is.

Or was...

But if somebody else is crying out, I will drop this sickness like a ton of bricks and run to wherever they are.

I won't feel sick if somebody needs me there.

So I can put a lock on the medicine cabinet. Not because I won't be able to pry myself away from it, but because I will believe with the entirety of my whole body that I don't need anything.

My family is made up of some of the strongest people on this planet.

I will not be an exception by any means.

So maybe I can wake up as a medical zombie, filled with my own drop dead weight.

I am tired.

But not tired enough.

Unlike the first wave of sick.
This one cannot be cured by any amount of overdue sleep.

Why do you think I write into the abyss of every night?

Because there is nothing more for me to gain from saying that I am helpless.

So I won't...

Wake me up when it's all over.

And then I can live again.

Hi!

My name is ___ and I'm _ years old. My favourite subject is ___ and I like to ____ in my spare time. I believe in __ and from time to time I also go ___.

My family is pretty cool, I've got siblings and I really enjoy my time with my family. My father however is currently ___ and my mom is trying to cope with that.

My school is very ___, but I enjoy being there anyway. My friends are very ___ and I enjoy my time at school, it's a nice time to enjoy my own existence in a building.

But you don't want to live my life. It's too ____. Underneath this skin lies the ___ I try to hide. I'm constantly ___ and ___.

Why am I just so ___ with this?!

You don't know how much I go through. You barely know me. There is always information lost in translation. You shouldn't feel bad that you don't know me. How could you? You're missing something. I can tell you what it is.

You-- are missing ____.

By nature, I am not a magnificent actor.

I mean, I try. My love of music and musical theatre does influence my acting ability. But even though I act in my videos for effect, or in a show for a laugh, I try to keep everything real.

Even though it's acting, I keep part of myself in my act, I stay present and honest. But that's not the kind of acting good at. Because right now I am fine. I work, I write, but to most of the world I am fine. Or at least I seem that way.

It's an act. And I am very good at playing the part. So good that I even fool myself. I forget I'm acting and just take my act as truth. Like I've always been like this. And it's terrifying to know this isn't me.

And this week I was doing well... until I wasn't.

I made it through a 6 hour workday, only to break down crying in my car just after the day ended. I didn't even expect to break until I just... did.

And losing the fifth is a pain I haven't really experienced. And now that the reality is setting in, I can't take it. I act like it. But hey, I can be a good actor when I want to be. So yeah, I am not okay.

But what can I do? It is not as easy as people say it is. At least, not for me. I can't explain it, I just don't speak up, and I shy away from getting better.

I don't say the right things, and people change, they move on, they let go.
And I... can't.

It's bordering on obsessive, making me seem crazy and unstable. I can't seem to pick myself up and let go. I mean, I don't want to. Too much good outweighs the bad for me to just give in. Or give up.

Or just... go.

To the girl I wrote the song for:

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have said what I did over the February break. Sometimes too much truth is just as deadly as one lie. And maybe that's what shot your silence across the ocean.

Even though you told me I shouldn't be sorry for the way I did things, I will continue to to apologize for everything I did. And if I have one request for your next decision, I can only hope that you don't hate me.

Because I can't forgive myself for what happened.

To the girl who watches TV with me:

I'm sorry.

My impulsive behaviour on that March night was my fault.
I knew what I was doing, I knew people would get hurt, and I did it anyway.

I will admit, the rush was not the worst thing in the world. But it came with too many consequences.

So please, with every episode of a TV show that we both enjoy, just remember that we will never be what we were.

...And I will never let you be sorry.

To my brother:

I'm sorry.

You were the first person to find out what happened and I asked you to keep me safe by keeping my secrets in your chest. I prayed you wouldn't let the words fall from your heart, I begged you not to tell our parents.
I shouldn't have put that kind of weight on your conscience.

To my parents:

I'm sorry.

Telling you what happened was the hardest thing for me to do. But I can only hope that I haven't lost all of your trust because of what happened.

To the bodyguard:

I'm sorry.

Actually.... you are the person I really don't want to apologize to. But I am still sorry.

Mostly for my actions and because what I did hurts the person you love most, and that I can accept that as my fault. I know somewhere in your soul, you hate me. And that's something you and I have in common.

But I can live with you never forgiving me. Because you are just here to protect the people you love. And I am sorry I threatened your comfortable life. I didn't plan on hurting anyone... but I did.

Just promise me this:

Be good to her.

Because if you don't do that...
Then what the hell are you doing?

To myself:

I cannot be sorry for you.

I can promise you that these next few days will be some of the most painful. And to a point, I am too much of a ******* to care. You will want to punch brick walls and bleed for your mistakes. You will want a perfect stranger to beat you close to death and walk away like it's no big deal.

You will want to apologize every single day until you blow out your vocal chords. *You will want to suffer.

But you will not cry.
You will believe that crying is not worth it.
You will choose to be silent, you will choose to become numb to all of your pain. And I will not be sorry for you.

I will never be sorry for you.

But I will tell you that you are not going to feel this forever.
So do me a favour and walk.
Walk with your regrets and live on.
Work for your trust back, and maybe then you'll have a chance to start over.

I hope you find what you're looking for.

Joseph is a gifted mind, given a coat by his father, and visions by God.

After getting out of prison, Joseph is brought before the Pharaoh , as the Pharaoh believes that Joseph is a "dream interpreter".

Joseph explains that he does not interpret dreams, he just tells what he sees in his visions, and that the visions are from God.

Pharaoh continues on to tell the 2 dreams he's had constantly:

One of 7 good ears of corn eaten up by 7 bad ears. And the next of 7 healthy cows being swallowed up by 7 sickly cows.

Pharaoh has had so many of his royal interpreters try to decipher his dreams and none of them could do it. So when he heard about Joseph, he found himself all out of options.

And Joseph delivers with this interpretation.

The 7 good ears of corn and healthy cows represent 7 years of feast, 7 years of plenty. And the 7 bad ears and sickly cows represent the 7 years of famine that will follow after. And Egypt may not survive if nothing is done.

So what can be done?

Joseph comes up with this plan:

During the years of plenty, take all the grain that Egypt has and store 1/5 of it underground. And then during the years of famine, give the 1/5 back to the people.

The plan saved Egypt from starvation and Joseph was made second in command to Pharaoh, and he continued to lead Egypt to great success.

This concept of "storing the fifth" can be applied to happiness as well.

When things go wrong, or the world is completely against you, find something you know makes you happy...

And store it somewhere you can find it later.

A good movie, your favourite comfort food, a conversation with an old friend. Something that calms you down and brings you back home.

And right now, I may not be in the middle of a 7 year famine, but I am working through a starvation of my own. So I am picking up the nearest shovel and I am digging for my stored fifth.

Problem is...

I still have no idea where it is.

And as I'm walking to my car...

In a church parking lot.

With the rain pouring down and the sky dark...

I start to shout:

Hey it's RAINING!!
Do you know what we do when this happens?

Nobody answers.

I stretch my arms out and feel the cool air.

As if I was in another conversation I shout:

Because I believed she saved my life!!

Look at me, I'm hysterical!

I can't stop laughing.

I've cried so much that my pain is just... funny.

I get in my car and blast the music as I drive home.

The rain really coming down, so much that my sight is almost hazy.
And I fear that I might hydroplane my car into oblivion.

But as I drive smoothly, I start to feel a sense of peace.
And I didn't care if I was about to die or not.

"Hey God, if I die right now... I think I'm okay."

And then I proceed to hit a bump and scare myself into driving again...

Not my smartest moment.

But I do eventually make it home.
I turn off the car and just watch the rain hit the windshield.
Watching the droplets fill the windows and blur the scene.

And I think to myself:

*How did I get here in my life?

I've been watching too many episodes of "Being Erica" in my spare time. So maybe I should write my regrets out on paper. My biggest regret?

February - April Era.

Why? Well I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say I made a series of mistakes and the consequences came just as quickly as the mistakes were made.

And I know this isn't a TV show, so I know there is no taking back what happened. There are no do-overs. I could create a list of regrets, but that seems like it wouldn't help anybody.

So just for future reference, if we are going to work together, you're going to need to invest in a good punching bag. Trust me, it'll come in handy. I mean, I get mad and when push comes to shove, it's either gonna be you or the punching bag. And I think you might want to keep your body in tact.

Anyways, I guess since we're going to be spending these sessions together, you might as well get to know me. Most of my life is driven by 2 things:

Music and my friends.

And so far... one of those categories is slowly going. It's the whole reason I'm in therapy right now. I need your help.

My life is off the rails and maybe I am making too much of a big deal of this. So teach me how to live life on a restart. How to live... alone?

Or just... how to live at all.

So let's just get started shall we? I'll just write away this therapy like I did months ago. And honestly, this coming week will be hell on earth. But I'm willing to take it. Maybe I will just cry about it.

Maybe I won't.

Forgive me for being so honest.

But I hate you!

And if you think I'm lying, I'm not. I really do hate you!

I don't like the way your face looks. Actually here! I will give you a full list of reasons why I hate you:

I hate that you keep secrets.
I hate that you procrastinate.
I hate the way you talk.
I hate the way you treat your parents.
I hate the way you treat your friends.
I hate that I have to be the one to tell you this.
I hate that you can never get your act together.

And you know --

You Know

That I hate you.

But you don't care! You'll just keep going won't you?!

Ugh.... uhmmm.

I can't get rid of you...

Because you're my reflection...

You're *me.

...That you don't hate me for what I wrote.

I have no other way.
I'm stuck here counting days.

What happened to me?

I've run away before.
Not for an overly good reason.
But because I didn't know what else to do.

I had no ID, no licence, no accessories.
Nothing that could possibly describe who I am or what I've done.

So I ran.
I went to the end of the block and turned right...
And the right again.
And again.

I ran around a block, but still ran in a circle.

Back to where I started.

My mouth dry, legs weak, heavily breathing and sweating out the 15th fever this week, and it's scary to not have a justifiably good reason to be here or to run off.

I want to scream until singing is a lost memory but I would not do that here. Not when I still have enough energy to cry.

And I do cry.
More than I should.
More than anyone should ever have to.

Running in the middle of the street not even close to being scared of the cars speeding down the pavement.

And yet, there are no cars on the road.
Open.
Empty.
Nothing.

I do want to disappear sometimes.
But I wouldn't do that now.
My suffering is already a public hanging nobody watches.

I ran away.

And I would run out of the city and never return.

The only problem is...

The only place I was ever taught to run to...

Was home.

And even that doesn't seem to exist anymore.

So where can I go?

~April 12th, 2017~

Some time between 8:00pm and 9:00pm in the street of Paris...

Imagine walking down the street with the best strawberry yogurt ice cream in the world. Seeing the street of starving artists in all different forms, like that one scene from a movie you saw years ago.

Seeing freehand artists drawing the faces of complete strangers, and the suddenly hearing music.

Hearing a complete strangers singing over classical guitar and not knowing if they were singing in english of french.

But I don't really care. Music has been and always will be a universal language.

So what more can you do about a starving artist?

Well there's  only so much you can do for a guy playing classical guitar in the middle of Paris.

So about 3 songs and €10 later, this artist's voice rings through the empty street. And somehow I become the starving artist, playing this guitar that doesn't belong to me.

And yet I play out like nobody is listening in.

Applause comes... and it goes...

I played one song to look up, and one song from here. All the while feeling the air pass through this street. The only thing left to do was pick up a name and a sappy french poem.

I shake his hand and come away from the street with a major music high. (Pun intended)

And I wasn't the only one on Cloud 9, the feeling shared by yet another music nerd.

And as we roam the streets of Paris singing the same lyrics from "La La Land", we feel complete for now.

And in  that moment...

I lived.

And there's nothing more I can really say other than...

How did we get here?

Seeing as we still have about 4-ish hours to go, I can only wonder what I can do in that time. 4 hours is enough time to watch a few good musicals. But I don't seem to have access to those at the moment.

So my best options are to write, sleep, or talk. But the latter doesn't seem all that successful at the moment. (The bachelor is definitely a distraction.)

So that's a bit nerve racking, but I'm managing.

Other than that, music therapy is seeming like a really good thing. And yet, I don't feel all that different going to Paris. I mean, things could have turned out differently for different reasons.

And that's just listing tons of possibilities taking everything into account. And sure, thing could've played out differently but this is what I've got. And honestly, I'm not complaining. I'm pretty okay with where I am and where I'm going.

I mean, I'm on my way to Paris. So why would I even think of being the one to complain?

This is gonna be a once in a lifetime thing. So taking everything into account, I should just enjoy it right?

I mean, that works for me.

To Paris!

In like 4 hours...

I can wait.

Listen, I tend to write like I'm speaking in a conversation. Mostly because I wish I had somebody to talk to. And if I'm being honest, you'd be my first pick to talk to. Life never treated us the was we thought it would mostly because we're optimistic than realistic.

I tried talking to you at least 10 times today. And every single time I wish I didn't close up in my own embarrassment. I tried 10 times and didn't talk to you once. and if you ever hear this poem than maybe I finally did succeed in talking to you.

Sometimes, when I write poetry, I hope you're reading over my shoulder so I wouldn't have to say it out loud. I'm sorry that I blame everything on time, and how if I had another minute, I'd tell you "I love you". But I can't...

I'm sorry I make things awkward because I'm scared of telling you what I'm really thinking. I wish I knew how to write this without wishing you were gonna read it. Because maybe you never will.

Part of me will never be okay with that because you may go your whole like never know that somebody wrote pages about you that never made it to your eyes or ears.

I'm sorry that I'll never have enough courage to read this to you. I'll wish I did when you feel sad or unloved. Because something like this will remind you of why we never let anyone take control of our lives because we are Gods right?

Or at least you were.

And I know infinity can't hold up to your brilliance so please don't cry when you the world's grip on your shoulders. You're already stronger that you thought you were.

Part of us will always suffer in the moments we never said what really mattered. But it seems like time is already passing us by.

I know you've already forgotten the lyrics to the first song I ever sent you. And soon my name will fall on that list as well.

Just take a pack of cigarettes to the rooftops like you always said you would.

It's okay if you don't remember why you're up there.
I guess this is where most conversations end.

See you soon.

Or rather...

See us.

I told you so.

It doesn't really feel good to be right. Everything is *******. I haven't told anybody, but I have a feeling some people will know very soon.

This is killing me. It's Killing ME.

I'm going.
Help me **** it!

I don't want this.
I want a way out.
I want to go home.

But home isn't there anymore.
Home is not here.

And it won't be. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
So I stopped trying to fight the brokenness. Not when I already shattered across the floor.

Every day feels like a public hanging. Accusations and no defence from me. I'm not okay.

So I will not return until I'm better. When that is, I have no idea. It could just never end. I could break and rage out, calling the hypocrisy and justification of how unfair this is.

Don't I deserve to be seen at all?

But if I'm not here, then who really gives a ****?

Fine. I'll let you live your life free of my destruction on your happiness. Because after all, I bring the drama right? And I can't escape it right? Confining me to my mistakes and nothing else.

Because hey, I never meant a **** thing to you anyway. But I won't snap just to prove you right. I'll just hope to regret sets in like it is for me.

Because I never gave up on you.
Fact.
No exceptions.

Now I said that I wouldn't judge or treat you any different. Because you're still the same person you were before right?

Right?

No, you're not.

2 days, that's all it took. Just 2 simple days.

You come back and suddenly I wonder if I should ask what your name is...

You look -- different. But let me believe that the person I once knew is still there in the projection of a body I don't recognize. You are still here... right?

But then you start talking, and acting, and thinking differently. What?!?!

I start calling your name wondering if you'll respond, tell me you remember me, tell me you're still here, tell me--

Tell me that you can still be my friend. Because I will still be here for you.

*No matter what.

History.

Never really the highlight of my day. But always a stand out part of my day. Always structured the same way, never changed, but not boring. It's the kind of repetition you get used to, and for me, sometimes I'm thankful for it.

Hell, something has to stay the same. And with everything that's happened, I'm glad some things never change.

Or some people.

Dear God, nothing ever does come easy. And nothing ever will from here on out. So I'll just give in to my fate. Changing everything. Or nothing at all.

You know some looks could definitely ****. I don't have that gut to just be inherently evil. Although I seem to be that anyway. I don't have the strength to look over my shoulder. I have too much shame in that.

It's like a tell, there is no breaking it. And it *****. The voice is enough to throw me off.

I cannot shake this. It's just one event right? One semi-life-changing problem that took its toll on everyone involved.

What have I done? What can I do now?

Is there such a thing as starting over? No. Not really.
Because unless we all induce amnesia on what happened, we do not forget what happened. We still hate each other. And the pride that comes along with that is nothing short of destructive.

If you're right, you're right. And if you're right, I have to be wrong.
And I am. I'm mature enough to acknowledge and wear my shame like my checkered shirts.

There is no such thing as a happy ending. We make mistakes, people don't forgive, we die, we fail, we do everything to deny our failure. And if we don't... then we carry our shame with the entirety of our shoulders.

Here it is in a nutshell:

I want to know that it isn't all for you.

That you knew we were part of this too.
That you knew we went through the same kind of pain.

That you missed me.

That you wanted to make it better.

But if this is all there is.

I'm still going to take it.

Because it's better than nothing.

But hey,

I was there.

I was there.

I suffered.

It isn't all about you.

You can't tell me that you missed anything about our friendship?

Then I guess there wasn't one to begin with.

I almost went to the same dark and empty spaces.

I tried so suppress everything.

I suffered.
And I suffered just as much as you.

You don't get to "win" at having the worst outcome.

Nobody won.

Just because you weren't there to see the pain, doesn't mean it wasn't there.

Just because you never saw me do anything, doesn't mean it never happened.

I was here.

And I've been here the whole time.

Okay.

I'm done being mad.

I'm done.

Being mad.

Sometimes the only way into my brain is to read my poetry.

Because talking to people is terrifying. And I don't know how to not be socially disastrous.

I don't know how to stop saying the wrong thing, so I don't talk. For fear of saying the right thing at the wrong time. And so far, I have become a train wreck of my mistakes. So I write.

So you're reading my life on pages. And this is real.

I can tell you with absolute certainty that these are my honest thoughts.

I know there is no good explanation for my actions.

I know there is nothing I can say to fix what happened.

But I'm willing to try again.

I'm willing to try.

I know I upset you. And I get why. But I am not strong enough to tell you face to face, so my thoughts end up here.

And that may not be the best thing I could've done.

I know.


...I know.

All the cliché Hollywood movies keep reminding me that love doesn't come by that easily. And it's a hard truth for me to accept.

And all through elementary I've always been the crush-er, the person crushing on the good looking person over there!

I've never been the person crushed on. But that aside, I've been filled up with all this love for you. I'm not sure if it's real or not.

You see, I've seen fake love so much that I've convinced myself that this love is also fake...

I won't tell you, "I love you" because I don't want to lie to you. But how can I still feel like I'm not lying? I still feel guilty.

I've never been "in love".

I've loved, and been loved in return, but is this--

Real?

I know you're out there, but I'm impatient. But I am willing to wait for love... if it really is real..

I'm sorry for lying.

This is also going to be on the long list of good/bad ideas.

Because you need to sort out your ******* life, and nobody does that better than you do.
Only because you can only count on yourself for something like this. So there is nothing else to worry about.

You are still the same person you were.
Just, I don't know... more of a sap?
Yeah, probably.

Anyways, when you feel stuck... like now for example, just let your words fall from you hands.

You still hold all of this in your life right?

Here's to hoping that day 2 actually happens this time.

I'll throw up an "Amen" because I need it and because I want it.

So just...

Hear me.

Hey listen, I’m not here to criticize you for spending 10 hours on YouTube or Facebook or Tumblr or whatever. I think we’re all at least a little bit guilty of going overtime online. And it’s not like that's entirely a bad thing. But sometimes we get stuck with things we don’t really need.

And I’m not asking you to abandon the internet for a day of anything. And it’s not like I have a whole lot of influence. I am just writing on a page from a person you don’t know. But still, you gotta wonder where you’ve been when you get lost online. Trust me, I’ve been there. Sometimes, we need to wake up and remember to live life again. Not because we should, but because we can. Because you’re more than you realize.  

So don’t get lost if you don’t have to. Not just on the internet, but anywhere. Remind yourself of where you’re going, and make it there. So now it’s up to you, what you decide to do is out of my control. All I can do is wish you good luck. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

I decided recently to try to put my mind back together and isn't working the pieces of my mind are a maze that I don't know the answer to so keep on turning left turning left and turning left hoping that I don't end up in the same spot that I did when I started.

We all have things we don’t talk about anymore things that we left in the past far behind us things that we don’t like to think about.

I’ve forgotten all my memories not exactly where they used to be and I just don’t want to talk about them anymore we all have things we don’t talk about anymore.

You want to ask me if I’m lost well of course and lost… everybody’s lost sometimes. It’s never our fault but we choose to see it that way and so I’ve been looking through other people’s eyes to see if they can see what I’m supposed to be. If they know who I used to be.

Not the kind of identity crisis that you like to have that is the kind you keep around because it’s the only thing you can call home. I’ve been searching for pieces of my life through other people because maybe they remember something about me that I don’t I am lost… of course and lost. Repeating words, and phrase so I don’t forget them like the rest of my memory.

I’m not trying to steal anything that belongs to you I’m just trying to look for myself and if you have the key to that then I might as well chase you down as long as I can live.

Or maybe I just want your life because I can’t find mine because I’ve been looking through different people and not finding the me I used to want to be I am lost. So please don’t make me out to be the bad guy I am not trying to steal what used to be yours, I’m only trying to take back what’s mine.

I’ve stayed up countless nights and I still can’t find myself and maybe music is the only key out of that but I haven’t heard much lately. I haven’t slept in a few days and nobody’s been able to stop me there are things we do not talk about anymore. There are people that we do not talk to anymore. Our songs we don’t sing anymore because we don’t remember what they used to mean to us there are songs I have left so many years ago.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror so maybe I can recognize myself in the reflection of a window of somebody else. I’ve heard a voice singing in my own ears and I wonder if it’s my own voice telling me to wake up. Staying up late at night thinking about all this is a habit that I thought I forgot years ago and yet it still comes back and I’m lost again in this maze of my own memory turning left turning left open to get to the end.
So yes I am lost but if you’re willing to catch me maybe this maze isn’t as dangerous as it used to be.

I'm Sorry...

*For everything

Over the past year, I’ve convinced myself that I am some kind of villain, because I don’t exactly hold the redeeming qualities of a hero or protagonist.

I have no idea how to combat this thought, so I decided I’ll just confess my non-redeeming qualities until the sun sets on my lifetime.

I change the subject a lot, I can never stay focused, and I never stay in one spot, I’m always trying to run somewhere, while trying to get away from something else.

I’m not really a good person, but I'll go my entire life believing that something is incredibly wrong with me. No one is good all the time, and no one is really innocent either. A lot of what I say doesn’t really make any sense to anyone but me, and I’ve come to accept that when I realized that I am pretty crazy and a lot of other people would rather be crazy pretty.

I’m simple, I don’t want much, and I gain very little, so like an actual villain, my desires a pushed away until I need to make someone hurt like I do.

I have very little patience for anyone but myself. Sometimes I wish my grandfather would just die already just so I can write poetry about it, and part of that makes me selfish, and part of that makes me merciful because not all deaths will result in me making art but that’s how it is.

You have to admit, that whether or not you like Jesus, he was probably the best example of the designated driver. He made water into wine just so his buddies could drink it. You might not like him, but you have to admit he knew how to party.

Every time I drive my brother home from school, I wonder what would happen if I died, does my car just drive without me? And then I realize that dying is probably the most gripping experience I will ever have and it is always going to come for me.

There are people in this school who do not know me, and yet I want to tell them they have the world in their grasp long before I came to tell them. I can prophesize what it will be like to die, but not to live like dying can’t touch you.

I cover up my blunt attitude with comedy just because I can and it’s been working for 18 years. I’m a self-manipulator who somehow just gives away the best parts of myself just so people will listen to me.

I’m not good, but I’m trying, and maybe that’s all death will ask of me. I don’t know what a good life is like, but I know that good people are in it. I don’t actually know tomorrow is coming, but I want to be in it.

I don’t hope that I will someday wake up at 80 years old and realize my life is over. Villains don’t live that long anyway. Villains get to watch everything good happen to someone else they hate, but I have no energy to hate so I just watch.

This isn’t a confession of my sins or my faults, it’s a confession of character and identity I thought I figured out years ago.

Religion might be my last “Hail Mary” before leaving and as much as people want to joke about hell, I’d rather just be at a campfire for the rest of my death reciting stories of my life over an endless night sky.

The villain usually dies first, but the happily ever after is an ending we all forget about. When everything is gone, I can only hope my stories are told forever, and when I’m gone I will finally be able to see… everything.

When I leave this world...

Stencil graffiti on my gravestone. There is no greater way to tell that people have touched your life unless a mark was made in reflection of it. I will personally see to it that the words etched into my gravestone are "Permission Granted".

When I leave this world, know that I did panic in my last moments. I am a thanatophobic which means I am both afraid of death and dying and always running away from it. So watching doctor shows and cop reruns with my family seem a little less comforting.

When I leave this world, plant the brightest, most purple orchids you can find around the patch of land I own that is my gravesite. I don't even like the colour purple that much, but when I googled the top 10 most beautiful flowers, number one was roses and that is too **** fancy for my dead punk body.

When I leave this world, pray for the sky to cry rain enough for all of you. I was not famous enough for people around the world to cry over me, but rain is as close as it gets.

When I leave this stupid world, make sure people knew I was also pretty stupid. I once told my mom that I realized "Hey water isn't blue... it's clear!!". I clearly didn't drink enough water as a child.

When I leave this world, hang a sandwich board on my gravestone that reads "I will continue to sell lemonade as long as the world keeps giving me lemons."

When I leave this disastrous world, publish everything wrong about me, and then make a sequel containing only things I said about myself during my worst hours. Compare the two and decided for yourself if the way we judge ourselves is too much to argue over.

When I leave this world and Sara is still out of the city, tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I don't want her to dig. Tell her that I wanted to talk to her so badly, but I was always scared of interrupting, or being an inconvenience, or dying suddenly without her knowing. Tell her that I wanted her to remember me so well that she knows exactly what our last conversation was about. That she won't have to dig for answers...ever.

I dug myself into a grave I do not need others to dig for my past.

Death is never one to discriminate against anyone. But it is selfish, it takes, never gives, and is always consistent when giving the final sentence for everything we do wrong.

I will constantly run from it, and it will always get me.

When I leave this world, and if you're there, tag my gravestone. I get to say that I was here... you might as well tell me that you were also here.

Me

From where we are
Or where we're going
We could be anything
Anything at all

Her*

Not shaking*

It's just my brilliance
Trying to get out

The last FaceTime call I ever had with you was on a Monday night.

And you offered to call me.

You know, heaven forbid I ask you.

I was too shy and cowardly, and I didn't want to seem so desperate.

I'm bouncing between thoughts because I'm sick of everything.

And beyond that, the world is sick of me being sad.

I haven't touched my calendar in a week.

I stopped just before the Monday of last week.

And it just stays.

I'm not asking for a time machine.

I'm just waiting for something..


And I don't really know what it is.

So, I guess I'll start by saying that I have not done much to accomplish my goal of staying awake. I mean, usually I can just will power my way through it. But that doesn't always work. And I don't expect it to.

Second thing, I have no idea how to combat my sleep patterns. I mean it's sort of unpredictable and inconsistent. So maybe I will sleep just because. Not because I want to, but because I can.

And my current situation is sort of battling that decision of "sleep of no sleep".

Anyways...

It's a process that I'd rather not go through at the moment. So the sleep aside, I think that excitement of getting to Paris is nothing short of overwhelming.

but the curiosity of what it's going to be like is a weird thrill. Wondering what it'll be like to live there for a week. I'm still sort of nervous about it all and I'm still getting used to the though of it all.

So I guess I won't have much more to say until we actually get there. And I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am to get there.

Me?

That can't possibly be right.
I never planned on being this kind of crazy, but I don't hate it. This is not what we expected and yet somehow we're okay with it.

I'm being very vague, I know. But only some of us are going to know what happened. So I don't need to shout it to the rest of the world. The rest of the world doesn't really need to know what happened to us.

I'm not afraid to die some days.

Mainly because when I do get on with living, I get caught up in being so busy that I don't have time for death.

Or maybe that death will be gracious enough not to have time for me.

I wish I knew how to pick up the pieces of my life and try to put them together without losing anything on the way.

You know that I don't belong to anyone. And that no one belongs to me, I am not one to claim anything for myself.

I think that you are awesome. And you can decide to throw that to the back pages of your life story and I won't be mad at you. I'll just decide to keep writing and maybe the book won't seem so heavy on your heart.

But even as I say all of these great things about you. I cannot tell you that I am sure of what will happen to us. You can't have me.

And I will not be able to explain why. But I will say that I feel comfortable where we are now. Held in hugs and folded away with stray sheets of paper. I don't want to lose you, but I cannot say with confidence that I can be what you want.

Because as much as I care about you. We must understand that we are single people looking for connections in the network of our closest friends and family. And we don't always find what we're looking for.

And that is okay.

So when we decide to stop.
I will still call you gorgeous.
I will still walk with you down hallways.
I will still lean on you in the worst of times
I will still call on your name.
I will still call you awesome.
I will still call you amazing.
I will still call you beautiful.

I will still call you...

And I hope you will still call me.

I don't care.

You see that's just it: I don't care.
And it doesn't really matter if I'm lying or not because I don't care.

I'm more numb to the fact that love is a subject I used to want to talk about. I don't really feel like writing about it either but here we are.

Although I'm not as big of a believer in love as I used to be, I'll probably still hate you if you say love is just an illusion. But to be honest, love still *****. But there's nothing  more that I'm willing to give everything I have for. Except for God, or myself. But this is what you get with me being selfish.

I was talking to an old classmate of my brother's and I tell her I would rather have a son than a daughter. And she says she would rather have alcohol than kids -- she's younger than me. And suddenly I don't feel great. Who knew it would take one sentence for me to feel shock and then... hate her. Or rather her judgement. Part of me refrains from wanting to **** her, but I've always been violent right?

Chances are, if I have a son I am more likely to raise him as more machine than man. He would earn the pride of the family by being more man than human. And that's probably my fault. But's it better than me having a daughter.

Because the only thing worse than having a child who isn't like me, is having a kid who is me. I would want more than anything to raise her to be her own person. But the chances of her becoming me by default are more than likely.

But I'm not a parent, not yet anyway. But here I am, surrounded by all my friends -- in relationships...

And love now seems more like an idea than a goal. They're all holding hands and spending time together. And you can see the way they look at each other. It almost makes me feel sick. Because it's obnoxious... but I want it.

I hate that I have to be the cynical ******* who nags on people for loving other people. I have never known this kind of live. It almost makes me want to be bi, or an atheist, or anything that isn't me.

They're holding each other again. I  catch myself staring and suddenly I don't feel very safe anymore.

Because love ******* *****.

So why do I want it?

I try to bring up the conversation up with a friend. She says, "What are you, 16? You're only 16."

She's the same exact age as me... and in a relationship. As much as I want to point out the hypocrisy, I don't.

Her girlfriend arrives 5 minutes later and I watch them drive off together. So I leave, get in my car, turn up the music and drive home...

alone.

I've had a series of dreams where things went differently then they did in real life.

Where nobody left.
And nobody was hurt.

One dream in particular keeps coming back, the one where nothing really makes sense, but it makes me feel better sometimes.

I remember running, and she was beside me.

But I immediately knew it was a dream because she was taller than me.

She's never been taller than me. And here I am...

Running beside a 5 foot 8 version of my once best friend.

What?!

This dream is so weird.. and yet it feels so normal.
She's never had to look down to see me.
Heck, she's never had a reason to look up to me either.
For height eye contact or otherwise.

And somehow this dream follows me, her, and her significant other into a building.

I'm in a hallway saying that I'm on my way to a specific room.
She says she'll follow me there.

For some reason, because this is a dream, I go to a completely different room, a shop actually.

Woodshop. Like the one I went to at school.

I don't even know what I'm doing there, I'm not sanding or doing any work, they are. I don't know what they're doing, I'm watching this alternate version of a person just...

Exist.

And suddenly she cuts her hand on a saw blade. Much like I have in shop class.

I don't panic, I grab paper towel, and start wrapping her hand.
She's gonna be fine.

She's gonna be fine..

There's no dialogue, nobody says anything, I'm just taking care of someone I care about.

This dream is just playing out.



I wake up...

I feel content and somewhat happy for a second.

But then I remember I was dreaming.

I was dreaming...

And that's okay.

But I return to a reality where none of that happened.
And I suddenly feel the utopic dream leave me.

I can't even remember most of the dream, and this is all I have.

This isn't the first time I've woken up from a better dream life to find that I'm here.

But I do need to realize that I'm here.

Despite everything.

~April 6th, 2017~

I can only imagine what France is gonna be like. But the curiosity is definitely there. We leave one day, and fly into the next. And I would consider this some weird form of time travel.

Hours behind on some flights, hours ahead on the next. What a day, and it's not even over yet. But here I am, close to high haven once again. And nothing more to be done except wait.

But that's not exactly a bad thing. I can be patient for awhile. I can manage that.

At least for now.

So I'm not entirely sure when this flight crosses over into tomorrow. But I mean, is that really worth sleeping through?

Maybe, maybe not.

But I'll definitely attempt to pull off the world's worst "all nighter". It's worth a shot right? I mean, it's something to do.

So this flight may be the weirdest crossover between days. But that's okay with me. Only now, can I really understand the influence of time and flight and varying amounts of sleep.

Speaking of...

1.    The condition I have scrawled across my face looks like a frown, it’s so red that I might as well be bleeding anyway.

2. School is where most of my family is.

3. My teachers are NOT like my parents.

4. When I say yes, I actually mean no.

5. When I say no, I actually mean yes.

6. When I say “I don’t know”, it actually does mean “I don’t know”

7. You can tell that I like confusing people.

8. A turtle’s spine and ribs are fused together with its shell so they are stuck together. I believe this is an accurate representation of the relationship I have with my bed.

9. Remind me to thank my English B class for introducing me to slam poetry

10. Remind me to thank the Button Poetry YouTube channel for countless hours of awesomeness

11. Ever since I got into slam poetry, I seem to really like the sound of snapping.

12. We interrupt this program to bring you an awkward silence…

13. That awkward silence was where you were supposed to snap.

14. The people who need to hear this poem will never hear this poem

15. I wrote more than 10 poems finished an unfinished. And yet I choose to tell this story.

16. I try to convince myself that I’m not a poet, only a musician. But us musicians just take poetry and add whatever music we have lying around our messy rooms.

17. Random acts of kindness don’t seem to be looking for me, and yet I still have hope for the future.

18. I put capitals in words that shouldn’t be capitalized, but this mostly happens when I type my lab reports for my science classes.

19. If my assignment is due on Monday morning, I will purposely wait until Sunday night just to see if I really can beat the clock.

20. When I don’t finish the assignment I purposefully procrastinated on, yes, I feel bad about it. Yes, I know I could’ve done better.

21. I shake in my sleep for no reason, is it really this hard to stay still?

22. I am the most impatient person I know. So after learning that true love doesn’t happen like it does in the movies, I decided to give up waiting and I just moved on.

23. I’d like to believe that time travel would benefit people, but for people like me, we realized that fixing the past doesn’t make up for the problems of the future.

24. My friends at school are the coolest people I know!

25. I’m trying to figure out the meaning of life as if it were a math problem.

26. The words “Thank you” Don’t seem like a long enough phrase to mean something, when you really want it to mean something.

27. My window is shining with the glow of the amber streetlight on this street corner, and I wonder if anyone will walk by my house.

28. The first time I read this poem, I will wonder why I wrote it.

29. The last time I read this poem, I won’t know it will be the last time

30. It’s not what I said, it’s how I said it. And if you applaud at the end, I’ll know I did something right.

2 pages and too many ashes.

The smell of smoke still lingering in the air.

And so another piece of my life falls.

And I don't know where to go from here.

I read back, looking at old texts.

Searching for the moment when things changed. And I found it.

And even if I never recreate the better part of myself.

Those conversations, those meaningful stories, that friendship will always exist.

I mean... it's the eternal bond we share.

I try not to write in past tense. Like there's a chance to be okay again.

And there is.

There always will be.

Because I will never look back and be bitter. I'll look back with a smile.

Because I was honest... and that is the best I can do.

I'll never shut you out.

But we have to meet halfway do we not?

I'm here.

When I tell my testimony, it becomes a tragedy known as my "6 - month story".

Unique in its weight, age, and mental destruction.

And I'm a broken person, you know that.

But hear me now, I'm trying to say what's important.

I don't write much about God these days, but I find myself in a position where I need to say... something.

I don't blame God for what happened to me. If anything, I blame myself. And I know blaming God gets me nowhere.

But being on this camp ground for the fifth year in a row seemed different, knowing I may be older, but wisdom and experience has fallen beneath me.

The friends I knew, younger than I am, and yet they surpass me.

And I fell into sadness again.

An easy crier, I am.

But then, suddenly there was something here.

A curious voice, wondering how I came up with all these song titles, and claiming how awesome I am.

And me... being absolutely floored at how much you wanted to talk to me. Let alone... learn my songs?

Nobody has ever done that before.

Suddenly I don't feel so alone. I feel like I can sing again, like I can smile again, and this two hour session with you learning my song is the longest surge of happiness I've had in months.

And I don't want it to stop.

I feel... at home.

This old campground, and having someone to talk to.

Or hold my hand and tell me it's going to be okay...

Instantaneous connection.

I've had it before. With many other people who have left me what feels like a lifetime ago.

I fear I may get too attached, or scare you away.
That I might find a peace here in your friendship that may pull itself away before I can say "thank you"...

So..

Thank you.

If God has helped me through anything in life, He didn't never had to give me riches, or fame, or reputation.

He gave me people.

So many people.

It's been so long since anyone has been a new friend to me.

And I'm so glad that you found me. Even if it was ten years later.

Time has a way of being like that.

God being bigger than time, knowing something like this would happen.

Of all the people who could've found me at that time in my life...

I'm glad He picked you.

I know, I'm sappy and cliché, and write sentimental things too early because I'm afraid of losing good people. Mostly because I have lost so many already.

But I hope you'll stay.

I'll have that sad song written soon enough.

And you gotta be around to hear it.

Every day feels the same.

I wear the same checkered shirts, eat the same food, go to the same classes, cry at the same story.

It never changes. And it never ends.

My life continues to be a TV drama gone wrong and all I want to do is burn it all. My shoulders are too high, shaking in 3 second shockwaves. My face is losing colour and life. The energy drained from my body. Strength beaten out of my arms and back.

There is not a whole lot of me left. So don't go looking for the living among the dead. Not if the host's body is already a graveyard.

Not a lot left to lose except for my own lone life. But I'm thanatophobic so an empty threat suicide isn't really doing anything.

And no, I don't want to hear about how "good of a person I am".

It makes me sick, I'm sick of hearing about how this is going to get better. I do not care to hear how it is "so easy" to just switch back to how I used to be.

It is never that easy.

I don't care if I can make this better, because right now, it is not up to me.

What I do, does not matter.

There will be no justice...

And no forgiveness.

At least I'm still in pain. It assures me that I am feeling anything at all.

After these past 2 weeks...

A bowl of cereal that's 35% grain and 65% milk seems best when it's 100% cold.

And isn't that just the simplest thing for me to do right now?

I haven't eaten cereal regularly since I was a kid.

It seems nostalgic.

Bring me back to a time when things were simpler.

When things were easier.

Growing up in a Christian home, you'd expect someone like me to have committed myself to working for God since I was 4 or 5.

Aha...

But no. I used to think that too.

I was 11 and it was the middle of the night. I was crying and sweating bullets calling out to God to save me. This is the kind of thing I will not be required to explain to a skeptic or somebody who questions why I do thing the way I do. I have never been very open about faith during my life. But this isn't about me.

Let's talk about something else, so there's this guy, Isaiah. A prophet, said to have understood and described the mystery of Jesus. Something people today would never figure out. Isaiah would prophesies the future in such a way that you wouldn't know he was talking about the future. He wrote songs about the revelation songs... I write songs...

I know a little boy at my church, his name is Isaiah, and part of me wonders if he will write song, or poetry praising God along with it.

Let's talk about silver, a metal used as currency, or plates written on in biblical times, and its brother metal gold, is seen in the garden of Eden, where everything was perfect.

Gold is seen as perfection. Heaven paved the streets with it, can you imagine the glory? But no, silver, seen as second place to gold, seen as "not-as-pure". Because silver will tarnish right? I am silver, tarnish is my sin, I will never be gold in this skin.

And Isaiah was silver turned gold by God and now Isaiah, you are on silver, printed with your own words.

Here me now:

Written in Isaiah Chapter 55 verse 9.

"For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts higher than your thoughts." Says the Lord!

This is not to say that because I am religious that I'm better than anybody. This is to remind myself that I am to be humble, and human, and silver.

Not perfect by any means, but working towards a life I've needed since that night when I was 11.

I am human, and Christian, and nothing can change that. this silver reminds me that I'm not perfect.

This verse reminds me...

That I still have work to do.

Sept 24th, 2017

In the midnight hours, my neighbour is hosting a party. And I... was in my bedroom watching "The Walking Dead" on Netflix.

In the room next to mine, I hear shouting in the streets and out my window I see the flashing of lights.

2 cop cars on my block.

The night is not young, but look at all these young people in it.

I analyze the voices outside my window, as I watch 3 young boys gather in my driveway.

Wearing dark clothing, CHECK.
Group movement, CHECK.
Overuse of the word "****", CHECK.

And I am praying for them to leave my driveway and they do.

And I migrate to the next room, slightly open the window and listen for more of these people. It's too dark outside for me to see much but the colour of their hair, and the backpacks or purses the brought with them.

They are all gathering at one house, the cops are further down the street, so that all moved.

I used to hang out with the kid who lives at this house. My how things have changed.

Relax.

Go back to your show. And I did.

Later into the night, I hear through my headphones the shouting of a girl and I stop.

She and her what I assumed was her boyfriend just turned the corner and I slowly open my window.

I begin to analyze the situation.

Fighting teenage couple, Check
Probably intoxicated Check

She starts talking about some other guy.
He starts accusing her of cheating.
She gets in his face.
He gets in her face.

She says "I wouldn't do that because I ******* love you!" "And you're gonna make me walk home in the dark?!"

She gets in his face, he gets in her face....

BAM

She's on the ground.

He had forcefully shoved her into the pavement and she just...

Sits there.

In disbelief.

He says, "Yeah? HOW BOUT THAT!"

I don't know why it took so long to act, but I did.

Bolting into my kitchen, with my father up playing backgammon I tell him I just watched a guy shoe his supposed girlfriend in the road and he doesn't miss a beat.

He is out there in the middle of the night and he gets to that boy and I just stand in my living room, watching.

The windows on the first floor were closed so I couldn't hear a thing. But I could only pray that this boy did not carry a blade, or a gun, or the wrong words to my father's throat.

I ran up to my bedroom, grabbed my old cap gun and heard the boy say, "Hey man I don't hit my ******* woman!"

And I went downstair thinking to myself I don't know if my dad is sure to return to this house alive.

I just watched a girl suffer battery, I did not need to see my father die today.

And nobody can tell cap guns are fake when you're buzzed at 2 in the morning so yeah, I was scared.

But wait....

I see my father shake the boy's hand, give him a bro hug...

And send him off.

And when he came back into the house I hugged him and I wasn't exactly keen on letting go.

He told me that he had sent the boy in the opposite direction of his girlfriend.

It turns out she had already walked down the block by the time he had gotten outside.

It is 2:25 AM

After a talk about what happened, I went back to watching "The Walking Dead on Netflix".

And I can only hope that girl was not also walking dead.

My father is a good man.
Even after all that.

He still went back to play more backgammon.

My average for staying awake can lie anywhere from 12 - 3 in the morning. Only earlier on a tiring day, or when I have nothing better to do. It can be a struggle depending on the day. Some days it's just not enough to put everything down and call it a day.

So on those days, I stay awake for as long as I possibly can. And most days I don't win the war between myself and sleep. But I shut down the will to try after a few hours.

But I try.

Only so often do I actually succeed in abandoning my sleep for a day. But then the morning comes and I once again, become a groggy, tired, semi - functioning human being.

So...

Now what?

Well, I'm left with about 2 option: Sleep and don't sleep. One definitely seems more appealing then the other. Only because I'm willing to accept a challenge. Like staying up for the next 24 hours. But, we'll see how that works out.

It's gonna be some day.
Or something like that.

I guess I should start by saying that I don't really believe in other universes or alternate dimensions.
But sometimes I like the idea of manipulating where I am now into something... better?

Only to find that I'm not in that kind of better place.

So... until I reach that realization again, here I go.

In another universe, we met at the auditions for my first musical. I wasn't scared to audition because I finally wanted to put myself out there as a singer.

We both get chorus parts... figures.

In another dimension, I was told to pursue my music career like it was the most important decision I was ever going to make.
I stick with it.

In another timeline, I spent every lunch hour making friends laugh at my dumb jokes.

In another universe, I never lost those friends.

In another timeline, those texts never made it to their phone. Maybe they didn't even get on the ship.

In another dimension, I never stopped hugging you.

In another world, I stuck with friends I had.

In another universe, there was never that fight. We never had a falling out, and there was never a time where we stopped being friends.

In another universe, I never got on that plane to Paris.

In another timeline, I finally recovered from losing all my friends. I finally got better.

In another dimension, I stopped writing about how much the past 5 months broke me.

In another universe I never hesitated to text anyone for fear of interrupting their life.

In another world, I never recover.

In another dimension, I never get over it. I let it consume me and I commit suicide. I never said anything to let anyone know when the end would come.

In another world, I spoke up and said I miss you.

In another dimension, we never met.

I guess that would be a sad place to be.

In another universe...

It never rained on the pride parade downtown. It stayed sunny, and people kept walking in full glow of their personality.

In another world, I did something or said something worthwhile.

In another dimension
In another universe
In another world
In another life...

I was gonna be okay.
And I knew somehow...
That we'd be there.
Together.

But none of these alternate realities exist.
I guess I just like the idea of another outcome.

Not a poet.
Not a poet.
Not a poet.
And I know it.

It's raining.

truth becomes part of a life i used to know

i care enough to put spaces between words and nothing else

i'm not gonna go out of my way to commit suicide

but dying

even as a thanatophobic

seems more desirable than what i've got now

so truth be told


i think i'm more scared of the idea


that i might want to live

It's currently 3:47am and my window is open.

Which means the birds are now becoming nature's alarm clock. And that is just a wake up call that I did not ask for.

The birds just keep singing and here I am typing this on an iPod that doesn't even belong to me.

Hating the constant chirping of winged animals while I've been here watching Grey's Anatomy for hours on end. So I guess I am just a huge ***** for staying up late watching doctor shows.

I'm not even sure if this is a poem.

I'm just sick of the birds and feeling terrible for things I did late at night.

If this was any other day..

I would have already shut off my alarm clock.

Or just shout at the birds I guess.

I will love you as much as you need.

Which is always more than you want.

You have to let me feel this okay?

And ******* if you think that we are getting better.
We're not.
You're not.

Everyone is sick of hearing about this.
Why can't you drop it?

Because it means something right?
I've fought for this.
I deserve a better ending than this.

You coward.
You've done nothing but run.
You can't keep work on track to save your life.
Everything has gone awry and you can't help but watch from the sidelines.

What the hell are you doing?
Pick yourself up and be happy like everyone tells you to.
Nobody wants to be around someone who makes them feel as sad as they are.
Your emotions are ******* contagious.
Why are you doing this to yourself?

It would be so easy to just be happy like everyone else.

But no, you decide to be a ******* and be stubborn about it.

Stop it.
STOP IT!

I don't deserve this.
Give me something else.

I will not drive myself to the edge by standing on one higher than most of my hopes.

Don't give me what can happen.
I want good and I want it from somewhere I can't comprehend.
I want my life.

Don't you?

Nobody gets what they want.

Stop.

Where are you?

Stop it.

You are ******* unbelievable.

Don't.

You're sick and susceptible to getting even more sick the more you haul your body around. You act like you're drunk, and you don't even care.

I do care.

Act like it.

I do.

*******.

Nobody suspects what they can't bring themselves to see.
You don't even want help do you?
You just want this pain until you're nothing but that.

I WANT TO GO HOME..

I want to go home...

Have you been writing suicide notes again?

No.

Don't end them with "I'll be home soon".

I don't.

I don't end them because I'm not finished here.

I don't want this.
I don't need this.

YOU HAVE TO LET ME FEEL THIS.

Please.

Do not make me guilty for crimes I didn't even know existed.
People have done worse things.
And yet they get second chances all the **** time.

Where are you?
Stop it.

Who are you kidding? You're nothing.

You can't decide if you want to suffer or make others suffer for what they did to you. So instead you complain like a ***** and nothing gets done.

Why can't you just accept what happened?

Because it meant everything to me.

And nothing has happened to acknowledge how much this changed my life in the worst way possible.

Stop chasing me.  

You know I can't do that.

Haven't I already paid for all of this?

Yes?

So what gives? Something has to.

Or someone.

I already have.

And I'm ready to go home.

I planned out my night.
Going out to a gathering with friends.

I look around my room.
What a mess.

I don't feel so happy right now.

So I start cleaning.
Make my bed.
Take out my clothes for the night.
Grey shirt.
Black carpenter's pants.
My best red checkered shirt.

My only red checkered shirt...

Red and white socks.
My watch, two hair elastics, two rings, three pins, one hat.

I shower away all the grime and grease.
Tidy up my look as I put on the clothes.
Putting on my signature hat and attaching the pins to my shirt.

I look...okay.

I lace up my buffed up red shoes and take my car and drive off to wherever I'm going.

It's supposed to be a great night out.

Until I go home to cry away the pain.

I'll enjoy myself.
I'll do something.

Anything.

Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.