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.

It's been a few days too long.

I have work to do, and nowhere to go.

The least I can do is take a shower.
Because I might as well look good.

Even if there's nothing good about me.

Hallways:*

They're empty first of all.
And anything or anyone that appears to be there, isn't actually there, you-- are dreaming. Don't believe me?

Let's play a game, it's called, "Where's Waldo?" With you as "Waldo".
Yes, that's right, you-- have to find yourself in this sea of walls, floors and people you do not know.

These people, with stoic faces, walk the same halls, looking for the same thing. They do not care that you are here, and you don't care that they are here.

Just get to the end of the hallway, but don't go into the light, you are not here to die -- you can't. You have to find yourself before you do. But there are some people who die before finding themselves in the "Where's Waldo?" page.

They're dead!

Out of this maze of halls you find yourself in.

But you...

You are determined. You will not leave without finding yourself, do not allow yourself to give up!

Look!

At the end of the hall! It's you!

You found yourself! You win the search! Now go!

Run! Get to them, yourself is waiting for you at the end of this hall.

RUN! Run as fast as your legs can carry you! Because you do not have time to think, so RUN!

They need you to save them! They're calling out to you, screaming for help, for You.

Get to them, grab their hand, save them!

...And just as you barely make contact with their hand and lock eyes with a body with the same eyes and face as you...

They begin to fade, to disappear!! WAIT!  NO!

Come Back!!

You were so close to saving them!

You wake up.

It was all just a dream.

You were dreaming right? You know you were dreaming!

You get up. Open the door... exit the room...

And you walk down a hallway...

Hey God...

I have a confession.

I am not a good person.

I know it isn't original, and I know you've heard this too many times from too many broken people.

But it's the only shred of honesty I can give so please accept it...
Because I do not know how to forgive myself for this tower of lies I built over the last month and a half.

I am not a good friend.

I try...

And you know I try. But I haven't been trying as hard as I used to.
But I want to try and make things right.

I have convinced myself that heaven seems too high up for me to get to.
And I'm here asking you to tell me there is still a chance for me to be saved from my life.

I went to church today for the first time in months.
I saw old friends, and read new verses... I learned more.
Although I still feel like an outcast in this place we call "safe".

I can't feel your presence near me even when I pray.
It's like I've cut the communication lines and there is no repairing them.

I am willing to work for my life.
I will build houses of faith and sing praises until I drop, but it won't be enough.

I work well under pressure. So if you told me that getting to heaven was as simple as building a ladder as high as I could in 24 hours, I would work through war and hellfire to get there.

I would climb every rung until the ladder ended above the clouds and started feeling like the solid foundation of a life restarted.

I can only hope you will accept me with open arms, forgiveness...

And a "hello."

The three poems I have made private here are all about you.

It seems like everything about my opinion of you is some kind of private matter.

Honestly...

I still care about you.
I think you're amazing.

Maybe I still love you.
But not in the same way I used to.

I'm sorry I'm not worth all that much nowadays.

I just wanted you to know that I'm going into therapy soon.

Getting help.

After all.

You said I needed to "sort myself out".
Okay.

I've been through a lot of things that shouldn't have happened to good people like us.

Or maybe I was never that good person.

Who am I kidding?

You're not reading this.

Last time you did, things went wrong and now all those poems are private.

So.

I can't even muster up any courage to say "hi" in any situation.

So I won't.

Makes things easier.

Okay.

Sorry I didn't try harder.
Sorry I wasn't there.
Sorry I called you late at night.
Sorry I still remember the circus.
Sorry I still want to send you gifts for your birthday and Christmas.


I...

Sorry I didn't say anything the right way or even at the right time.

Anyways... talk later?

Or never I guess.

You'll be busy.

And I have a therapy session to go to.

Shut up and listen to me.

I am, and always will be broken.
I've changed, everyone changes, that's life.
I am a cynical, overtired, crying mess and that is the most beautiful thing I can say about myself right now.

Classic, I know.

I can't love myself yet.
But I do not need to right now.

Let me feel this pain for what it is and let it drag me through the cement until I freeze in my despair.

I will come back when they drill me out of my shock.

But as for my presence, I left that at home.
And I left home with someone else, and someone else took home on a backpacking journey with "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey blasting through their senior year headphones.

I left home, and home left me, what is the difference? Can't you see I'm struggling to know where my home is.

I need to pick back up, and when I do home will come back to me.

Because shouldn't home be here?

Shouldn't I be here?

Home should be with me, I should be with me, I should BE, I should see the presence of God and be present in awe of that.

I should be home.

Home is with them, and they are not with me.

Home should be mine to have, and theirs to rent.

Home should be here.
Home is me.

Home is here.

HOME is HERE.

Home is here **** it.

HOME IS HERE!



Hip hop and punk rock played its way out of my playlist when they paid their last rent and left for a new house.

Home is empty.

The house is mine now.

Home is mine.
Home is me.

Home is here.

You said if I ever write a poem about you, that I should read it to you. Well here you go:

You should know I’m never the best at making first impressions. And although this isn’t the first time we’ve met, I still think I have something to prove. We never have as much time as we thought we did, and maybe that’s because we only have so much time to begin with.

Because you’re a story of sorts. And I’m not much of a reader anymore, but I can’t seem to get enough of how you view the world. Let me assure you, I’m listening.

I don’t really know how to say that I sometimes seem to want to know somebody even though we’ve never met. I remember handing you math notes, only to find that you’d disappear from math class like math notes disappear in school binders. How strange is it that you’d reappear from math notes to music notes?

A scripture of musical notation written on your skin and suddenly I needed to know who you were. But here I am asking about your tattoos thinking, “We’ve never met”. Only to be reminded of math notes I didn’t remember for tests I didn’t study for. So my first impression happened twice it seems.

And you seem so nice, offering your writing for mine. Offering up stories like it was over a nice dinner… or some type of wine was it? Offering up my listening ears only to find out how different we truly are. And how odd is it that we’ve met before?

Now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine chalkboard hearts without wondering for whom the heart beats. Scrawling signatures like the chalk was meant to be permanent. I’m not much of a cursive writer, just a songwriter of sorts.

Like I said, we don’t have much time. You’ll leave soon, and I’ll wait another year to wonder if somebody else will offer up their hands as a gesture of kindness. And they will, but they won’t be your hands.

Forgive me if I ever forget your name, or the reason why I wrote this. But if we meet again and I ask about your tattoos, you can tell me all about them all over again. And between music notes and math notes, I’ll look at you and ask with the smallest bit of doubt, “Have we met?”.

And this time, I’ll let you make the first impression.

Some days, I'll just sit in my room and listen to one song on repeat.

I'll slowly make my way to my poetry, and find myself feeling more empty than poetry needs me to be.

Poetry is the letter someone spilt water on but you can still read whatever was written on it because for whatever reason the world decided to be nice for a minute.

My sister is nice too. I think you can say I've only really known her for 7 or 8 years. We were too far apart in age for me to even care she existed for the beginning of my life. And just as I get comfortable with her being here, being home...

She moves to another country.

I guess one way or another, your heroes do fly away.

My best friend is a girl named Baer. Although, I cannot tell you if I'm her best friend, she is mine.
I always seem to latch on to people who seemingly don't show a lot about how they think of me.

Maybe I just don't look hard enough, but isn't that what all self-deprecating people do? Avoid mirrors and self-image until they come to scourge it? Punching out mirrors either cuts you up or picks apart your reflection, and hey, whatever.....

It's just you.

Baer's sister is a whole other story, funny and open, far away from time to time, but wanting a hug when the time comes.

I've always been the type of person to idolize others who treat me well. Perhaps it's because I think so much of them compared to myself. But it's okay.

I would do anything for them.

I'm so full of everything for the people who are everything to me.

And for myself... I'm no hero.
Capes just aren't my style.

It's raining.

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?

My headphones are on.
I know what I'm hearing.
And I hope you can hear my heart break with every hit.
There is no excuse.
There is no cover up.

You wouldn't allow me to sit idly by and listen to you drain the blood from your hands.
I've been there, I've done that.
100,
200,
300,

Are you even counting? I'm not, and even I know you've doubled up on the hits.

I can hear it.

Can you?

It's 10:00 at night and it's been at least a half hour since you've eaten something. You make your way to the kitchen, empty bowl in hand. You place the bowl with the ***** dishes and the world slows down as you turn to see the small container with your name on it...

I hate it.

You grab a glass of juice and stare at the container down. As if the black that so neatly stamps your name could stare back. You open the kid proof cap and pour out half its contents into your dominant hand.

Just to feel the weight of death in you dominant hand. "Take 2 twice daily." They said.

The half orange, half yellow capsules still in my palm. Feeling the plastic-like coating I feel like I could crush in 2 seconds flat.

Freeze.

Time stops.

This, is when the protagonist eats as many pills as her body will allow, when she gives in, when she dies. This movie is almost over...

Nobody else is awake, it's just you and your handful of pills.

No.

This movie goes on, the protagonist will live.

You-- are not built on a mountain of clichés and stereotypical archetypes.

You.
Are.
Here.

And still alive!

You pour the pills back into the container, with 4 still left in you hand. You take 2 but you still feel like it's stuck in your throat, so you eat something small to force it down. Even though these pills are supposed to be take on an empty stomach...

You get a glass of water, and set that aside with the 2 remaining pills for tomorrow morning.

Now go to sleep, make sure this protagonist lives to take the Hollywood medication tomorrow.

Sidenote: I highly recommend listening to these songs/watching the musical, it is amazing.

Example:
Song title: Lyrics *My thoughts/feelings

Anybody Have A Map?:

Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?*  
I'm in this confusion so deep that I can't find a way out.
I'm flying blind, and I'm making this up as I go.
Ha. Me too.

Waving Through a Window:

Step out, step out of the sun if you keep getting burned.
I've been burning forever.
Waving through a window!
Put your soul into this song.

For Forever:

We share.
Together.
All we see is sky for forever.
An ecstasy I do not know.
All we see is light, 'cause the sun burns bright!
Shouting hallelujah from here.
Life will be alright for forever this way.
I hope so.

Sincerely, Me:

All that it takes is a little reinvention!
I need that.
All you gotta do, is just believe you can be who you wanna be.
Just believing right?
Sincerely, ME!
Yep.

Requiem:

I will sing no requiem.
Neither will I.
I gave you the world, you threw it away. Leaving these broken pieces behind you.
I know.
Everything wasted, nothing to say.
I know.
Within these words I finally find you.
The words are not mine.
Now that I know that you are still here.
I am?

If I Could Tell Her:

But he kept it all inside his head, what he saw, he left unsaid.
Secrets work wonders do they not?
If I could tell her, tell her everything I see. If I could tell her how she's everything to me. But we're a million worlds apart... And I don't know how I would even start.
How do we begin to say the words?...

Disappear:

No one deserves to be forgotten. No one deserves to fade away.
Nobody.
No one should come and go, and have no one know he was ever even here.
I'll make sure of it.

You Will Be Found:

Well, let that lonely feeling... wash away.
I should let the weight drop from my shoulders.

To Break In A Glove:

And a little uphill climb.
Just more work.
For a kid who's lost control.
I'm just trying to make sense of it all.

Only Us:

Try to quiet the noises in your head. We can't compete with all that.
No we can't. But we try.

Good For You:

And you say what you need to say, so that you get to walk away.
Everyday.
I hope that it's all that you want and more.
I'm not proud.
And you play who you need to play.
I did.
JUST LET ME OUT!
I am not okay.

Words Fail:

I never thought that it would go this far.
I really didn't.
So I just stand here sorry. Searching for something to say.
I am still searching.
There's nothing I can say.
There really isn't.
Words fail.
They do.
That's a worthy explanation, I know. Nothing can make sense of all these things I've done.
I wish I could make it up to you.
So how do I step in...

Step into the sun?

I wish I knew how...

So Big/So Small:

And I knew I'd come up short a million different ways.
And I did.
And I do.
And I will.
And I will... I already have...

Finale:

Today is going to be a good day, and here's why:
Because today, at least you're you and that's enough...
That's enough.

All I see is sky for forever...

Curtains close.

I'm going home.

Yeah... I'm going home.

The truth about being a superhero, is that only certain people know when to call us at exactly the right time. When the world is about to break into chaos and when the cities need us to be there.

But this isn’t exactly the job I thought it was going to be. I have devoted myself to being the best I can be for the people of my city, for freedom and justice, and for you. And for the first few months of my job, I was everywhere.

People knew my name, I was in every newspaper, children looked up to me, put me on their lunchboxes, they wanted to be me…

They say heroes aren’t born, they’re made. But I was born! Of  the kindness of my mother, and the bravery of my father to create this image of strength. I am a superhero! I can fly, can you fly? Can you wear this suit? Can you handle the responsibility?

Not all of my city wanted a superhero. Some of them became the villains. And it’s not like I can’t handle a few bad guys, but sometimes, the citizens are my kryptonite.

Sometimes they don’t want me, one day they praise me and the work that I’ve done, the next day, they say they don’t need another hero, I’m just another problem, they say “Leave us the way that you found us: broken. And not needing anybody around to fix it.”

But I’m not perfect either. I can fly, but gravity still brings me back to earth, I can run, but not from my problems, I can carry cars with my two hands. But the weight of the world still sits on my shoulders.

The day they told me to leave the city, I reminded myself that if I harmed any one person, broke my promise to be the sole keeper of freedom and justice for all. That I would hang up my cape and quit.

And I did. I became human again, I am not as strong as you made me out to be. You told me I wasn’t needed. And soon after the villains had returned and they were shouting for me to save them again.

I thought you didn’t want me, stop it, I’m no hero, I’m just a person. Please, my powers only do so much. Do you still need me to save you? I’m just an alien, a science experiment, a mutant, a drawing in a comic book.

I am not your superhero! I can’t do this anymore! It was you who pushed me away, you fear my powers, you fear me. But I didn’t do anything wrong.

Please… Just let me go.  You are the heroes now. Just let me go.

...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 would've stayed up into the midnight hours for a conversation I cannot wish to have.

It is a forbidden thing to ask for conversations I am not allowed to even grasp.

I have seemed to love and lost but not lived.

Have I not suffered enough?

I am not even close to Shakespearean in voice or writing but I stand anyway.

When asked what time to you favour most, do I dare answer honestly?

I would've answered sometime in the midnight hours all those years ago.

And now, I would give anything for a night's rest for a fort night straight.

And yet, nothing comes of these times going by and by.

I do not dare say I love the night.

But rather say I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun...

You know I'm a simple human, I don't worry about much except for school, and food, and work opportunities, and the future in general.

And the future is big, it's one of my personal biggest fears, connected to my fear of the unknown.

I like to know when and where things happen and why. Needless to say, I'm an organized person.

I don't worry about much.
Sorry, I lied, I worry way more than I used to.

I can't do much of anything without needing confirmation and reassurance that I'm gonna be okay.

Mostly because I'm not okay.

Sorry, I shouldn't do this.
I do this thing where everything I write becomes about the same sorry tragedy, starring me as the main character.

But far from any kind of protagonist.

My best friend texts me and asks me if I'm doing okay, and I tell them "I don't want to talk about the end of the world".

At least, that's what I would say if I had a best friend.

Sorry, am I lying too much? There's only been two lies, and that's too much on the record for most people so just don't stop to address my mouth, just walk away in hopes that I might shut up.

When I was a kid, it becomes the end of the world when a classmate lets the entire class know who your crush is. And that sinking feeling that happens when I wonder if Jason would like a girl like me.

So yeah, the world's ending. But 10 years later Jason turned into a *******, so it's not that big of a deal.

If you believe in multiple dimensions, any one of those worlds could end just when the story gets good, like a cliff hanger that never gives you closure, or when a song cuts off because your phone died.

Like popping the question and before deciding to spend the rest of your life with someone you might love forever, the world splits in two and you fall away.

The world ends.

I want to live to answer that question like the world won't end until it has an answer from me. But somedays, even I'm indecisive.

When a test score comes back and it's just below what you wanted or needed it to be, the world ends.
When you put on your seatbelt on before your first driver's exam, the world ends.
When there is only one Oreo cookie left in the package, the world definitely ends.

December 21st, 2012, we were so convinced the world was gonna end, we made a movie about it that only managed to get 39% on Rotten Tomatoes.

And where was I the night before?

In karate class. My sensei standing before the class, shrugging it off saying "So the world's ending tomorrow... let's do some work".

The world goes on.

But when I woke up successfully the day after doomsday on the 22nd, I was surprised to be alive. Because what is any average kid supposed to think?

I was scared. But we continued on to Christmas anyway.

2017 comes along and we have yet another eclipse, one of many passed and yet to come.

I did not look up to see the sky shining of falling, my heart couldn't take it.

I am told, it is a sign. A link in the long chain of events leading up to coming of the Anti Christ, to the ends of the earth as we know it.

I have woken up countless times more scared of the ground falling out from under me than the sky falling onto me. I don't need alien invasions, or nuclear war, or acid rain, or killer volcanoes, or my own depression because the world is ending, and I don't want to talk about it.

They ask, "You're a Christian aren't you? Why are you scared? Of death, or the end, or anything?".

Being religious, and afraid are two worlds I'm told are never meant to touch, but yet they are still ending. I still haven't read the book of Revelation like a "Good Christian" Because I'm afraid of scaring myself. The world is going to end!

I did have a best friend.

Or at least, I treated them that way.

They said, "Death, is just another adventure. that's why I'm not scared of it."

I ruined my friendship with them about 8 months ago.

I haven't spoken to them in...

In..

I'm sorry. I can't remember.

But suddenly it feels like the first grade crush reveal all over again.

But it's different now.

Someone has left me.
And it hurts.

The world is ending...

And I don't want to talk about it.

I would still apologize.
But I would ask why it was so easy for her to leave me.

I would ask...

Can't you just...

Stay?

Please...

Don't leave me.
Again.

I'm not going to beat down on any religion.
That's a battle I don't need to be a part of.
Let alone, get on the wrong side of.

But here's the thing.

Something is very wrong with me.

What? I don't know.

It's not something under diagnosis or investigation, but it can **** as far as I can tell.

Long story short, I don't want to hear the good news.

We make it so easy to complain about nothing, and yet we stick to the things we hate.

Don't want homework?
Don't go to school.

Some people will take that advice, and most people will rebel against it and stick to school, because something will benefit surely...

Don't want to put up with the parents?
Leave home.

Don't want to feel pain?
Don't start feeling love.

Don't want someone to forget about you?
Become the worst possible version of yourself.

People can't seem to forget everything bad about the world.

Don't want to deal with the guilt of being a terrible person?
Then don't acknowledge anyone.

Don't want the pressure of being surrounded by people who hate you?
Then don't go anywhere.

You see none of these suggestions seem appealing at first.
But when you face this everyday, every answer comes out bland, and boring, cynical.

Like emotion you say them with.

Don't try.
Don't care.
Don't live.

It's too easy to give up!

But I do it anyway.

I can't handle hearing good news.

Or rather, hearing good things about myself.

Do not tell me I am better than this, I know I'm not.
Don't tell me I'm special, or that I'm redeemable, or worthy of anything above this.

Because I know...

I know deep down in this body there is a monster who's been uncaged before.

It's dying to get out...

And I'm dying to live.

Your average human body has hair, a head, arms, legs, a torso, hands and feet, eyes, ears, a brain and heart...

But if my body is made of music, are my arms mallets? Are my legs the legs of a piano?

Is my heart the drum that my feet will always follow? The metronome that my body will always follow?

Is my DNA coded in sheet music?

Are my hands the baton? Are my fingers the keys? Is my spine a xylophone, each vertebrae a singular key?

Fact: The average human body will eventually narrow down to only 207 bones. Are my 207 bones each a separate instrument? All part of the orchestral body,

--This STAGE!

If they say music never dies, do I die?

Does my soul live on generations after I am gone? Will people still remember me?

If my body is made of music...

Will you still listen?
Even if the song is over?

In all honesty, there are always going to be people you can't stand. Like the teachers you hate, or political leaders, or just stupid people. But I might as well stop myself from talking about it before getting carried away.

I don't always feel my voice is very subtle, I'm told I'm a very loud person. And that's only true when I want it to be.

I kind of just hate money... and politics, and people, and anything and everything that makes me live up to world standards.

I've got an anger problem, I dream about getting into fights and then I imagine winning and suddenly everybody thinks I'm dangerous.

I should probably tell my sister I love her, but if I'm being honest, I have to tell my other sister I hate her.

I don't know how smart I'm supposed to be, or if I should act like I don't care anymore. If I could shoot up a building, I think I would. Not because I want to.

But because I ---



...


*Nobody ever told me how to put an end to this...

I promise you I am safe every night.

I don't need a bodyguard.
I don't need a guardian angel.

I know you're out there somewhere away from me.

And that's okay.

I should tell you I still imagine myself in the hospital.

I sometimes wish I was in critical condition just so you would have a reason to talk to me without feeling weird, awkward or forced into it.

Although hospitalization is a weird way of forcing you to see me out of guilt.

Mostly because if I was dying...

You would show up only if you really did care.

It is not enough for me to just let you go.
I may have stopped talking, or stopped crying.
But I never stopped hurting.

And I reach out, I hope for you with all I can. I'm still on your side.

So if you end up at my hospital bedside...

I want to hear you say it.

That you care.
That you never stopped caring.
That you actually want me around.
That you want me to live.

Or just that you don't want me to die thinking that you didn't give a ****.

Because that's what this still feels like.

That's what walking away does to a person.

I'm safe here. I will not go anywhere.

But I still hold out optimism for you.
For us.

But I was told, "Things will not go back to the way they were."

So I guess that optimism is just ******* right?
It doesn't mean anything.

I know you wish I would just simply tell you this face to face.
But in all honesty...

I'm not brave.
I'm not as strong as you thought I was.

So I write instead.
You told me I could write to you anytime.
And you would be here.

But now you're gone.
And I can't do anything about it.

So I will continue to pray for your safety for as long as I can.

Because I don't know when I'll see you again.
And I've told you I fear the day when I don't.
You told me I would.
But that was before...

Things are different now.
And despite all the pain...

I'm still safe.
And I'm still...

Holding on.

I've said this so many times to so many different people.

I have been told this phrase by maybe 4 of those people.

2 of which for sure don't miss me anymore.

1 I'm not sure of, and the other does miss me.

But it was out of desperation, and bad decisions, so that one doesn't really count...

I miss you.
I miss you.


I miss you...

I'm so... so...

sorry.

I haven’t slept in 2 years. I haven’t eaten in 5, I’m not lying.

People lie everyday. “Little white lies” we call them. They mean nothing at all. It won’t hurt anybody. What could possibly happen if I told a lie?

Some people are bad liars, and some lies are just bad.

I’m not a bad liar. But people just don’t believe me when I say anything. Everything I say becomes a lie in another person’s ears, they won’t listen.

So if I tell bad lies on purpose will anybody notice? I’ll mix up the truth with bad lies and see if people can tell the difference.

I’ve never broken a bone, I’ve never been drunk, I’ve never forgotten a birthday. Do you know which statement is true? And which one was the lie?

I’ve been sick for 10 years, my IV is made of tears, my cereal tastes like regret, I’m not lying.

I’ve forgotten my own name, I forgot where I came from, I left my consciousness on the bus. I’m not lying.

It’s very easy to ignore an obvious lie, when you know the truth. But I’m not lying…

My heart is broken, my dignity stolen, and my future is no more. I’m not lying.

My friends are gone, along with my dad and mom, my sibling disappeared. I’m not lying.

My chest hurts, my ribs are shattered, and as for me. Well, there’s not a lot of me left. I’m not lying.

I can’t stop myself from constantly running away from the truth, lies are just so much easier to tell.

They say the truth sets you free…
Ok… Let’s try again.

The poem is filled with lies, some of them easier to say than others. But I want to start telling the truth now.

I want to start this poem over. I want to be better than this. I know I’m better than this… And maybe you can hear it in my voice. But I promise. I’m not lying…

I woke up sick.
And I feel awful.

But not for the reason you think.

I can assure you that I am fine, I just need some time to lucid dream and wish my worries away. But that might never happen. And honestly, that's okay with me.

I'm wearing the same infected clothes, and wrapping up in the same infected blanket hoping to get better.

I've gotten the rest of my family sick, so good for me.
Because my family is made up of some of the strongest people I know. We never get sick.

And yet, here we are. Bound to our beds and eating soup like it's the elixir of life.

But we will get better. Physically...

As for everything else... we can leave that until tomorrow.

But I'm still in these infected, sick clothes. But I'm too tired to do anything about it. So I'll sleep.

It's the best thing I can do right now.

Don't you think?

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.

Hello, my name is selfless, I only care about other people so don’t ask me how I’m doing I am only concerned with your well being.

Hello, my name is forgetful and I keep forgetting you name and pretty much everything else about you.

Hello, my name is confusion, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Can you help me out??

Hello, I’m apologetic and I’m sorry for everything thing I’ve done, or have done, or things I never did I’m sorry.

Hello, most people call me silence, you can find me in many places but I find the most comfort in peoples discomfort of awkwardness.

Hi, I’m solitude, and I don’t want anything to do with you STAY AWAY FROM ME.

My name is anger and I hate everything and everyone for absolutely no reason, but if you want I can give you a million reasons to justify my actions.

My name is lonely, and I just want you to hold my hand so that maybe it can stop shaking so much.

People sometimes call me disappointing and I hold onto that like it’s the only part of this cliff I can hold onto to keep myself from falling.

Hello, I’m transparent and I’m thinner than the page of the book you used to read, so thin that you can see right through me, or maybe not even see me at all.

Hi, my name is dictionary, and I know how to describe your whole life in many words you may never understand.

Hello

My name is Swingline.

And I would make a name for myself to describe what I think I am or what I’m supposed to be. But the name I seek…

Isn’t in the dictionary yet.

And I've been crying everyday for the past 4 days...

I'm afraid I'll write this all too fast because of how eager and nervous I am in this moment.

Because you are a million miles away it seems, but all I have to do is say your name and suddenly you are...here.

I never knew how much I needed you until I spent months hearing from you, but never hearing you talk to me face to face.

But my dear, I long for the nights where I will receive an out-of-context text from you at 2 am only because of the timezone difference.

My hands sweating for no real reason.

I guess I really am trying to tell you I love you.

But I'm always to cutesy about it.

Always saying "love ya!" in a text, but I want to say it as though it means so much that the universe will get my words straight to you.

I've never loved anyone more than I love music or God, but I want to come close to that sometime soon.

I don't need a single day to go by without you knowing that you are so beautiful.

And people love it so much they almost hate it.

It is that genuine.

I'm sorry I can't always think of you and remember that I am also a living, breathing person.

I forget myself far too often in the presence of so many good people.

Or I guess...

People who are too good to have me in their life sometimes.

You're probably asleep right now.
Now who's up at 2am?

Ahaa....

I'll just be here.


I love you too much to wake you up.

So just sleep a while.

I'll see you soon.

Or at least I hope so.

Oh!

I almost forgot to say this...

In case you forgot.

I love you.

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

Fact:** My sister is a wonderful human being.


After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.

She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.

She gives one to me.

The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.

I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.

But it didn't last.

After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.

I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.

Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.

My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.

Walking away from everything.

But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.

A shining star.

Listen to me old friend.

I'm going to go crazy, or have a panic attack very soon.

It's going to be violent.

And uncomfortable.

And I'm going to cry.

So please.

I am a coward who can only look back once and then break.

I don't expect you to talk to me ever again.

And I don't plan on this poem reaching you by any means.

But I would appreciate it if you thought about calling.

But you know what?

Maybe you won't, honestly, I'm never sure I'm worth your time because you never seem to show it.

You're a busy person, with a life and job.

I'm broke as all hell, unemployed, and the single worst person to break after a text message.

But I will be panicking or going crazy soon.

So yeah...

Just thought I'd let you know.

From "Unsolicited Advice To Adolescent Girls With Crooked Teeth And Pink Hair" By Jeanann Verlee*

"When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you're a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won't have anything to grab when you head-**** her...


Then, head-**** her."

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.

Truth be told, I probably need therapy, or counselling I'm not sure.
But I'm not going to get involved in that.

So instead I go to a karate class twice a week. And it's a good outlet for anger.

Just imagine the person or thing you're currently mad at and go crazy. Punch, kick, fight!

Make it known that you are blazing mad! Don't back down until you have won!

When the class is over, you're probably tired, you've used a lot of your energy, so you can maybe sleep your anger off.

But somedays, you rage does not give up, it sticks with you and you're still not satisfied with the service, you want a refund? Well too bad, you don't get one! Remember, this is not a real therapy session...

Maybe I should go into therapy -- or counselling.

Because even if you fight with all your rage and anger and hate, you won't win a fight if the person you're mad at --

If the person you are fighting...

Is yourself.

If there are any at all...

From here to Paris.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Paris from here.

We are the written ammunition of this literary military.*

~April 1st, 2017~

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.

I once asked my parents if I could join cadets. They asked me if I knew what cadets grew up to be. I never brought it up again.

I got into a fight with a friend about her ex. We haven't spoken in months. She still hasn't forgiven me...

Someone detuned the piano in my mind and now music sounds awful. I want to find where melody and harmony met and made a straight line coming back to me.

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 have never felt stronger than when I allow myself to make choices that nobody else would dare make for me. Because I am the divide between the words “yes” and “no”, I am a choice.

This choice comes to us in many forms but for those of us who wonder about how many choices we have left, we ask ourselves, “Where can we go from here?”

I have never attempted suicide, but I have thought about it many times. I have seen death in many forms. Usually, they come in the most harmless appearances.
I too, have held pills in my hand and felt the weight of death. And it didn’t weigh anything.

Death is a lightweight… and a heavy subject.

I rely on my faith to pull me together but if you turn things the opposite way they can become something terrible. My faith’s cross turned upside down is a representation of the devil and a simple necktie turned upside down is just a fancy way of hanging yourself.

Simple things can become deadly if you let them. The window you used to gaze out of, marveling the world, is now a doorway spiraling downward and few people stand up when they get to the bottom, but everyone stood tall at the top.

A plastic bag can hold your food, a necessary thing for you to live, but plastic can take you oxygen away, another thing you need to live. You need water to live, but you also need water to drown, at least in most cases.

There is a red rope hanging on a hook on my bedroom ceiling, representing a story from the bible, a woman wanted to be saved because she knew that her city was going to crumble into pieces. So she hung a red rope from her window for God’s people to find her and take her away from death.

But the red rope seems to close to a noose now…

So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I even try to attempt a choice only I have the ability to make, why can’t I do this to myself?!

I know there are people who will actually consider a choice, and go through with it, or they will fail and suffer afterwards. But for me… I have wondered who will miss me when I go. Who will be the first to know, the first to cry, the first one to consider the same choice I made after I made that choice, this choice… Is mine to make…

But I decided to stop. This is not a choice I make for me, it is a reminder that I still have another day, that I have another chance. I am the divide between “yes” and “no”. So for the people who still care about me, I looked death in its eyes… and I said “no”.

My Dear Friend,

It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve tried writing this letter at least 10 times because I can’t decide how to write it. Friend, life has not been treating me well.

You see life is like a video game. You can make choices, say certain things do certain things, you can choose to progress, or hit pause for a while. But I’ve never saved my game. I always try to restart and redo choices to stop making mistakes, I try.

But in the end we never do win a game that we were never taught how to play. We were not given a manual to tell us what to do.
Ages and birthdays are like levels friend. A checkpoint to come back to but sometimes… I find it difficult to try playing this game again, maybe I just got bored again.

I choose to write you a letter because talking to you in person is sometimes a challenge I don’t have the strength to face. And I’m not afraid to talk to you. I’m just afraid of talking.

If I say your name too many times it might lose its meaning, repeating words over and over again until they don’t mean anything anymore. So I will say your name only when I absolutely have to. Your name means too much to me, I will not let it lose meaning.

Listen, I’ve been praying for you every night that you’re still alive. That I’ll see you soon. I haven’t slept in what seems like forever, but I don’t really see why sleeping is something I still have to do.

I’m losing consciousness and I can’t speak in full sentences as well as I used to. But this is the price you pay for playing a risky game.

I should probably send this letter tomorrow, but I’m tired. And if I don’t keep myself awake I’ll never get up in the morning. But, I haven’t said anything in this letter that makes any sense. I’m trying to figure this out on my own. But you’re not exactly close by.

When you get this letter friend, please... Come home.

I’ll be waiting by the street corner, and we’ll watch the stars like we used to.

Be safe, be kind, and be brave. I’ll see you soon ok?

Definition of Selfless:* Putting others before yourself to the point where "you" don't matter anymore.

Definition of Pain: One of the two things that I believe all people have in common. The other thing? Love.

Definition of Love:  --ERROR-- Lost in translation.

Definition of Nothing: Nothing...

Definition of Feeling You've got tons of it don't you?

...

Don't you?

Definition of Me: A personal title I call myself. Also known as *"you" in a sense.

High and mighty and greater than "you".

Because "me", a self proclaimed name that doesn't deserve its definition. Because "I" am hurt, and in "pain", and out of "love", and too "selfless" to take care of "me". So that makes "me"...

*"Nothing."

If the name fits, then fine.

But if it doesn't, then what more can you really do?

As for me?

I named my sadness after I realized I've have it for so long I might as well name it.

So I named it "Hello."

No wonder I'm so bad at starting conversations.

I realized my happiness comes and goes so often that I might as well just say...

Goodbye.

And the name sticks.
At least until someone comes up to me with a "Hello" of their own.

And I will only say "Goodbye" when I know they're happy without my "Hello".

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.

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.

I felt so sad as I took a jar of paper stars from the top shelf of my school locker and held it close to my chest as I walked down the halls and I knew you were watching... Arden.

You just didn't do anything.

You knew what it was like to cling to life the same way you hung from death, like it was some kind of sick game. However, this is not a one player kind of match now, is it?

I powerwalked through the halls once, wanting so much to die. I had no plans, just a few ideas. You know, I didn't consider hanging myself in my mind to be a "plan to die" because I didn't actually write out the plans, I just thought about them a little too much.

I answered "No." when asked if I made plans to **** myself, because in my mind, I really didn't make plans.


When asked if I was homicidal, I don't remember what I said, but I remember not saying "no". I remember that I've imagined punishing people, but never killing people. I want to hold their lives in my grasp and hear them apologize like they actually mean it.

But I am too nice for that. Too Christian for that.

It takes a strong person to lift weights, but a stronger one to lift the personal weight off your own back.

I've thought about retiring my poetry career 10 years too early, not even making it to my mid-twenties before quitting simply because there were too many people too eager to get offended at my work.

I will not play innocent to your sickly made games.

I am no fool.

Although, I will not retire my poetry career just yet. Because every time I feel the urge to quit, I am here at 3:22am writing long strings of poetry.

Arden's gonna have a fricken sleeve of tattoos.
Alex is gonna have pain.
Baer is gonna have me taking care of her sister.

But who really cares about that? Because Arden's gonna have something.

Arden has friends,

education,
teachers,
a job,
a life.

Arden's gonna have love.

Arden's gonna have ******' love.


Alex is not going to beg for my jaw unhinged from all the fighting.
Alex will not bend.
No sir.


Baer has hired me as the worlds worst babysitter, and her sister, only a few years younger than I already holds me to a higher standard than most.

But Arden has more to life than me.

There's no comparison.

I too, want to die when I'm not staying up this late to escape my thanatophobia.

I will not live to see Arden's graduation.

But I will live to see the hurricane that comes after it.

I don't feel special Baer.

But no one really needs to know that.

We are, according to society and this grand world that we live in: Nothing.

Compared to the greatest of Gods and vastness of universes, we are not even able to completely understand how we are not even the dust in the wind.

How we might matter so little to the world.
And at the same time, how little the world can matter to us.

But what about us?

What about us is so special?

Why do we fight for our legacy? Why do we try so hard that it hurts? Why do we care?

Well...

Why the hell not?

It is just so easy to disregard that as an answer?

Maybe the reason, we don't accept "why not?" as an answer it because it's so simple.

It is so easy to just say that something is because well.... it is!

But we overcomplicate that. We try to justify everything in its complexity and we find plot holes, or evidence of a crime, something to praise or blame for the answer to "Why?".

I stopped asking that question simply because there isn't a point to asking a question you already know the answer to.

So again, now that I know why we do things the way we do...
What is so special about us being like that?

I see you, you know.
I see everything.
I pay attention to the small things.
And I write about the details when you don't care to notice them yourself.

I do this in order to earn the title of "Poet" but I don't have the goods to back it up yet.

Yet...

I see you.
And I also see us.
I see the suffering that we go through, and try to make sense of it.
I see a car, and picture the destination.
I see a sign, and imagine the paint still drying.
I see myself, and I am left speechless at what could've happened to me, and what I was lucky enough to get, assuming that I got something good.

And I mean, that's true because I had you for a time.

Promises can be empty.
Friend circles can be full.
Text messages can be messy, but I can translate.
And my words will always make absolutely no sense.

You are everything.
And so am I.
We can not be insignificant, or overlooked if we are this present.

Your smile could probably build another universe where we aren't so small in comparison to everything.

And I will never overlook that.

Because every good thing about us is still true.
Why?
Like I told you, it exists... it is.

So... why not?

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.