You saved me , you made
          A smile on my face

And then
                You left,
Leaving me broken.

Then,  I got
                 Sad.
And now there is blood on my wrists.

If there is a life after this--
One in which you could somehow
Look back upon the ones you left,
Observe by looking down--
If this world you can still see
Would you watch over me?

If in death your soul persists,
And your memories remain--
And you can recall your favorite color,
your favorite food, your name--
If you can remember who you use to be
Would you think of me?

If being dead, to the deceased,
Is just like a nap, except unending--
A swim through the subconscious
As the soul is ascending--
If you simply slip to sleep
Would you dream of me?

If dying means to stop existing--
No soul or ghost or whatever else--
One simply fades into nothing,
No resonating sense of one's self,
If you only persist in memories--false or true--
Would I remember you?

Long and dusty, small dirt road
Leading somewhere I don't know.
Could just be a dead end;
Have to turn around, come back again.
Someday my steps I might retrace;
Someday end up back in this place,
Greet old friends I left behind,
Put small back roads out of my mind.
But, today, that's not what I need.
Nowhere's where I need to be.
And if this road doesn't turn me back around
I'll find somewhere else to settle down.

Live and let live.
Live and let it go.
There's something I can't ask you.
Something I need to know.
Your memory is still haunting--
But it's not your ghost that moans.
It's the phantom of what you slayed when
You left me on my own.
You couldn't let it live.
I can't let it go.
I want to ask you why--
But I don't want to know.

I’ve got an ache that comes and goes,
an ache right on the brain.
Not a headache, a brainache,
actually inside my brain.
Sometimes, it makes it hard to think,
or do or talk and other times,
I seem to lose control of my face
and have to stop and think:
Did I smile right?
Then I have to test it,
shifting my mouth into something
that is possibly called a smile.
I try not to look in the mirror when I do it.
It’s hard you see, the mirror.
Can you be allergic to mirrors?
I come out in a rash when I see one,
and I can’t help but scratch it
and then it spreads.
It’s almost like going into shock
and I can’t help it, but I want to take
a knife to my face and slice it
into easy peeling strips.
I’ve tried painkillers and hayfever tablets
but they don’t seem to do the trick.
Did I forget to mention this burning inside me?
Actually inside, not my organs, but the cavity
within me. Sometimes, it will burn for hours,
though I’m not sure what keeps it going.
I feel rather hollow inside at other times,
and the measly kindling that makes me up
could hardly sustain a fire for long.
Oh, and then there’s a numbness in my arms
and in my legs. It gets worse when I go outside,
and I can’t quite decide if it’s really the floor
my legs are touching? Could it be something in the air?
Is there some kind of plant in season to explain it?
My eyes might be going too. I keep thinking
I’m seeing things. I’m not sure though, it’s probably
just dirt on my glasses.
But my balance and senses might be a bit off,
or maybe the batteries are going.
See, I can’t always feel the world around me like I should.
You know, just that feeling when you’re not sure
if life is real or not or if it’s just a dream or just a strange pointless
terrible fantasy someone had one day. You know.
Whatever it is, it’s doing weird things to my head.
Like I said, it’s an actual ache on the brain
and I keep catching myself calling myself the wrong name.
It’s not too much of an issue, but it’s a little confusing sometimes.
Oh, and did I mention the compulsive daydreaming
and the slowness and apathy and recurring wish to just die?
How long has this been going on for, you ask?
Let me see, I can’t remember.
A couple of weeks! No, no. Months. I think.
Maybe years. Yes, let’s say years, but I really can’t remember.
Yes, it has got worse recently.
Why didn’t I come sooner? You know how it is.
I kept thinking it would pass and I’m busy and – well,
Doctor, whenever I thought of coming I couldn’t help but ask myself:
Am I sad enough yet?
And the answer was no and is still no.
I want to be sadder.
You think you know what I’ve got? What? No blood tests,
no ***** samples, no examination? Not even –
Oh, you’re writing out a prescription.
Thank you Doctor, but it says here:
Smile more, worry less and enjoy yourself.
The prescription says to find the person I used to be,
and to avoid stress? Doctor, I don’t mean to doubt you, but –
Oh, okay, okay, I’ll give it a try. (But…)
Ah, and Doctor? One last thing. My kidney infection is back again.
Anti-biotics? Yes, those are the ones I had last time.
I’m sure they’ll do fine.

you know the monster who conquered your daughter?
the one who slept underneath her bed
and made noises in the closet just to get into her head?
the one that was grey with a red embrace,
the one that erased some important space... in - between her ears
encouraging her to grow up to face her fears with 9 bottles of beers.
but those tears would reappear when her closet would croak.
as she did when the grey man invoked her to choke--
when she was 13.
The grey man sunk her self-esteem like a sub-marine.
at 16 she started popping out window screens
and replacing her caffeine with green weeds that only helped her to forget 13.
22 and wanting to start new,
she moved to a place with a nice mountain view.
She dread the first night in bed with no light
despite that she might have read stories for good nights,
she shut her eyes and saw a sight that she despised,
a sight that supplies her whole night full of cries.
when she was 5 this man with a knife
stood over her bed,
there was something he said before he filled her head
with only the deep concerning color of red.
The words that he spoke turned him to a cloud of smoke
that she only thinks about while choking on lines of coke....
The monster now resides in your daughter
because the lines from her father
right before he was slaughtered..
were- "don't even bother to grow to be stronger,
because the longer you think you can conquer your life;
the  more you'll turn into  a monster...
and ****** your wife.
Daddy's leaving now,
But ill tuck you in every single night."