Oh hello there… What’s your name?
I can’t seem to hear you…
Ah, I see your problem.

See here?
This is where you look, It’s a hole in the door.
No no no…  Don’t knock. They know you’re here.
You see its made of glass, they see us, you and I
But we… we have this… little hole.

See?
We see them, but we’ll see the little things.
The unnoticed wink
The oh so slight smirk
The ever uncomfortable shrug.
They see us… It’s true!
But theres solid air
Right. In. between.

Don’t go screaming, don’t go shouting
You’ll only look the fool, I’m telling you.
So come over here, move on to the next hole,
See what you can see.

That girl over there? She’s just like us.
That guy there? He doesn’t like what we do.
Some people can’t stand it. We see their mistakes, or… insecurities.
But we don’t really know what’s going on… do we?

Now now… Don’t give me that look.
you know its true.
Just look here, I’ll show you.
Why… He looks sad, and the way he watches her?
Oh and her glare. Now… It’s not our place to judge, remember that.
We’re just watchers.

Most people don’t know about us, and few ever notice.
It’s true! There’s a difference between murmurs through this door
and a real conversation.
Ah, now you’re getting it. I can tell by your face.
Now now… Don’t look down, it’s just fine... you’re not alone.
Just keep an eye out.

See… Look here.
See her? She’s looking right at you.
She’s a rare one, just watch…
she’s walking straight towards us.

See… There are people, people out there, who see that door you're behind and the hole you’re looking through. They’ll see you… Just as you see them. And they’ll break this glass door.

Knock knock my friend

She’s calling you out
...
....
Now now… don’t cry, It’s just fine
.......
Yes… I know they’re happy tears.

Hold on tight, they’ll hold on just as hard.

Goodbye and take care.

I'm dead tired and sobbing on my bed again.
They'll blame it on the drugs,
They'll blame it on the parties,
They'll blame it on themselves,
The truth is I've dropped the ball again.
Lost myself amongst the forest that is my thoughts,
                                                                                        And the birds in the trees are mocking me because they ate the bread crumbs, the bread crumbs that were my way out. You would think it hard to get lost in a forest of saplings,
                                     Child trees just as I, somehow still growing despite mental states that no one will ever know about. Either way now I'm stuck, a gun in one hand and a knife in the other,
                                                                                                                                                    You'll ask me what they are for and I'll reply with nothing but a shrug and a set of words that will mean nothing to you and everything to me. You'll continue to voice concern, somehow appearing amidst the trees, but you could never stay for long, eventually evaporating into the mist you were made from, leaving me alone in the jumbled forest of waist-high trees.
                                                                            They're all mumbling short confused sentences all vying for air and sunshine, all hoping to be complete thoughts capable of cognition, but they are being choked, stepped and trodden on, leaving them dazed and confused, roots writhing in the ground, and I could never tell what gargantuan thing lurked amongst the saplings in my chest, but it ripped and tore at everything it touched. It's a poison that bit into my veins and sedated my muscles.
                                                                                                                                           It seeped into my everything somehow hiding behind a mask of cognitive thought, ever beyond the peripherals of sight.    
It holds me captive, whispering lewd suggestions and anxiety filled words into my ear,
                                                                                                                                                  It tells me I dropped the ball, and it caught it. Hands on my shoulders it'll bite my neck over and over again.
Could you ever see it? The demon tree, wrapped like a vine around my neck, thorns digging into soft flesh and wrapped, wrapped just tight enough to clip the words in my throat.
Could you ever hear it? Replace my words with it's own, of course not, you'll only ever hear the two words most often used as a lie, but that's fine, because I'm fine even though its taken control of the left hand, the one with the gun and it tries, tries so hard to pull the trigger, but it can't, not yet, because I have a knife at it's throat and it doesn't know that the knife is dull and can't cut anything but myself. So I stand stranded, caught feeling small and insignificant, unable to tell the difference in the mirror between myself and the demons.
                                                        The trees are dying and so am I. Laying in my bed, dead tired and sobbing.
If I died now,
They'd blame it on the drugs,
They'd blame it on the parties,
They'd blame it on themselves.
They'd never blame me.
So if you are reading this
and are fond of trees
and it's not too late
take the knife from my throat
and just promise, you won't turn into mist.

What do you do when life comes crashing down,
like waves of the ocean during high tide.
what do you do, when emotion comes flooding in
and you are forced to speak
and your mind reels
and your decision decides a life.

What wisdom do I speak,
that would wash it all away
and bring the tide back out.

I only wish now, that my tears would fall down,
and cleanse me of this night,
so I might see redemption in their eyes,
but I'd give that up to see them live.

Sitting on the fence, dipping my toes into two pools,
that both lead to death,
with those I wish to keep in close company,
urging, pushing, unknowingly,
as they defile life by slashing and crashing
at no fault of theirs.
I am stuck, pulling at those who would leap
off the fence.
All the while,
I know the fence will be done with me, and I'll be torn in two.
"sooner or later, somethings got to give."

I write this in confidence, that no one will read it. If it’s found, no one will see it. Its name is nameless just as I. Life can’t be so fair as to give me my name. My title is all I have as my life is lifeless, my work tireless, to write this, is a task no man can achieve. Only I, the one in the dark, that cannot see the light, no matter how hard I try. Only the blurry images tossed upon my path, that force me to stop to call out their last words, through these I see the world I can never touch. And so I write this in confidence that no one will read it.