the empty bottles under your bed prove how many times i was never there for you
and how you needed me instead of a handle of peppermint *****
but I wish you would've told me you bought a bottle from your boyfriend because if you had I would've been able to keep you from puking the feelings you've pushed to the darkest parts of your body,
but you thought it would help to think of Christmas but those red satin ribbons are supposed to be tied around presents
not draped across your wrists
and I'm so sorry that you couldn't feel it when I said I loved you because
****,
i do i do i do.

You paused to look at me as if you were browsing a book shelf
and your fingers brushed ever so slightly across my skin
hesitating, lingering, at my spine.

Then you chose me
you laid me down and opened me up
it wasn’t easy because not many have read me before.

Your eyes looked me up and down, side to side
taking it all in,
engorging yourself.

You licked your fingers before you turned my pages
for a steadier and more meaningful grasp.
You said paper cuts were pretty
and that they were safe with you.

But then,
you read something you didn’t like
slammed the book shut
and shoved it back on the shelf.

The nights have become the most difficult
(Never sleep again, never rest again)
To manage.
Deeper, dreadfully
I soar into what I do not believe,
Into a pain much too real
And much more haunting
Than I have ever experienced.
The ghosts are back, Stephen,
They have returned to become the captain
Of my being,
To lust and breed and **** again.
I feign interest
And parry their blows back
Though my defenses are falling
And the blanket on my bed
Is never,
(Never sleep, never lay)
Ever quite long enough to cover me.
My worries today
Are an overheating boiler,
(COME QUICK I NEED HELP
I'M DYING HERE)
Pumping steam and pressure
Out of my jagged edges.

It is getting harder and harder to breathe.
Do you believe in God, Stephen?
I know Kubrick called you and asked the same
Many years before my birth,
But today I need your answer more than ever,
In that my every move seems to propel me
Into many-a-numbered
Ceiling and wall traps
And I am being crushed,
(Never sleep, never rest)
Soiled and trampled at the hand of fate.
I once thought myself too intelligent to believe,
But now I need a higher faith
If only to know that darkness is never truly darkness
And the candles I have left burning in my body
Will never be blown out.

Did you really see that boy,
That childhood friend of yours
Struck down by a train
In your ever so tender youth?
Was his blood and brain matter
What came to you in your darkest hour
As you wrote about presidential suites
And Danny Torrance seeing reverse ******
Played out in front of him for eternity?
Is ****** played out for eternity in your mind,
Too?
(Do you Shine, Stephen?)

They taught us about you in school, Stephen.
They made you out to be a God in yourself,
A novel machine
Intent on overpowering the industry
For your own gain and prosperity.
But those who read you,
(Those who know, those who feel)
Know you as a human.
You spirit, you singer,
You light of my life,
(You twisted man, you monster, you seer of sights)
You have kept the world alive
With sparks and shines
Under eyelids
For decades.

Stephen, I have stuck my hand in the wasp nest again.
Bring me your salvation.
Bring me
(Your understanding, your writer-virtue.)

And so I write to you today,
A young girl of but 18
With her own Shine set to murderous visions
And Terrifying conundrums.
My ghosts follow swiftly in my foot trails
And your novels warm my lap as I try
(So hard, so)
Desperately
To hear your voice,
Bellowing with contempt,
Your tone so monotonous and
Matter of fact,
Even when speaking of such malicious things
I have to stop children from buying your movies at my job
Because I could get in trouble if they see
Jack Torrance kissing a decaying woman
Or Carrie being burned alive in her prayer closet.
(I could get in trouble with the law
If they see the truth you speak,
The tales of loss and preservation you weave.)

Because of you and the horror you have struck me with,
I leave the lights on.
I am fearful
(But so hopeful)
Within myself each day.

Because of you
I have seen men and women
Find peace
Within their own private Overlook Hotels
Housed deep and high
In the mountains of their own consciousness.
Because of you
I have found
(Breathe in, breathe out,
Nothing to see here)
Solace
In my self-contained
Madness.

In your budding years,
they said you weren't beautiful.
Little did they know,
that a day would come,
when your petals would spread gloriously,
such sweet aroma, such beauty...
That was the day you started to bloom.

And then they spoke again.  
This time they said,
That you needed to draw attention,
to gain admiration.
And that being desirable,
made you valuable.

So you wanted to stand out,
from among the crowd.
"All eyes on me,
So that the people would see,
my charm, my wit, my beauty."

But then you looked into the mirror,
and you didn't like what you saw.
You didn't look like that ******* TV.
Your flat nose, your round face,
Your eyes that aren't as deep set.
Since she was the definition of pretty,
you wallowed in self-pity,
obsessing over your own flaws.

So you got busy.
Busy putting makeup,
and covering up flaws.
Concealing, contouring.

Busy dressing up,
Trying to look ****,
Showing what you got,
so that people think you're hot.

But you got it all wrong.
For they were all wrong.

They didn't tell you,
that there is beauty in modesty.
And that drawing people with your body,
might end up leaving you lonely.

And that relying on other's validation,
would always lead to disappointment.
And that everyone out there,
really just wants someone to care.

That always drawing attention,
is a selfish expression,
and that giving attention,
may warrant more admiration.

They didn't tell you,
that you were beautiful,
even before bloom,
even before budding,
even before birth.

They didn't tell you,
that you were beautifully,
and wonderfully made by God.
And that what you thought were flaws,
God called beauty.

She loved the rain.
She loved the way it fell with purpose,
The way it changed from sprinkle to downpour.
The way it caressed her face
When she looked to the clouds
She thought it to be gentle
Beautiful.
So maybe that's why she didn't notice,
When the flood began,
That she was drowning.

I don't love easy
And i am not so easy to love
I know in my heart that I can use some work and will never be perfect
But I promise if you love me I'll make it worth it

breathe in
breathe out*
as they
lower
your
own
coffin

Depression doesn't like it. He doesn't like when I smile, or accidentally crack a laugh. Rather, he likes when I take him on as my full identity.
He loves when I weep from the loneliness, when I curse God for making me this way, when I slit my wrists to feel something, anything besides the numbness. When I daydream about my funeral. He feeds and grows strength off my tears, he makes himself home in the crevices of my empty heart. He seeks to destroy.

Jesus doesn't like it. He doesn't like when I'm sitting alone on my bathroom floor with a handful of pills, or when I can't breath at night because the tears have stopped me up. Rather, he likes when I take him on as my full identity. He loves the way my face lights up at shooting stars or a beautiful sunset, he adores the sound of my laugh, he loves how music is the way we communicate, he loves when I worship him, and he loves to love me.

And he is stronger. And unlike depression, he doesn't need to gain strength. He himself is strength and the battle is already won. O Death where is your victory? O death where is your sting? For my savior is risen and he has redeemed.