It used to be
That I would escape the world
Through sleep

Then the nightmares came
And now
I am not even allowed
That 'luxury'

She was resting her head on her inclined hand
Searching outside of the window for that slowly fading land
It was once so easy to recall on a whim
When she was that long gone idealistic kid
That place in which she could shape the clouds by hand
Paint the sky's with a gentle kiss
Holding civilians made of stuffing and cotton
Tied together by dandelion stems
Living in kingdoms built of sticks
Collected from the dark forest
That lay behind her childhood home
That land that was always close at hand to run to in times of pain
She slowly draws back from the clouded window pane
Only now realizing her loss
Yet in this moment her hand is disturbed from its rest
By the minuscule fingers of her little kid
A girl with hair glowing red
From the sun filtering through the chilled late August winds
In those eyes she saw it
The thing she thought she had lost
It wasn't as far as it seemed
That kingdom beyond the sea.

Opposite to belief,
Recovery is not relief,
For when I no longer wanted the toothy blade
To laugh across my skin,
Not even a pinch,
Not even a pin,
I realized that hope had drained,
Like liquor down the sink.

When you watch the person holding your heart...
                                                                                Let go....

In slow motion, you feel it falling in your gut....
                                                             and the pound in your chest...

*As it touches the ground and shatters to pieces.

I've come
To realize that if
She
Is in the room
No one will ever see
see

Me.