My lackadaisical soul. Very depleted, stale, in which rome the damp, disconsolate rain. Soaking up my clothes, to divulge my skin. Thus laying  motionless, inert. I am drenched. I love it. Being solitary, alone. Better than lied to. I love observing; listening, watching. I am silent, bashful.

It is May 13, 1865. Two years sense our last battle. We "Confederate" won today, we won almost everyday and Union still won the war; I feel it's not fare, I feel that they shouldn't have won. Our commander Colonel Theodore H. Barrett was emotional… It was the weirdest thing seeing him, for he used to be my friend. We went to school together, thank the lord above us that he didn't recognize me. He said that I looked familiar and smirked, that scared me. But Max died, I held him, he told me to come closer, I did, his cold lips touched my cheek as a tear from my eye reached his head. He whispered in my ear "Lilly Haddix, I love you…" I scream for help. I screamed so god knows that he can't go, not yet. Maxwell Leon died in my arms, as my friend, as my love. I whispered slowly "Max, I love you too…" I grabbed his papers. And kept them next to mine. We always talked about how I have always wanted to be a doctor. I am still going to be studying medical when I leave. Soon I will be twenty-two I will be a new woman by the time I reach home. I hope when the future comes, I hope that peace will rise against the hatred. I never believed in slavery, I had slaves but they weren't my slaves. I fed them, gave them water, let them bring there families; I gave them a home when they didn't have one. I love you Max, I miss you Minnesota. Home here I come.

I walk through the streets. I watch the fights, the pickups, the undertone speaking, the voices, the laughter. I think, I think. What is happening to this world. I don't get it. Am I thee only one here with a mind and heart? My soul fills with thoughts, though I do not speak. No, for it's not my time. The voices of people. The voices roam towards me. I push back. People's words' have brought me down. Killed me. I will listen, yes. But I will not care. Only the voices of trust, honesty, and forgiveness will be thought of. The voices of you're mouth to my mind. The voices, the voices.

Words have taken over my life. They control me. I am alone. I am afraid. I have been bullied. Years. Beaten with words. Hated with words. Betrayed. Stabbed. Doubt traced it's way to my mind and soul. I am infected. Not loved. Stolen. Taken. Kidnapped. Someone is disturbed by me. I have no friends. I write of sorrow. I am still waking up. My safe place in life is in my music. The only thing I have. What has began. This is a terrible story. This is my life, ******* words, the thing suffocating me is my life, how pathetic. No self control. No risk's to take. No way of living. Everything written by me is disgrace to others. Shocking. "Wow, what a brilliant mind she has. She needs to be more happy though." Shut up, I will not change. Not for anyone. This is me, don't like it then don't read it. Don't ******* judge me just by looks. I am tired of hatred remarks from ones inner opinion. Cussing. Screaming. Last year, I got picked on the bus, like every single day. That one day I had enough crap from the girls at school. One guy sad the last thing and I snapped. I cried I showed him that I have a weakness, that I am weak. I still cry. When I got home that day I through my bag in the middle of the street, screaming, cussing. One true friend standing next to me telling me "Amber, it is going to be OK," Giving me hugs. While my other "friend" says, and I quote. "Amber you shouldn't put you're bag there" Then she walk the rest of the way home. I ran to my house, bag still on the street. I lock myself in the bathroom screaming, and cutting. Blood on my wrist. Tears on my face. He did it, they have done it. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!" Still screaming. I never speak my mind. I don't tell my feelings. Every night I cry. Every ******* night. Go ahead think that this is for the views. It's not. It is not a lie. This is real. I am real. They are fake. The words now are just mixed up. I scream, I cry. I cry, I scream. I am crying as I am typing. I just. I don't know anymore. I am just here. You are just there. We are apart. You may not understand. You may relate. I am sorry if you can. But this is one little part of my story... Welcome to my life.

You stabbed my back.
You told that lie.
You messed it up.
You murdered me.
You made me die.

It is 2:07 am and me and the love my life sitting, laying on the ground. "I love you." He whispered so close to my ear I feel the heat, the moisture from his mouth, breathing the words down my neck. "I love you too." I say with a smile. His lips make contact with mine as we indulge on a kiss. Holding hands, joining together, twining fingers. We look up at the stars, one falls "Make a wish." He said so gracefully, with a smile. He looks at me, as my eyes closed clenching his hands a whispering to myself. "I wan't to be with you for the rest of my life." As they leave, behind the mint 57 chevy, trunk open, he gets down on one knee and ask a question that every girl want's to be asked, yet he used a different term. "Wish granted." She smiles and cries at the same time. "I love you." "I love you too."

This is love, this is things that some people take advantage of. Love now is a joke. You get a man, throw him out, already knowing who you're next victim is going to be. That is love now. Sad. Love is expressed. Love is shown. Love is not a game, no. Just see the beauty in *love.

A day.
A pill.
A douse.
A new way.
Afraid.
A death.

Always looking.
A god.
A miracle.
A second chance.
A second life.
A halo.
A pair of wings.
A white wonderland.
A beauty.

A tear.
A brother.
A sister.
A mother.
A father.
A family.
A smile.
A laugh.
A happiness.

A cloud.
A rest.
A dream.
A death.
A tear.
A tragedy.
A commotion.
A smile.

A thanks to you.
A thanks to him.
A gift for me.
A gift for you.
A way to say, I miss you.

Why did I have to look in the mirror? Why did I have to see the monster be unleashed? My blonde stupid hair. **** eyes, and the unknown tint that lays within them. My ******* body big, giant. Wrist why are the scars still there? Feet why do are you so big? Hands the fattest thing on me, that's pretty fat. My ugly legs with un-even shades of skin, from the scars of my past. Me, my image. This is me unleashed. My body is my ink and my mirror is my canvas, but why do I keep painting this ugly picture? Why is this the image that I have? **Why this image?

I have lost something.
Something important.
I lost my sanity...

Clouds
                                        Released
          Alone
                                                                                           Sun
                                            Moon
                                                                   Aeronautical
  Animate
                                 Dispersed
                                                                                                                Insurmountable
                        Winged

I grow,
Then I rot.
I smile,
Then I cry.

I loved you. Why did you leave me? I miss you. Please haunt me. Did you see a light? You were mine, now your his. I told you to stay home. You learned not to drink and drive, she didn't. You died not her. You are my one and only. You are my lost love.

I am crying.

Alone.

Life *****.

"Why me?"

Pain through my body.
World of hate.
Hatred.
Pain.
****.

Tonight is my night.

My night for death.

Good bye.

We die before we live.
We know how this ends.

Another day of torture.
Another year of pain.
Another razor painted.
Another way to cry.
Another reason to scream.
Another time to die...