Time slowly moves over the clock.
It's face and ever spinning dial,
tells me there are only 9 days left.
Two weeks.
They seemingly loom over it's surface,
but those 9 days will turn into 5,
and 2. until the countdown hits 0.
How much more sewing,
How much more hot clue, paint, and figuring?
3 cosplays done.
one more to go,
but how to get the tail to stay on my head?
How to make sure the costume is finished in time?
The ever quickening time.
Only so much more time until I must finish.
Excitement swells inside to see the other cosplayers,
to hang with friends,
and check out the venders whose merchandise will have to go untouched.
So much fun approaching,
yet here I stay,
merely 9 days away needing to complete this project.
New cosplay ideas come to mind
...
no, no
concentration is key.
One outfit at a time.
The clock will chime tonight,
8 more days.
I'm preparing for comic con.

When we think of a broken heart,
We believe the pieces must have been shattered by a crush or ex.
What of the mother who was never there for you?
Who brings new drama into light with the passing of each day?
What of the days she promises to see you dance,
but when the curtains rise,
she's no where to be seen?
The mother who gave a teenager Winnie the Poo toys,
And refuses to listen to your advice
because you'll aways only be her babygirl
but not really .. because she'll never drop what she's doing to see you.
But not truly because you are not her sun,
nor are you of importance to her.
You are simply the product of a bad night with the wrong person.
That invisible daughter who lives somewhere else.
She will never drive over to see you,
It will be on her terms,
or never.
But that's fine.
Your used to it.
Loneliness is how you grew up.
Floating in a bubble of love from your adoptive parents,
who though they try their hardness,
can never fill the empty space your mother made when she left you.
And that's life.
It can be disappointing and cruel.
You just need to keep walking and be okay.
'Sweeping life under the rug'
Until you can't fit any more under,
and your covered heart must react,
and so you take it out on those around you.
A sister who loved you and cares for you,
thrown to the ground.
Hurting those who you would never want to,
Until it eats you alive to the point of seeking help.
And yet, she will never change.
Broken hearts can come from broken families.

She haunts these places,
deep within you.
Dwelling on all tid-bits of your everyday life.
"What is immortality?
How would one life such a life?"
"What came first, the chicken or the egg ..
No no, a circle has no beginning. "
She is the loop of your subconscious,
the ever circling questions you may think of.
"I can't believe I did that,
what If I had ... done this instead."
"Why am I the way I am?"
"How did I get to this point in my life?"
But what might her name be called?
Well you could just call her the essence of over thinking.

If I were capable of explaining  these consequences,
How would I do so?
How to explain that I was born in chaos,
but lived all my life in a protective bubble?
That it never touched me?
That your apologies are meaningless,
and I'm used to the way I've lived my life?
Adoption cannot be explained?
You could never understand it's emptiness,
and yet necessity as I do.
Stress is it's only mark.
Well that and the emptiness.
You may say,
"My mother is more like a sister."
"We look and act a lot alike."
"We're so similar we fight,"
"Or she gets me, and we understand each other."
Do not take such minor things for granted.
They should never be lived without.
You share the same eye color,
body type?
You both hiccup a lot,
or move around in your sleep?
Do not ever take such simple things as a grain of salt,
when it's gone,
You will wish to have noticed it more.
Growing up without knowing these about yourself,
why you are who you are,
You loose yourself.
Your unable to find your own identity,
or it makes the progress much more difficult.
Who are you?
The monster of their creation?
Are you their biology,
Or made by experience and living your own life?
This is the very struggle of my soul.
Do not ever take such important memories and wish them away,
NEVER take such an important thing,
saving you from my own loneliness,
For granted.

The massive door  cries its opposition as it squeaks open,
The white walls and ceilings loom over me,
a small figure in a brilliant foreground.
Walking into the common room I find a large couch,
uninhabited.
I am a lone echo wandering these empty halls searching for the other guests.
But none of them are to be found.
A eerie sensation follows me,
Eyes roaming the room,
targeting me.
I am not alone.
As though reading my thoughts,
shadows creep out into the open,
The missing guests stand before me.
Friendly faces twist into snarls,
Smiling  with menacing lips.
Each of them accounted for.
Each of them a close friend of mine.
With a quaky voice I whisper a hello,
only to see their grimaces grow.
Something cool is suddenly pressed into my stomach,
The metallic smell rises as I clutch the wound and collapse.
All of them,
Were Murders.

The saying goes that if you give a girl a bracelet,
it's equal to putting her in handcuffs,
the saying goes that a ring is possessive.
But if you were mine I would give you a necklace,
After all, the saying goes that a necklace is a collar.
And I wish the world knew that you were mine, and mine alone.

The blossoms fell,
for their first time in years.
The need had vanished, almost as though it was never there.
However it's traces remained.
The music that reminded her of the pain and heartbreak,
the poetry that could force those times into memory,
The thousands of tears shed for his well being.
Finally she felt their weight lighten.
A new life,
A new beginning.
She has felt moments like these before.
Small glances of times where her pain fluctuated from unbearable to dissipated.
She realizes her first love will always hold an important part of her heart,
but peace will slowly make it's way back,
These restful moments in life never fail to remind her that.
Loneliness is a hurtful emotion that grew at her very roots,
it easies itself into every tear,
every crack,
And it may always be this way,
but time heals,
or so they say.
She just may need more than most.