I tripped and stumbled in my head
And almost fell right out of bed
But oh so still, I still fell into laughter
For realities and dreams, it seems
Can both burst open at the seams
Contaminating every ever after
Sometimes in ways of poisoned woes
Sometimes in cures we suffer slow
While either way destroying our perceptions
Until the plans we’ve so long made
Are lost in much unwanted trade
As we learn yet again from self deception
Believing things could never be
Much worse or better in between
While never quite preparing for each reckoning
Sometimes when we have at all
We fail to understand the flaws
The only thing that’s missing now is everything

Monster

There's a monster in my home
With a soul as black as death
He's lurking somewhere nearby
Waiting with baited breath

He'll jump out and attack me
When things don't go just right
He's waiting for just the moment
He wants to start a fight

This monster I know from childhood
Although his face has changed
And yet I let him in again
Am I the one deranged?

This monster hid it well this time
A devil in disguise
Until he reared his ugly head
It was too late when I got wise.

And now I'm stuck here in this house
He'll never let me get away
This monster thinks I owe him
A debt I can never repay.

I slowly descend into hopelessness
Wishing the day would come
When I could go away from here
And find my hearts true home

The monster lives off my pain you see
Built a wall I can never get through
The saddest thing is you'll never believe
The monster with me is YOU

in the small towns with unknown names, mothers drive vans with grass stains painted across the backseats. in the winters coated with snowfall, mothers make hot chocolate for frozen fingers to grasp and sip, letting it settle on little tongues like some untold secret. in the storms, mothers bring a candle and a story from the past to light the darkness.

and what can a mother do when she does not hear the rain on the rooftops? how does one illuminate pale walls and faded curtains without a guide of light? you could never sense the darkness. you could never hold my hand. mother, my fingertips are poisoned. you weren't going to touch them anyways. you know he says there's a forest in my eyes. but you prefer the city skyline, don't you?

I told father I never wanted to see you again. besides, he doesn't have to. why should I stick to this cracked leather couch when you rest on some beautiful bed down the street? mother, you can only **** a married man for so long. the stones on his ring are brighter than you. I might've kissed you, mother, but there have been too many lips pressed to mine, and you're immune to this sickness, and what is a sign of love without a flicker of pain?

when is the last time I smiled at you? there is a photo somewhere and I am nestled in your arms, and I'm wearing a red dress, and I think I would have slipped away if I knew who you really were. mother, do you want to see the cuts on my wrist? I should've given you that suicide note. remember that day you thought I was sick? I guess you never saw the pills were gone. you shouldn't have kept the matches so far away when you knew I loved the fire. you know, mother, I bet you don't know what a trigger feels like. you know, I was ten when I decided that I did not love you. I am the sliver of moon starving to vanish in the sky and mother, I swear I'll be new.