oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
stars still enliven the shadowy night sky,
but those far-reaching streaks of lavender
escaped
the evening’s backdrop
before I could engrave them into my memory.
the snug, lilac comforter on my own bed
no longer a safe haven,
a rigid, metal cage,
trapping me within my midnight hallucinations.
eyes close over and over again,
yet i can’t find a way to escape
from the pale, mauve speckles
that dotted your brown eyes
whenever the moonlight shined down on them.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i followed your footsteps,
etched into the remains of my heart,
repaired so below par with the thinnest papier-mâchéu.
but they only led me to a solemn place
where no soul had ever set foot.
faultless, pallid fingertips
trace over deep, orchid indentations of your name,
carved heavily into the walls,
framing my hiding place,
wholly staining your acrid touch into yet another expanse of myself.
every last brush of skin on the hard plaster,
sent me searching, further and further away from you.
laying motionlessly,
overtaken by worn-down gusts of yesterday’s altitudes.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
daybreak sun rises,
somber shades of purple escape from the horizon.
i haven’t slept a second,
for i fear the dark purple tint that lies behind my eyelids.
light pours through thin cracks of closet doors,
yet the illumination fails to cast shadows off your rigid silhouette .
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i miss you.

mom? dad?
i’m drowning.
swimming towards the light above,
astringent tears fill my lungs.
mom? dad?
i can’t breathe.
miniscule doses of albuterol
escaping from my little plastic inhaler
stand meager in the eyes of the overly developed fear,
prying its way up the lengths of my throat.
mom? dad?
there’s a stranger in my room.
i stand in front of the mirror
waiting for my reflection;
waiting to see that little girl,
bright, blue eyes, wide smile.
but there’s a stranger there instead;
bloodshot eyes,
inflamed scores down her cheeks,
reaking of poor judgement and broken promises.
mom? dad?
i can’t hear the music.
the floor is varnished with broken cds,
torn-up sheets of abandoned lyrics,
mutilated “i love you”s;
but the record player is still on.
turning and turning
yet i don’t hear a single note,
my senses are paralyzed
by the blow of my demolished heart.
mom? dad?
they won’t stop talking.
people.
people in my head.
voices loud as they scream profanities,
soft as they whisper lullabies,
stern as they bellow punishments.
i can’t make sense
of those who twist and tug on my heart strings
and those who wish to elongate them.
i need out.
mom? dad?