I'm fighting the oblivion. You're the shelter keeping me home, but this isn't a way to win. This war won't end till I go all in.

This is the story of a girl, who's eyes were black as night. Stars would flow from her hair, whenever she took flight.

On the back of a sparrow she would rise, to bid the sun farewell. Hair changing the sky to dark, stars shining where they fell.

Arms outstretched she'd gather sunsets, and place them in a jar. Making wishes for brighter days, upon each shooting star.

Faint memories hold as time wears on, she no longer has a name. Age no longer takes her youth, she'll always radiate the same.

Her gown of blue flows around her, with elegant wings spread her sparrow fly's. Changing day into night, forever doomed to roam the evening sky's.

The best way to find "home" is to take it with you. "Home" is not the quiet street you grew up on. "Home" is not the school that was three blocks away that your mom would walk you to in the mornings. "Home" was not the place where you broke your arm. "Home" is not the beautiful apartment you moved into with your girlfriend when you finally started learning who you are. It's not that simple. "Home" was never a place. "Home" is the feeling. The memories. To look around and know that you're safe, and that the people around you love you. "Home" was never the ****** job you enjoyed because it was close and they had free coffee and donuts if you were early enough. "Home" isn't the place where those nightmares originated. "Home" is quite often the place that you die, if you're lucky enough. "Home" is the feeling you get when the golden-orange sunbeams ignite all the floating dust particles as it leaks in through the windows, and you can smell the candles burning from years ago, from your first memory of seeing that happen. "Home" is the place where you stay up with her till two in the morning making cookies, when you both have to be up for eight in the morning. "Home" is the place where you dance like goofballs in the living room, or, maybe not like goofballs, maybe like two people who were long since destined for the gallows but found absolution and salvation in the others welcoming smile and embrace. "Home" is the place where you lay your head down at night, and the last thing you see is the same as the first thing you saw that morning, and the next thing you'll see when you open them again; her. "Home" is wherever you want it to be, with all of the people that you want there. "Home" comes from within, as well as without. The best way to find "home" is to take it with you wherever you go. Keep it in a locket, or in a picture you can pull out of your wallet or your purse, or keep as your phone background because it's the 21st century now and everyone has cell phones and that's just what we do. Whatever the case is, whatever it may be for you...just, **go home.

Santa does not visit psych wards. No matter how many times I frequent the hospital around the holidays, St. Nick is nowhere to be found, albeit some nights Jesus Christ's screams fill the halls throughout the night, this baritone of madness slowly becoming a gentle hum that helps me drift off. The chorus in my head sings along to this hymn of psychotic fervor.

I picture you in my dreams as beautiful as beauty could be.
A living doll.
A living dream.
Made to order just for me.
Yes, just as I imagine.

No, you're not beyond imperfection.
You're have been sworn by me to be your protection.
No honor you're not worthy of in life.

You are my love.
And my life.
I promise to give you a forever happy life.
Just as I imagine.

To fail, would have been like failing myself.
Which isn't about to happen with you in my life.

"our relationship wasn't that dysfunctional!"

are you sure?  

because one day you decided you didn't love me anymore.



and I was okay with it.