Can you hear the noise when a heart breaks?
Could you hear mine?
I did.

I felt the hums and I heard the creaks
Then the groans echoed throughout my body.
It cracked once, It cracked twice, then it shattered.
It felt like shards of glass against the arteries,
Against the inner walls.

Could you hear my somber tune?
Can you hear the song a heart creates when it is broken?
I did.

You crucify me
For not believing
In a "God"
Yet when I ask
A number of  questions
You simply reply
Have faith in the Lord

Well preacher
There is no religion for me
I am an Athiest
I dont believe
In your petty
Incoherent false hopes
Of a being who can forgive

No religion for me
Ill scream it all around
******* and your beliefs
I have mine
And Im content
So ******* and stop trying
To make me believe in a "God"

There is a passion that rends the skies
dark of pain, to thunder forth
in this suffering world;

Grace that rains and brings forth
an oasis of refuge in this
world weak of flesh;

The spirit rises weighed on the cross
by the suffering inflicted in place
of Barabbases, thousands.

In the dunes of the desert, a call echoes:
husbandsman, tinkerman, everyman,

Never mind the pharisees;
The spirit to the letter is moon
to the mirage.

Weighed down by the burden of life,
you who have been told you deserve
nothing more than the dirt of the earth
you sinner, you sufferer,

A passion calls forth to you. So difficult
indeed is to see the father, aye,
lawmongers, enough for us to see
this humble son of a carpenter here;

O you crushed
under the wagon wheels of time
taste that love by which you are
before Abraham was.
Come, be pillars
in the mansion of your father;

Tiller toiling away in the sweat of life,
you on whose shoulders walk
the sweet-talking liars
who yet enthroned say
you are worth
only more taxation,

You can part waters. You are a miracle.
You drive away ghosts. You can
call the dead to life. Yet you are
love and see no difference
in Mary from Mary,

a secret ocean at the shore of an oasis
to drink of, until we are here
as He is in heaven.

Heaven for us to see and live here
not some unknowable hereafter.

You want me to stay here
I don't
But I do
To keep people happy
So never mind how bad I feel,
What can I do for YOU?
That's why I'm here
That's why I stopped cutting
And I'm not being cynical
I mean it.
*What do YOU want?

Help me*
Nah don't worry about me, how are you?

whispering...
                  calling...
Reaching out for me
What am I to do
Arms of death gripped corpses
Attaching themselves to every limb
Trying to drag me
To the darkest pits of the unknown

whispering...
                  calling...
Pulling on my flesh
Tearing me to pieces
As I try to reject the conclusion
That these hollow point glares
Are drilling into my body
But the pain is numbed

whispering...
                  calling...
I don't want to reply
For if I do I accept defeat
And let this cancerous nuisance
Plunge me into my own insanity
Of cannibalistic voices
Crawling on the walls like shadow phantoms

whispering...
                  calling...
I'm dead
No point in denying it
I'm a nobody
Who will remember me
These joker grins around me
Knew my fate long before I did
Because they were pushing me off
The edge of life's lonely cliff
Into swarming piranha infested darkness

he talks too much in the morning
not even over coffee
not even over my listening ears
barrage of questions
thundering past my consciousness
i simply do not hear.

my mind is else where.
in someone elses coffee
in anothers ears
banging of hearts
clasping hands parting like waves
i simply do not live there.

taking for granite the days
was it really just seven months
how did we let this happen
i stir my coffee
drawing pictures of memories in the foam
i simply stare at the wall.

oh, i hear him again
what do you think of this
when do you think you will
i look up and smile
hiding my face
i simply do not live here.

Growing, moving, changing, nothing
I asked the worker at the coffee shop what he thought I should get
I've been more indecisive than usual lately
He recommended a chai latte
So that's what I got
I do strange things to avoid certainty, to avoid stability
I keep thinking I don't really know myself but I'm really not sure
Who am I?
A phrase that is in continuous repeat, ringing in the veins of my introverted mind
Who am I?
I could probably tell you
If I really wanted to, if I really tried
He said to me, "Chai tastes like... Merry Christmas!"
It made me smile
Dreams and coffee drinks and pages of books and sweaters
Is that who I am?
It is surely what I am compiled of
I am a wanderer
The girl who constantly says goodbye but never really knows how to leave
I should have mastered leaving by now, you know

I'm staring at brick walls
And a painting of two sleeping cats
There's music playing in the background
I'm awkwardly sipping my chai latte
On the other hand, seemingly distant, I am completely aware of everyone and everything around me
Always observing
Always listening
I like it, by the way
The latte
He was right
It does taste like "Merry Christmas"

It's already 5 o'clock
It's already October
It's cold outside today
Extremely cold
Yet, I've been driving with my windows down all day
I don't feel cold
I don't feel warm either though
I feel numb
I feel like nothing

Every day I just kind of sit back and watch the world go by like none of it really happens
Like all of it is a dream
I'm out of touch with reality
I rather enjoy it that way
Rather prefer it that way, probably
I know what my name is
I know where I come from, who I come from
So why can I not tell you who I am?
Can anyone really, truly, put into words who they are?
If they can, I am in a lot of trouble
Especially if they can do it easily
But that would make a lot of sense because it all comes down to stability
Or so I think so anyways
I haven't had any form of stability in my life for a very long time
And let me tell you, that is what will **** someone up
Who AM I?

I'm ****** up, emotional, and slightly neurotic
I'm only 18 years old but I feel at least 50 years more.
I grew tired too fast
Life is tiring for me
It's not supposed to be like that
Not yet anyway
I've been so sad my entire life
And my sadness acts as the very core of my being
I'm a strangely tangled up pile of thoughts and feelings
Past experiences and people
And this searing sense of nostalgia for what once was
And maybe even for what is to be

What do you call it when you're constantly thinking of the past and wishing it was still here?
When you're constantly longing for the future and wishing it would come sooner?
When you're constantly dissatisfied with the present and wishing it would disappear or change or something?
What is that?
Am I delirious?
Am I going crazy?
I almost hope so
I need some answers
The world is either in fast forward or paused
Growing, moving, changing, nothing
I am nothing
I am nothing
Goodbye

"Not I," she whispered.

No concern
No meaning
No feeling
Deprivation at its finest.

I don't think about things the same way others do;
Actually,
I don't think about the same things everyone else does.
There are things that fill my mind on a daily basis that I guarantee do not ever cross any normal human being's mind.
Notice how I said normal,
It really makes me think, am I the one that's crazy, or are they?
What is normal?
If normal is being like everybody else, than that is not I.
"Not I," said the Queen
Not I.
Normal, ordinary, average, common, typical, general, normal.
"Not I," said she.
Not I
"I blame my loneliness on my abnormality"
A valid excuse is all I'm looking for.
I don't need an answer...
Because when am I ever in the possession of answers?
Not ever.
Just questions upon questions upon questions and contradictions upon that of which fill in the crevices of my mind.
I think of one solid thing and the next solid thing contradicts it.
Do you see what I attempt to control everyday?
Mental processes.
Severely intricate, contradicting, insane, mental processes
That race through my stream of consciousness with no intent of slowing down.
Colorful winds that whisper things softly to me
Like the constant pitter patter of falling raindrops on an idle afternoon.
Will I ever be at peace with these contents inside my head?
I am not quite sure.
But what I am sure of is that I would be lost if it all stopped, ceased to exist.
So for now, I am thankful.
Even though I keep feeling more and more crazy every single day.
Madness doesn't necessarily have to be a dire thing.
Normal?
"Not I," said the Queen
Not I.