When I was younger I was taught in school never to talk to strangers no matter how polite they look.
But they never taught me what to do when someone who isn’t a stranger kidnaps my heart and leaves me as an empty carcass.
Someone who I trusted the most…
And isn’t trust a funny word?
Especially to a child that is so easily manipulated.  
So quick to jump when a man needs help with a finding a lost puppy.
Or when they say your name in just the right way.
But once they are found dead in a wasteland is when they realize how foolish the word trust really is.
And if someone who kidnaps and kills is prosecuted why aren’t you?
Why aren’t you taking your seat on death row?
Oh right, Because I’m still breathing.
And causing someone to be dead on the inside isn’t a crime.
I was just one of your trophies and engraved on my back was a black and blue target for your flesh tone arrows
It was all just a game.
A game that isn’t fair when you stole what was the most important to me.
I let you hold on to my trust like a little girl would and you clenched your fist, letting me crumble.
What makes you think it’s acceptable to come back and ask for a second chance?
Another round?  
The little girl didn’t have a second chance to decline her offer.
The vile man didn’t have a second chance to leave the playground.
And I didn’t have a second chance to keep my self locked up tight or refuse you to touch me in that way even though you said it was “okay” because “loved me”
And with a love like that you didn’t need to ask right?
All I know is if I there was a way I could go back to that night where you asked me to dinner I would say “Sorry, I don’t talk to strangers.”

The work I do is not easy,
but it's not bad.
I'm glad to have it,
when it's all I've ever had.

I am a student of the night.
I wear a black patch
on my sleeve.

My teacher's name is Sleep,
and she goes by Dreams, too.

She moonlights by the creek
that flows like a gust of wind
through leaves I never knew,
places I've never been.

We sing songs about you, love.
This song's about you.

I remember hiding under an old cherry wood dining table. I remember holding my baby sister, shielding her eyes, covering her and trying to tuck her away. Pulling her as close to me as possible, like I might be able to fold her skin into mine so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening around us. I can still hear her crying into my bony 7 year old shoulder and whaling amongst the chaos with the bitty 4 year old voice that she had at the time. I remember the heart stopping feeling of watching my mother get thrown into the wall and watching my brother, 11 years older than myself, hurtle the beautiful antique silver coffee *** that my grandmother left us- into the space near her head where it bludgeoned the wall. I remember barely being taller than the table myself and pulling my sister out when I saw a chance for us to escape the scene and run into another room.  I remember turning around and seeing my older sister, who was 10 at that time, running up and hitting and kicking my brother and getting shoved to the side. I’ve grown accustomed to the headaches I now get at the sight of flashing police lights.

I inked my skin with your name,
As you swore you wouldn't play the game,
Russian roulette,
As good as you could get,
But there was someone who was better yet.

Spin the bottle,
Load up the gun,
And tell yourself  it's only a bit of fun.

The future can't be real,
If the deal is not sealed,
A debt you will pay,
For playing this game.

Spinning,
Spinning,
Round and round,
It lands on you as you bow your head to the ground.

Pick up the gun,
It's no longer fun,
Death is calling,
You're slowly falling.

Bang,
The shot was perfect,
Right through your skull,
As if It was worth it.

You fell to the floor,
I ran out of the door,
Never to return to our place we called "home".

It wasn't a game of roulette,
It was our series of events,
You killed yourself,
Due to the sadness that you felt.

So this is my spin on things,
I'll pour a glass and admit my sins,
Before I join in,
With your game of Russian roulette.

why is it at 3 a.m with the weight of the world on my shoulders,
My lip quivering in beat with my heart do I find it impossible to allow myself even a single tear to dot my cheeks,
Could it be my never ending cycle of forcing myself to be okay even if everything around me is in ashes,
Or could it be the embarrassment of being weak even though the only soul to know I shed that tear would be the one that's ripped to shreds inside me

Have you ever asked a masked man

who he is

  or what does he stand for

 in an attempt to satisfy

my thirst for knowledge

I looked in the mirror

a single moment of eternity
and i was yours
forever

I won't cry about you.
I won't write about you.
And maybe you won't exist.

love consumes and mends
the broken places in my life