Long brown hair
Foolish eyes
Broken heart
Twisted cries

How the hell am I pretty?

I rely on self destruction as a distraction from real life.

That's not pretty.

I saw everything
from A to Z,
love,
hate,
honesty,
deception,
intelligence,
dreams,
reality,­
wantonness,
kindness,
sunshine,
smiles,
laughter,
angst,
calm,
a­nxiety,
piety,
my reflection,
unborn children
& a million other things
I tell you
I witnessed
in her pretty-eyes.

Pretty girl starts the year not knowing what to do
Pretty she may be,
Yet she doesn't have a clue
Pretty girl, though shy she feels okay,
With a smile, she makes it through her first day.

Months go by, time doesn't stop,
She finds her way to the top.
No longer shy, loved by all
Such a shame to see her fall.

It starts on a day like any other
This time pretty girl disobeys her mother.
She lies to her, sneaks out at night,
And finds herself neath pale moonlight.

She meets new faces she hasn't seen before,
New they may be yet they influence her.
Taking their word that everything is alright,
She doesn't scream, doesn't cry, she doesn't even fight.

She takes everything they give her
With a smile on her face
Now pretty girl doesn't see the mistakes that she makes.

No longer perfect, she is undone
Bags under eyes, yet she still has her fun.
Her parents notice, her friends do too,
She tells them "leave me alone, its nothing to you!"

She runs away from school and from home,
She is feeling scared, pretty girl is alone.
Walking the streets every night and day,
Selling her love thinking everything's okay.


Tears in her eyes, a man by her side,
Beer in hand,
Packets of ******* she tries to hide.

This wasn't what she wanted from life,
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the knife.
She's had enough, she slits her wrists and falls to the floor,
Closing her eyes with her last breath, pretty girl no more.
-V

today you squeezed my
arm the way i like
and said, "i miss
you all the
t
   i
     m
         e
            .
               "

you smelt of cigarette smoke too often
and you asked me what I believed in
I said I believe in the way
my knees shake when they hear your voice
I believe in the way babies cry
when they see life for the first time
I believe in the way the sun
always rises in the morning
and sets in the evening
I believe in the way
my stomach becomes
so twisted and tangled
when your eyes entwine
like ropes with mine
I believe in the way
soldiers are sometimes
at war with their own mind
I believe in the way my head
starts becoming dizzy when
you talk for a long time
I believe in sons and daughters
finding their mothers and fathers
in graves they've never seen  before
I believe in the art
of leaving
and
moving pain
for the night to come so it can
hit you in the morning  
I believe in my bones shivering
to hear your name again
I believe in the type of love that hurts
                                                        bre­aks
and                                                 bruises
everything you thought you needed
I believe in the stars and
how they just are
you smelt of cigarette smoke too often
and you asked me what I believed in  
I wasn't lying when I said you
                             -(k.s)

He sits, staring at the wall for hours at a time.
The paint is white, grey, cream, pink, green; peeling. Peeling in pieces, in chunks of time’s scrapings.
The way it peels reminds him of the time he scraped his knee against the raw pavement in the winter when he was seven. It reminds him of the scent of her fingers, held against his nose in the summer, after peeling the onions for their terrible dinners; she could never cook.
There is a cobweb, fine, dusty with greyness at the corner of the rain stained window, and he can see the muted silver moving from the wind the crack lets through. The sky is empty and full, slowly falling. The raindrops are letters; the raindrops are tears, making a sound against the windowpane, a sound against the roof- the sound he longs to hear, but cannot. There is only shuffling above him, the sound of water falling from the ceiling and into a metal bowl.
Tap, tap, tap.
The stirring of the ground above him would make him jealous, and if he could still feel jealousy, it would have been the reason for his insanity.
But he cannot.
And so he drowns in the darkness
Created by his mind
Created by his being.
He sits.
Staring at the wall.
Peeling.