Someone once told me that everyone dies alone--- and all I could think when I heard such a thing was,
                  “What a lonely end that must be.”





But I don't want to die alone.
When I’m to meet my end, I would like to meet it with you, my lover, my family, my friend, and the stranger that may be reading this.

Sweet Death, give me anybody in this endlessly beautiful universe; I know you have someone to spare.

All I ask is that I do not die alone,

For to die alone-
Must be a terribly lonely end.

I spent so long
So much of my time in this world
Building my fortress.
I have skin of steel
And ribs of iron.
And yet
With one flick of god's fingers
I am no longer impervious.
I've spent years molding metal
Coming at myself with
A hot hammer [clang/clang/clang]
And yet
Any old Joe
Can sling grenades at me [BOOM]
And snap my titanium bones
Like fragile twigs.
Any ******* person I meet
Can say your name
And bring me to my knees.
And that
That just burns me.

In the distance a Bright Blue eye blinks with greed at the enticing tickle, of a seemingly fickle, wisp of eclectic lightning.
Torn out of actuality, the sky's emboldened hue, makes way for this wistful energy of new.
As the bolt of light, not really caring, rips the sky of Blue, like a Blood-red Herring, dives viciously, however not maliciously, into--

Transition now your mind to a darkness not unkind. Where silence is a splendor and your entire being is a sensor. Where gravity takes rest and gasping lungs aren't always best; a blanket of muffled harmonies vibrating soundlessly inside your bones, flesh and arteries--
FLASH

... Like a birth, like a death-- like the pause between your breaths-- for a moment, just for an echo of a glimpse of a moment, the flash of silver blue, that out of darkness quickly grew, pierced-- with exacting delicacy-- the bottom of this darkened sea, then disappeared instantly...

Flash-flash* {{Glow}}
Flash-flash {{Glow}}
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

... Where the bolt did land-- on the sea-floor sand-- a beating rock, electric blue from the shock..
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

And in that instant, new life was made...
While on the surface nothingness reigned...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

It's a cosmic dance, disguised as chance--
Or lucky breaks that breed romance--
And to move along its endless song, without blind views of right or wrong,
Is to truly feel with unbiased zeal
The uniting pulse of the Universe.

I wouldn't call this poetry
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing beautiful about wanting to die. There is nothing lovely about hurting yourself, nothing symbolic about deaths kiss that I wish would kiss my entire soul.
I wouldn't call this poetry because it isn't.
I think really living is a lot like knowing there's demons lurking inside your head but checking anyways.
I think it's like getting home late and pulling back the shower curtain checking murders
even though all you have to so is pull back your own eyelids and see the very thing that's killing you
I did not sleep last night because I was contemplating ways to die while also telling myself not to do it
I think I'm in a paradox.
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing moving about this.I long for safety like a deaf person longs to hear.
But how can you long for something you've never felt?
I've been applying bandaids to my heart except it's words and the adhesive they provided just doesn't stick in my mind anymore
Everyone wants to knock down my walls but I'm missing the safety the cemented in bricks provide and I promise you
Oh god I promise you
You don't want to come through my walls

I drop my pencil under a guy's chair and my friend convinces me to ask him for it back because "he's nice I promise" so I work up the courage to call his name as loud as I dare and I just start talking so I can tell him what happened before I lose my nerve, but halfway through I notice he's not listening at all and instead of asking for my pencil I ask him to ignore me. He does.
I met a boy and he was intriguing and clever and sarcastic and not unattractive and I thought he had potential but I waved in the hall and he didn't wave back and he didn't want to sit next to me in class.
I invite a boy I've known since 3rd grade to sit next to me in class, and he does, but then his friend shows up and there's a wistful look in his eyes. He doesn't talk to me, and he switches his seat the next day.
I sit at a crowded lunch table full of people I don't like because the people I do are outcasts. I don't have time to eat all my food.
I switch lunch tables to sit with my crush, by invitation of a friend. They ignore me to talk to each other. I try to join. I ask what's so funny. They shake their heads. He's sitting almost on top of me because the tables are so small but he never even turns to look at me.
Last year he sat with us and talked mostly to me and her table was having drama and fighting and now they all wear skirts to school and look pretty and my eyes are puffy and my legs have a light layer of fuzz which is easy to see because I'm still so pale.
I was the only person to sit alone on the first day of biology class and when I walked in the second day a girl who's never been particularly nice to me and wasn't in the class yesterday is there. She's excited to see me. She asks me to sit next to her. She looks at my paper while I write. I don't say anything because I don't want to sit alone anymore.
I'm stressed out by the second day. Unprepared.
718 more days.

this day was not like any other.
hot air from her lungs
swirled steam in the death
of November.

I felt trust for the first time.
I trusted her to leave.

I crack a corny joke out of sheer anxiety,
I say: "Well, it is the fall."

She doesn't smile, or speak, of course.

She does the talking with her eyes,
and all I hear is goodbye.

i like to feel my stomach,
where it's soft and then turns
into the hardness of my ribs.
i like the contrast, the
feeling of it underneath my hand.
i don't know why
but i like my contrasts
and the way that sometimes
i feel so low
and other times like i'm
ten feet above the ground.
i like that i can laugh
and then lie in bed at night,
feeling the loneliness settle on top of me
as an extra sheet that fails to keep me warm.
i like that the wild, contradicting variation
like New England weather, like a prediction
versus a storm.
i like knowing that i can feel everything,
all the violence of myself.
i like hurting because it means i'm real,
and happiness for the same reason.
i like my contrasts.