Sound is the bringer of life, but silence is a killer, and it's quicker than a b rated movie thriller, I'm looking for a filler, the tiller of my heart, grinding, grinding. Binding me from living, giving.

I crave what you hate, I laugh at your ignorance even in my forlorn state, in my head screaming "it's to late", but wait... who is that, my favorite consequence of my love, the best b rated movie thriller, my filler, and with this silence is no longer my killer.

Time,
passing the bread down the starvation line
nothing changes but nothing
and nothing's the thing we have got,

Time,
a ***** spot on the lino
fine for the wino
because
he doesn't care

no mothering there
no gentle touch
nothing
much at all.

I'm fed up and hungry
disgruntled and angry
nothing
changes
not even change
it stays the same
we
just give it another name

progress?
oh please
I think I'll **** myself if
someone mentions that.

Time's just the flatline
we're all dead anyway.

Play it on repeat,
Sulk on my defeat;
The scars increased without me knowing;
Knowing the fallacies that had been pouring;
******* up my mind,
Reason for some reason I can't find.
It broke.

My mind was cloudy
It was filled with the smoke of the illogic
Snapping out of this fog
I awakened
Clearing up the disease of confliction that had made me quite sick.
Dark, cold, and twisted up in knots
My feelings were bleeding out
Crying for help
I felt as if I were not human
I was a living robot.
Slapped back to reality by a tragic event
I began to see things clearer and started to return to a clearer state.
Now, starting a fresh and new life from today..
I walk these days with a pure and clear slate.

successful in score
Life throws one a curve ball
How you catch it
Determines the score of your life on the wall
Lit up in cheers
Sometimes you are the losing team
Don’t sulk
For success comes in many forms
Other than in fancy suits tailored at their seams.

I lie there without any excuses
Let’s face it, we’re out of practice/
so when it’s over the reality is
that *** has become
as sanitary
as soap and toothpaste/
pillow talk is for *****'s
and we can go back now
to respecting each other's
personal space just as
stale as the air hanging out
up there around
the stationary blades of
the ceiling fan

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2016

morphine. i found ashes in the pages of the photo albums under
my bed yesterday, leaves turned red pages to the colder chapters
and i thought you could still grow a rose this time of year but then i
remembered when we used to make flower crowns in sixth grade so
i took some morphine;
it helped with the pain

the night is younger than ourselves and we run through breakspears road shattering the lampposts with our bare hands, yes we are the new generation! everybody knows we aren’t scared of losing the pieces in our own, we just want to see the skin pulled off the tips of our fingers! (when you’ve been feeling the blunt edges of scalpels and needles all your life walking on glass starts to feel like heaven)

codeine— hell is getting hotter! she took to the clouds and the glass
shards wrote crimson sonnets on the bottoms of her feet, marietta i
trusted you i really did, i made you promise
that you’d stay; not with me, of course
(some things are more important in the end)
i wanted you to stay here.
but you wanted to see the stars so
i choke down the cough syrup;
one ache distracts me from the other

dear marietta,
the light distorts so strangely here in the water.
this is how i want to leave this place