The twisted reality is that bones break. People literally break and you dont always get better. Lives end, stories end, and people rarely get new beginings. The twisted reality is that none of what you thought as a kid was true. Not everyone can be president, and you cant be who you want to be. The twisted reality is that there are monsters in some little girls rooms, and thier moms cant make them go away. The twisted reality is that nightmares only end when you do, you dont get to wake up and think everything is fine. The twisted reality is that your parents lie to you. Not everyone is beautiful, not everyone is talented, and not everyone can be special. The twisted reality is that someone in your current school will become a 'villian' before thier life is over. The twisted reality is that we are all villians. Doing horrible things for what we think is right. The twisted reality is that most people will ignore what i am saying. Live in the lie. The twisted reality is people die thinking everything is fine.

They called him....
They called him things
he told his parents
But they never believed
People don't like to see
Pain
To them it was a game
But he was drowning in hate
And no one heard him scream
Can you hear him scream?
he got tripped in the hallway
His sanity was ripped at the seams
he was a nobody
Till Saturday the fifteenth
what are you gonna do about it?
he pull out of his  back pack
They laughed
stupid ***** what are you gonna do about that?
he pulled out a gun
And aimed right under his hat
do it, I know you can't
your to much of a ***** to do that
he was gonna pull the trigger
he almost did
But he turned it on himself
he couldn't deal with it
he had to get them to stop talking
Or he would have to stop listening
afterwards most of the people cried
Some were never the same
But one kid laughed
I knew you couldn't shot me *****
His death was in vain

if i stopped eating
people would compliment me
on how thin i am
and when they saw the bruises
they pressed their mouths
shut tight
and just joked about
how clumsy i could be
with their easily uneasy smiles.
i don’t know if they
just didn’t see
or if they just weren’t
looking.
introducing him
to my friends was like
living in a ****** part of town,
having someone over
and hearing the racket of gunfire
outside of your window
and then having them say to you,
“oh, listen,
you can hear the fireworks
from here!”
and being too embarrassed
to correct them.
so maybe i’m not sure
if i believe in fireworks;
bombs are too often
mistaken for them.
but i can distinguish the difference
now, i can, and i will not
teach my daughters that when
he pushes you down in the dirt
and pulls on your pigtails
it’s because he likes you.
because when i covered up
those bruises on my body
in too-light concealer
like i’d never learned how to cover up
love-bites and tired eyes,
there was a voice in the back of
my mind that was telling me
that he only pushed me
down because he loved me.
i do not want a voice
inside my daughter’s heads
that sounds like me,
telling them that they deserve
their split lips.
i will tell my daughters to wear
boxing gloves over their manicures,
i will tell my daughters that
“love” is not an excuse,
i will tell my daughters that no one
is allowed to give you
a black eye and expect you
not to punch back harder,
i will tell my daughters
that you are not weak for getting hurt
because the weak ones
are those who let their anger
and insecurities
manifest themselves
in fists and words.
i will tell my daughters
the difference between bombs and fireworks,
i will tell them that they may sound
the same sometimes,
but fireworks don't ****
innocence.

I know of a place,
where it only rains ash.
The sun doesn't shine,
it was swallowed en masse.
By an ominous void,
that's now stifled the grass.
I'm loathe to return,
but I'll lead you if asked.

We'll journey on over,
to death's little home.
Where graves fill the fields,
in neat little rows.
Not a songbird in sight,
just cackling crows.
Nor will flowers you see,
where the bone roses grow.

It is black always black,
It is black in the light,
Tis void you and I black,
****** deeply void,
Alone in black am I

Shadows creak loomed the darkness,
Eyes bleed crimson slithers,
Mind filled with pungent aromas,
Rotting flesh smells I

Reaching twisting they move of the night,
Corridors screaming, laughing, buzzing,
Feeding, ticking thoughts thinks I
Doors bang and lock clutched temples,
pain stabbing fire,
blood pounds and pours dead are they,
ebony risers of the night

Shush shush sweeping blood slippers slide,
Shush shush sounds the old hag with broom
Pouring bloods,
tis perfumed I smell

Clanging keys black rooms screaming,
iced breath swirls, old cold hand brushes by,
Ever cold is water here electric red I see,
blood red nails screaming blackboards,
Screeching Seething and howling pierced am I

Writhing pain restrained jacket and I,

— Beseech me oh dead in white,

Locked away bathed in blood lonely heart,
Polished broken window moon eyes,

Mortal hell chained to die—




© Arnay Rumens /A Sol Poet 2012

He kisses me
Our little secrets
He touches me
Or little secret
He loves me
Our little secret
He drugged me
Our little secret
He keeps me
Our little secret
I can't scream
Our little secret
I can't breathe
Our little secret
You're chocking me
Our little secret
He killed me
*Our little secret

He wandered a winding path,
through a wood he'd never traversed before.
No particular destination, he would know when he arrived.
The birds chirped and a spring doe darted through the brush somewhere.
He saw sunbeams dance through the budding trees
and felt the cold steel clutched in his hand and he thought
"It is a good enough day, for this sort of walk."
The wind blew,
mixing the music of the birds with that of it's hollow whistle.
The trail broke suddenly, disappearing  like a magicians rabbit.
Sun flooded his eyes, dazzling the senses.
He squinted, seeing a small and lonely field, grass blowing gently,
as if giving him a solemn bow.
The light warmed his cheeks,
and he thought, "Ah this, this spot is good enough."
The walk to the fields center was longer,
then he thought it would be.
And strange,
he couldn't hear the birds anymore.
But he could feel the cold steel clutched in his hand and he,
pressed it to his chin with a BANG... and he thought nothing.
But the wind still blew, and the sun still shone, and the day,
was still good enough.

I wanted bones.
I wanted stick thin wrists and jutting shoulder blades.
I wanted ribcage ladders leading to a faltering heart.

I wanted to die-
But I called it something else.
I called it perfect body.

I called it finally confident,
I called it happy and
They called it sick.

I challenged them with "willpower"
and they threw back "nine months to live if you keep this up."