The bottom of my dress
ballooning out,
like a doily on the dance floor.

Feeling like a princess
As I held Mommy’s hand.

Twirling me all around,
Like a ballerina let out of
Her jewelry box.

My greatest dance partner,
To the best drummer in the band.

I wonder,
If you still lift your head,
From whatever held
Your attention,
When you hear my name.
And I wonder,
If you remember
The love we shared,
Until something else,
Grabbed your attention.

The only thing that is certain,
Death.

Whether it comes today,

Tomorrow,

Or fifty years from now,

It comes.

Hovering like a bumblebee,
Waiting to sting,
Or rushing out of nowhere,
Unexpected,
Like a freight train,
Arriving at its destination,
Marking the end of one journey.

Not tight,

But soft and gentle,

Like a bow around a present.

Keeping me safe and secure,

With just enough room to come untied.

To have you to wrap me up

In your arms again.

He was pale. Opaque,
His skin the color
Of a ghost.
For, that's what he was.

I could see right through him
As he moved in front of me.

He was so close,
Right before my eyes.

I wanted to reach out,
Grab him and pull him close.

I wanted to rest my head
Over his exposed chest.

I could see his heart beating
Behind his clear, glass, translucent shell.

For a moment,
He was still alive;
Until I reached
For his hand,

And couldn't feel his wrinkled grasp.

We are not alone,
One broken heart
Does not cry,
Without others crying
Along beside it.
One heart,
Does not shatter
Into a million pieces,
Without the help of others
Putting it back together.
One life,
Does not move on
By itself
Without the help,
Of another assisting in its recovery.

We're two rain drops,
Racing up the glass
Of a car, moving through life.

Connected to me,
Like holding my hand,
Never losing me
Within the storm of life.

A sea of what seemed like a thousand or more faces sat before me in the pews. Solemn faces dressed in black, holding back tears stared back at me as I stood behind the small podium and your body lay silently in a wooden box next to me. I swallowed hard, trying to think of what I could possibly start this speech with. No words formed in my mind or thoughts. I looked down at my black chipped finger nail polished, my mind still blank. I took a deep breath.

            “I’m sorry.” I muttered, “I can’t do this.”

            I walked off the make shift stage, leaving the podium standing by itself, much as I had felt like I’d been left by myself that day next to the hospital bed. Walking over to the first pew, taking a seat next to his parents, I buried my head in my hands and started sobbing all over again. His mom put her arms around me and rocked me slowly, resting her chin on my shoulders.

            “I thought I could do it.” I sobbed.

            “Sh, you did fine.” his mom whispered.

            Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adam’s dad stand up slowly. Buttoning his suit jacket, he took my place behind the podium. He cleared his throat.

            “No parent,” he paused, “should be standing where I am right now.” I looked up at the tall man, resembling Adam like he was his own twin. “There’s so many things I could wish right now,” another pause,  “There’s so many things that I wish I knew.” He wiped an escaped tear from the corner of his eye. “But I can’t say that my son, didn’t die a fighter.” And I lost the battle to my sobs once more.

            Adam’s dad finished his short speech by thanking everyone for coming and reminding families to hold their loved ones close. It’s something Adam would have wanted him to say and would probably even say it himself; if he’d been around. Adam’s mom, Christine, along with my own mom, held my hands as I walked up to the open casket one last time. Looking inside, seeing Adam completely still with his eyes closed and hands folded across themselves. He looked so peaceful, and reminded me of times when he’d fallen asleep while we’d been hanging out watching movies. I took a deep breath, and rested my hand over his.

            “I love you.” I whispered. “I always will.” I’d like to think I noticed the ends of his lips flinch and turn up into a small smile, and his chest take a slight breath,  but my eyes had only fooled me. Some more tears escaped and I stepped away.

            Walking back through the church aisle in between the pews, people conjugated around glanced at me, and some patted my back or offered a smile. I continued walking to where the car was parked for the procession to the cemetery. I got in the backseat so that Mom and Dad could take their places up front once they were done offering their goodbyes. I stared out the window. The sun beat down and the slightest breeze carried pollen through the air. The beginning signs of Spring.

            Arriving at the cemetery, the procession of cars all parked in an organized fashion in a marked spot in the grass. I opened my door slowly and got out. I pulled the cardigan that I wore over my dress tighter around myself, reminding me of your arms, holding me close. I stood in the sun, feeling the rays hit my face as I watched the pal bearers carry your brown casket to where the graveside service would be held.

            I walked slowly across the grass, sidestepping headstones of strangers I’d never meet. The same familiar breeze that had blew at the church blew again, blowing my blonde hair out of my face. Mom walked beside me, holding my hand, giving me strength.

            I stepped up in front of everyone, ready to give my speech that I’d overly prepared for. Drops of tears spotted the paper I’d written on the night after watching you take your last breath. I cleared my throat and wiped a tear that was escaping down my cheek. The same faces gathered before me. Some looked down and some watched me. Mom gave me a half smile. I took a deep breath.

            “I remember the first time Adam told me that he had leukemia.” I started. I took another deep breath. “he thought for sure that I’d never talk to him again or hang out with him.”

            I smiled at the crowd, remembering the moment like it was yesterday. A third breath of air, and the wind blew my hair once again.

            “Adam was supposed to live less than six months.” I stated. “he lived for almost a whole year after the estimated time frame.” I smiled again. “Last week, as he was laying in the hospital bed, he told me that it was almost time.” I explained. “and I told him to just keep fighting. He told me that he was tired and didn’t want to fight anymore.”

            Some tears fell from my eyes, creating fresh marks on the paper that I was barely reading off of. Instead, I had resorted to just telling the story from memory.

            “He told me that even though he was losing the battle, he’d already won.” I continued explaining. “I had no idea what he meant. When I asked, he told me that even after learning about his terminal cancer, he’d won my love.”

            The wind blew again, a little stronger this time, kissing the tears away from my cheeks. I returned Adam’s kiss by blowing one up into the air, towards the sky.

I want to replay
the roles of Juliet and Romeo,
Sneaking over for each other's company,
Feeling your skin against my own,
Draping me in your cologne.

And I want to wake up,
With my head upon your chest,
Surrounded by the warmth,
Of your button down shirt,
And the protection of your arms.

And nothing else.

I would never
Refer to myself
As a
Murderer.

There's no blood
Stained on my hands,

Except my own.

If my bed wouldn't have turned cold,
I never would have known you'd gone.
Before the sun had risen, your car sped down the street,
away.
And I stayed.

And now Im only a little bit sad.
I gave in once again, to a love I thought you meant.

As I've done over and over again,
Ill wait for your text, your call.
And when you never do,
please know,
it wasn't me, but all you.

“That’s what love does to you, right?” she asked. “It makes you happy, and content, and numb.”

She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the clean, ruler-straight scars; the damage coming only from a dissembled, silver razor blade. She moved her fingers slowly up her forearm, feeling the slight rise in flesh, like a train moving over railroad ties, as the skin healed over, creating the scar.

“What do your parents say?” I asked her.

“They don’t know.” she said in a soft voice.

“And if they did?”

“I’d probably be sitting where I am now, talking to you.” she said. “and living in some sort of mental institute for crazy people, along with others who have these same so-called ‘addictions.’”

I made a note on my clipboard. The brown, wooded board serving as a curtain, shielding the notes I was making about the girl sitting across from me. The girl with auburn hair, wearing jeans, a pair of converse shoes, and a gray sweatshirt. From the outside, no one would even suspect her as one to mutilate the skin on her wrist with a sharp tool.

“Do any of your friends know?” I questioned.

“No.” she answered in that same soft voice.

I made another note.

“What would everyone think if they were to find out?” I asked her.

“They’d probably be confused. They wouldn’t like it. Then they‘d probably hold one of those interventions, then ship me to the institute for the crazies.” she explained.

“So then why do it?”

There was a long silence. Neither of us said anything. I waited for her answer, as she put together the words in her head before saying them out loud.

“I like it.” she whispered. “I like the way my skin swells up and leaves the smallest rise of a scar.” she paused again, collecting some more thoughts. “It takes away all the other pain I’m feeling, it makes me numb. That’s what love is supposed to do.”

“It’s not healthy.” I told her.

“Is the kind of love between two people healthy? When it’ll all eventually come to an end?”

For the first time since entering the small cubicle after coming into the therapy center, she’d shown emotion. The soft whisper she’d been using the whole time disappeared, rising to a higher volume as she argued my point of self harm and how it isn’t safe. I sensed a hint of anger as she looked me dead in the eye looking for an answer to the question she’d fired at me. She leaned back into the small comfortable chair across from me. She took a Kleenex out of the box and wiped her fresh tears that had began falling down her cheeks.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not depressed.” she paused. “I don’t want to **** myself and I don’t want to die.” She took another Kleenex from the box. “But I know this kind of love won’t ever come to an end.”

“Until you cut too deep.”

each new shake of the square box,
another white stick.
the lighter to burn her death certificate
after her lips have already signed.

Every Monday morning,
My teacher repeats the same command.
"Look alive" she says,
Even though, I already feel dead.
Along with all the other days of the week too.
And add to that list,
The past few weeks,
And since you've been gone,
Go ahead and add the past year too.

Your love is treacherous.
It lights my heart in flames,
Gasoline shooting up my veins.
Adding fuel to my fire.
But your love doesn't burn,
Anymore.
My flesh is raw and tolerant,
To your high degree of heat.
The return to the constant burn is simple.
Each new inhale provides,
That same addictive rush
Of smoke.

It's the land of the free,
but no one can afford the rent.

the t.v.'s only on to drown out the silence,
and to give my ears some kind of noise.
this candle's only burning to hide your scent,
and provide light in this empty room.

the clear bottom of this empty Captain stares back at me,
bragging its victory.

your fire surrounds me,
wraps me in warmth.
your arms of fire
engulf me in a safe haven.
this asylum is my home,
scars on my wrist, my keys.

Luke sat in the dead center of the couch eating a bowl of cereal while Spongebob’s loud, obnoxious voice played loudly over the T.V. His abandoned Thomas the Train play set pieces lay scattered on the floor and I was rushing around the house trying to find all the ***** laundry from the past week.

“Luke, where did you put your black t-shirt?”

He sat unmoving, his eyes glued to Spongebob. He reminded me of one of those green zombies from his favorite ******-Doo movie that I’d seen too many times.

“Luke.” I said, and he looked at me. “Where did you put your black shirt?”

“What black shirt, daddy?” he asked in his small, seemingly innocent voice.

“The ‘army’ one that Mommy got you when she came home last time,” I explained. “If you want me to wash it, I have to know where it is.”

He looked around the living room, “I don’t know, Daddy.”

Letting out a sigh, I went walking about the house, grabbing mismatched socks, and other clothes that he’d thrown while getting ready for bed the last few nights. Tossing the clothes in the hamper sitting on the table, waiting to be taken downstairs to the washer, I went to look down the hallway.

The black t-shirt in question was one of Luke’s absolute favorites. He tended to throw a sort of tantrum when he wanted to wear it and couldn’t find it. At the moment it seemed to be hiding. Looking around the cluttered house, I noticed something balled up in a corner of the hallway. Thrown against the wall, laying on the floor, was the missing t-shirt. I bent over and picked it up. The doorbell rang.

“Daddy!” Luke yelled from the other room, “the door.”

“Don’t answer it,” I said, coming back into the living room, still carrying the black keepsake. “I found your shirt by the way.”

His face lit up with a smile that seemed to say he’d known all along where it had been. I smiled and opened the door. My face quickly fell when I saw the two officers standing in their dress blue uniforms, presenting a soldierly appearance outside on the front step. I dropped Luke’s shirt.

“May we come in Mr. Reynolds?” one asked.

I swallowed hard, and shook my head.

“Luke, can you go play in your room for a little bit?”

I watched him scoot off the couch, taking a couple trains from his play set and head down the hallway. The stoic look set across the soldier’s faces said everything that needed to be said. It only took ten minutes of awkward mumbling and they left, closing the door behind them. I sat on the couch and buried my head in my hands. Luke came into the living room.

“Daddy?” Luke asked. “Is Mommy coming home?”

I wiped some tears from my eyes, took him in my arms and hugged him tight.

“It’s okay, Daddy. Mommy’s a hero. Right?” he asked.

“Right.”

the darkness enclosing me,
as the light switch flipped.
walking blindly across the room,
feeling my way to the bed where,
you take my hand and finish guiding me,
next to your side.

the darkness still wraps about me,
as the switch flips,
and the path to the bedside hasn't changed;
but there's no outstretched fingers to grab onto,
to kidnap me from reality,
and guide me to my dreams.

Everyone tells me,
I need to forgive and forget,
And that life's too short.
That I need to let it all go,
And just move on.
It all starts running together,
Sounding like a broken record,
Trying to play the same song.
But Mom,
You always said to ignore,
The peer pressure.

the monsters have moved
from under the bed.
they're living all around you,
all throughout the life you've led.
the demons no longer reside underneath,
but are the reflections
in the mirrors,
staring back at you and me.

Once upon a time,

Isn't that how fairy tales are supposed to start?

A man and a woman.

Fall in love.

And live happily ever after.

Isn't that how they all end?

Oh, not anymore?

There's too many dragons getting in the way.

these don't happen often,
memories of moments
that cannot be replaced.
they're like winning the lottery,
the full moon in the sky,
or falling in love with someone's face.
they're mental,
not hard copied photographs.
the kind that can't be captured with a flash,
but rather measured by the sound of a someone's laugh.

There’s no rocky, narrow shoulders,
Lining each side of the highway,
Waiting for sets of tires to roll,
And pull over on.
There’s no rest stops,
Every few mile markers,
Offering you a place to stop,
And take a break from the same scenes.
A few too many sports cars,
Who’re just in a hurry,
Passing all the semis,
In a race to get to the finish.
No overhead signs for information,
Telling you which way to go.
Just one at the end of the journey,
Telling you that you’ve completed the drive.

Dandelion dust,
Falling like leaves,
Floating away in the warm Spring breeze.

Eyelash landings upon soft skin,
Reminiscing on old memories,
Seeming to be lost within.

Making 11:11 wishes,
For soft, light, fingertip, kisses.

Your soft fingertips
Hover over my skin,
Like butterfly kisses,
Upon flowers in the breeze.

Your kisses land,
Like raindrops in a suburban pond,
Creating ripples of chills,
Over my blanketed covered arms.

Pulling the blanket up farther,
Enclosing me,
In the further warmth of your body heat,
Trapped inside our make-shift fort.

A slight toss and turn,
And I can no longer feel,
Your warm sunlit rays of breath,
Landing on the back of my neck.

Looking to the ceiling,
And over to your close, limp body,
The muscles in your back,
Rise and fall, accepting my rejection.

I want to wake up,
With my head upon your chest,
Surrounded by the warmth,
Of your button down shirt,
And the protection of your arms.

The dark and dead of night,
Behind tall, black gates that shed no light.
A once in a full moon hanging in the sky,
Leading the way where underlie,
Bodies thought to be dead, but are more alive,
Living all around you, as strangers in disguise.

And walking through the cemetery, over crackling, fallen leaves,
Past peaceful, resting strangers, labeled as just another one that grieves.
Seeing headstones shimmer names of the dead,
While dew covered grass hide where tears have shed,
Over bodies that no longer lie underneath,
But haunt us in the comfort of home and in our sleep,
And they’re watching you stand at their gave; watching you weep.

when will I ever add or multiply ‘x’ and ‘y?’

words written,
                                  and rewritten,
                                                              crossed out once again,


                                                                                            and rewritten.

The first time I ever took a thin, silver blade to my wrist,

Was one time too many.

And only the beginning.

because the simplest bit of eye contact,

can see all the secrets hidden beneath.

There’s a line of people,
Ready to say their goodbyes.
Whispering silent farewells.
Standing in the aisle.
Some will see you again soon.
But for others,
It’ll be a little longer while.

Sleepless nights,
And endless tears,
While you’re just fine.
In that new place you’re in.

Say a prayer,
You’re no longer suffering.
All of us will carry on.
Say goodbye, one last time,
To your love.

Take the happiness,
I’d rather let you have it.
And close the casket.

Ink spilled upon the page.

Lines filled with words unsaid.

Pale, white canvases called your wrist.

Fine tipped blade brushes.

Being wrong isn’t so bad.







Being right is the problem.

Sometimes,

I get the urge to call you 'babe' again.

To whom it may concern:

I’m sure you have a million questions running through your mind, much like I did before making this decision. I’m sure that deep down inside, you are hurting, just like I was. You may never forgive me for what I did, but just know, I held on for too long. This wasn’t a decision that I made on impact because I was having a bad day. It had me thinking for quite some time and I finally came up with what I thought was best. I was tired of waking up every morning and faking my smile. I was tired of waking up with swollen eyes from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of constantly washing my pillow case from all the mascara marks that had appeared from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of telling you that nothing was wrong and that it wasn’t your fault. All that had been a lie. Everything was wrong. And it was your entire fault.

Sincerely, I’m sure you know by now.*

Imagine waking up and finding that note lying on the soft white sheets next to you. Imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind. Imagine seeing the blade covered in blood on the nightstand that belonged to your girlfriend. Imagine my heart start racing.

I looked around the room. All was quiet like any other normal Sunday morning. But instead of waking up next to Sutton, I woke up to the note that had replaced her.

Sutton had a history of depression and had cheated death only twice as far as I knew, so upon finding the note, I almost had a heart attack. She’d been released from the psychiatric hospital about a month ago. The doctors thought she was better, everyone thought she was better. Whenever I went to visit her after work, she’d seemed happy to see me. I noticed her face light up several times. I’d hold her hand, just to make sure she hadn’t cut herself again since the last time I’d been there. And as far as I could tell and see, she’d been clean. So a month later, when I got the call that I could go pick her up, I was more than thrilled.

After picking her up, we had gone out to lunch, and spent the day together. We walked around the lake, holding hands, talking about what each other had missed. I fell even more in love with her, as if I didn’t think it was possible. She was back to the girl who I’d fallen in love with my senior year of high school. Happy, smiling, enjoying herself, just the way I liked her.

I threw the covers off of me.

“Sutton.” I whispered at first. Then, realizing she wouldn’t hear me, I said it louder. “Sutton.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and got up. I went to the bathroom where the door was closed and pressed my ear against it. It was silent and I didn’t think she was in there. I tried the ****, but it was locked, proving my previous assumption had been wrong.

“Sutton.” I said into the door. “Sutton, are you okay?”

There was no answer and my heart started pounding even louder.

“Sutton.”

I went back over to the nightstand by our bed and opened my wallet, retrieving a credit card from one of the many slots. My dad had shown me this trick when I had been just a little boy. Taking the card back over to the door, I slid it through the lock on the door and heard the latch move, allowing me to twist the **** and open the door. Sutton was sitting on the side of the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands.

“Sutton.” I whispered, opening the door wider.

She continued to remain silent.

I went and knelt in front of her. Trying to look up into her eyes, but they were closed. I reached forward to take her hands in mine and she pulled them closer to her.

“Sutton, don’t push me away.” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head the slightest bit.

“I can’t help, if you don’t talk to me.” I whispered.

She sniffled a couple times, and wiped some fresh tears away from her eyes. I took my hands slowly towards her again, and when she didn’t pull away, I softly grabbed them and held them in mine. I squeezed a little tighter and pulled her gently into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

“Talk to me.” I whispered before I placed my lips on her forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s hard to say what’s wrong when nothing is right.” She whispered.

I squeezed her tighter and started rocking her back and forth. After a couple minutes, I pulled her arm away from my chest and examined her wrist, where I discovered fresh blood from cuts that would soon turn to scars. I tilted her chin up, making her look at me. Her eyes started watering from tears that would soon begin to pour. I wrapped my arms tight around her and pulled her close to me, as I heard her begin sobbing. Rocking her back and forth, I rubbed her back.

“I need help.” She whispered into my chest.

“Shh. I know. It’s okay.”

Strangers in every day clothes continued walking back and forth in front of me, as I sat in the most uncomfortable chair there could possibly be, with my head bent in my hands like Sutton had been that day. Holding back tears turned out to be harder than what I thought. We had stood at the front desk, preparing to check her in, when she had suddenly had a change of heart.

“This is a mistake.” She said.

I looked at her, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t need this.”

“Sutton, you wanted this.” I said, “it was your idea. Remember?”

“But, I don’t want it anymore.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I just don’t.”

“Well, that’s not a good enough reason.” I explained.

“Please, don’t make me stay here.” She pleaded some more.

“I’m sorry, Sutton.” I said.

“If you love me, you won’t make me stay.”

“No, if I love you, I’ll do just that.” I explained. “You’re not healthy. You need this. It’s not permanent. You won’t be here forever. Just until you get better.”

“So you’re saying there’s something wrong with me?”

Playing the guilt trip had always been something she was good at. She had me wrapped around her skinny little fingers because I was so head over heels in love with her, but there was no way she was getting out of this one.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No denial.”

“Sutton. Stop. I love you.” I said. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

“No, you’re doing this because I’m broken.”

Moving at the speed of sound.
We took that turn just a little too fast.
We were livin’ on the wild side,
No seat belts,
Just watching the night go past.

Thought we were in total control,
Didn’t realize how much we had to lose,
Not a care in the world,
It wasn’t suppose to happen like that,
Didn’t know we were just a burning fuse.

But it wasn’t even our fault.
Just the wrong place and the wrong time.
If the drunk driver had never left the bar,
We’d still be cruising around town,
Instead of being victims of that crime.

The lights grew brighter the closer they came,
Didn’t take in the fact the car was actually in the same lane.
But coming at us instead of moving away.
Getting closer at high speeds,
Pause the moment, say a prayer, then proceed.

Feel the jolt,
Feel the pain,
Feel my legs break,
Feel the blood start to pour,
Feel nothing.

Unconsciousness was welcoming,
Put me out of my misery, for the time being,
Floating up, higher and higher,
Becoming the bystander,
Looking from above, realizing what my eyes were seeing.

His head was laid upon the wheel,
Arm across my chest, tried to hold me back,
Eyes shut, feeling as I was, nothing.
Not even the rise and fall of his chest,
Which alarmed me and sent my mind under attack.

Screaming down to him,
But seeming like my voice was on mute.
Like a loaded gun,
Bullets and all,
But unable to shoot.

He stayed unmoving,
No signs that he might be improving.
I felt helpless looking on from above,
Like there was nothing I could do,
Then came the sirens, flashing red and blue.

See the paramedics stop at the scene.
See the men run out of the bus.
See them take our pulses,
See them begin to move faster,
See that there was still a chance.

As I watched the scene from above,
The drunk driver stepped out of his car,
And was able to walk just fine,
No limp, no scratch,
Not even the smallest bit of a scar.

The medics took out the long straight boards,
And brought them to the car we’d been victimized in,
Cutting both of us out of the vehicle,
Placing him and I on two separate stretchers,
We were apart, the first time since I couldn’t remember when.

Speeding to the hospital,
I kept my eyes on his ambulance,
Instead of my own,
His chest didn’t rise and fall,
His eyes didn’t give me the slightest glance.

Feeling anger all at once,
Feeling more alone than ever before,
Feeling stupid for being so crazy,
Feeling ugly because of the big cut across my face,
Feeling dead.

The sun begins to rise.
It’s too early to be awake.
Grabbing my keys,
I start towards the car.

Not one hour of sleep,
Tears held back.
Trying to be strong.
Driving across town.

Stop lights and morning traffic,
The only obstacles slowing me down.
Pulling in the drive way.
Your mom greets me at the door.

Walking up on the porch,
She pulls me in her arms.
A single tear escapes,
And slides down my cheek.

Holding the door for me,
I walk inside.
She asks me how I slept.
I tell her, “not one bit.”

My bed isn’t right.
It’s meant for two.
You’re half a world away.
And I’m here, just thinking about you.

After a couple sips of coffee,
And some minutes of loud silence,
I stand up,
And walk to the stairs.

At the top and to the right,
Your room is stationed at the end.
I open the door,
And your scent hits me hard.

Walking to your closet,
I pull out one of your button-ups.
I wrap it around myself,
And grab another shirt.

I go over and sit on your bed,
Hugging the extra shirt to my chest.
Smelling your sweet scent,
And begin to cry.

A million tears,
Finally flooding out.
Heavier sobs escaping,
Until I lay down on my side,
My head resting on your pillow.