One bullet. One bullet is all it would take to drain away all of the disillusionment and dishonesty, all the tears and silent screams in the middle of the night when I can't see any reason to stick around, when all I want to do is set myself on fire and throw myself off the roof, for no other reason than to actually ****** feel something before I go. But I can't. The recurring thoughts of sweet release are always soured by thoughts of the aftermath. My parents. They would never recover. They'd spent the rest of what they don't even feel like you could call a "life" wondering where they went wrong, why I didn't come to them, why they weren't able to help me. Why their baby is dead. The image of my parents weeping over my brutally disfigured corpse is something I've never seen, but it haunts my ******* dreams every night when I close my eyes. ******* it mom and dad, why the **** do you have to care about me so much. I love you two, so ******* much. It may seem like an end to the pain for us, but for parents, it's the end of their lives.

It haunts me,
The presence of her absence
her voice, only exists in one place
and that place, is my mind,
a place of noise
Her smile, engraved in my mind
she cannot speak anymore,
for she has a tongue, but no voice
she cannot show herself
for she has a body, but no life
she is not here anymore
but her soul lingers on
the crusts of this home
and on the crusts of my heart

- Kaya

I am starting to realize
That life is not as beautiful
or romantic
as I had always imagined.
I am growing in sadness.
I am growing up.
I think this is what my mother
tried to warn me about.

i pity words
because words try
they try to communicate in the most intimate way possible
having all these different words pertaining to different degrees of emotions, feelings.
And by having different genres,
like being descriptive, scientific, or conversational,
but it’s always unto the ability of two people:
the conveyor,
if the words would come off strong, or strong enough
or nonchalant, or nonchalant enough
and
the receptor,
if the words are to be processed, understood, wholeheartedly
or to come in one way and out the other
and it’s always different.

you see,
words try, but they’re a medium,
and there are other avenues of expressing ones emotions,
those of which are underlying,
which can’t be articulated.
when you speak words,
it contains tone, diction, and emphasis,
which printed words try to mimic
by various styles like
italics, bold, or underlines,
but they can never quite imitate
shifting eyes, twitches
the waver in your voice, it’s depth,
you, running your hand through your hair,
or having fidgety fingers,
and your legs never seem to stop shaking.
All of this steals the spotlight off of words,
and I wonder, what do all of these things mean?

we stargaze because we know the answers we need are not on earth