Whilst being in the midst of what is supposedly considered a peaceful setting, I still feel deranged.
I'm always alone at bonfires in the night with a crowd of people and my demons dance in the shadows of their faces; teasing me as they trace every cheek bone and seesawing at a distance within the woods.
Wishing for better days that aren't tainted with impervious black smoke and ash but I no longer trust the wind.
I no longer trust the trees, this rusted out fire-pit, or those cunning koi fish in that pond regardless of all of the years in lessons they've taught me.
Because I remain burning up
waking up
breaking out
in cold sweats and I have never thought of a tree as a waste of space before.

Unfailingly unsure and uneasy at the thought of a God but I begged the sky for direction last night.
Bawling on the shoulder of the Big Dipper like it's my long lost mother,
biding my time for an answer and scrutinizing for a sign,
I still can hear nothing in return.
I'm prying open it's mouth to hear it say that I am not bad and I am not slipping away
but she is silent and
I can feel that I am.
Looking down towards the ground I cannot help but think that
this is the fate that my stars have left me;
between home and where I live.
SO I SURRENDER.
I'm giving up the bottle before the bottle gives up on me.
Wanting something more than the intoxicated chemical romances and I've grown sick and tired of chewing people up and spitting them back out.
Wanting something more for my own sake because I don't want to be a good for nothing any further and I've grown sick and tired of killing myself just like you've killed me in your brain.
Unfailingly unsure and uneasy at the thought of "Me" but I begged the sky for direction last night.

The leaves are changing their colors like I am changing my name.
No longer thriving, bright, and sturdy on my branch; I am now dark and desolate on the ground.
Making one with perished grass and the worms because it feels like "us" outside and I just don't have the energy to grow anymore.
Renaming myself "Autumn" because I am nothing but dried up leaves on your bedroom floor.

Driving myself mad with believing that I am so easily pushed out of your way.
Infuriated with the past three years of being hooked in the mouth because I remember the satisfaction in your eyes.
Indignant for allowing to be reeled within your palms that have stayed just as sweaty, as unsympathetic, and as rough as i can remember;
just to be booted back into the water again.
Looking back, I was under the impression that you were merely a lost soul, a ship without a captain, and ultimately a lost cause.
**You still are.

One.*
One toothbrush.
One dollar.
Only one of my shoes.
Two.
Two ravens above my head.
Two black clouds in the sky.
Too much hate behind my eyes.
Three.
Three days on a beach.
Three tries to be with you.
Three times out of reach.
Four.
Four shots in the dark.
Fourth time punching myself in the gut.
124th black and blue mark.