I've spent centuries
in this agony
My body changes
but time stays still

All this time I've passed
waiting to be found
like a bird inside a cage,
my feet chained to this ground

I can't keep my monsters at bay
but I can't run away

In the eye of each soul
all I see is fear
and my own still whispers
"I'm not from here"

By now I thought
I'd have more power
But at the end of each day
"it" still devours

Even though there's love in my heart
I still feel like falling apart

Each fight feels like
dark mirrors inside a maze
and all I see in this reflection
is my own empty gaze

My mind is light years
away from this place
Still the only thing that saves me
is your warm embrace

And when it feels like I have no choice
I recognize your voice

I'm so tired of this fight
But your love still keeps me warm
Together, we'll win this battle
Together, we'll breathe through the storm.

A friend knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words
Who knows the tune that my heart plays
Because I can't hear the words my heart speak
I feel lost inside my own world
Can't locate where my heart is
Inside my chest is cold below zero
I'm losing the fight against sanity
Slowly slipping back into depression
Happiness is a foreign word that I don't comprehend
So again Who knows the tune that my heart plays
Who can restore my faith in myself
I try but can't do it alone...

My eyes hurt after I cry. Every time. Did you know that?

Its like my head is telling me to close them, and maybe I won't see the blood strewn across my childhood walls, my childhood hands, anymore. Their assailants were little secret cuts made each day, desperate to ask for help.

Years after they stopped, my eyes can still see them. My walls talk to my head and remind me how many times I wished I were dead. And I don't feel them, I can't fathom them, but they eat at the frays of my sanity, the few weak threads, and start tearing the life I've put together for myself apart. Who am I? I can't tell if I'm a death-lusting 15 year old or a stable and happy 20 year old woman. My eyes get so blurry here.

Its so hard with this picturing mind, to not remember how picture perfect we could be sometimes. I forget the calling and crying and cutting for those little snapshots that make me think I ruined all of it. That its my fault we're not picturesque enough to send perfect post cards for Christmas anymore. Its hard to convince myself it was never that way in the first place.

I mean, cmon, Grace, open those burning eyes of yours. You've felt like an outsider since you were young. Your father joked that with your starlight hair and sky eyes you were an alien that they adopted one day, but the odd part is you kind of understood why it could be true. Not just because of the celestial features, but you never belonged. The daughter they wanted and made you to believe you needed to be was never you. You walked on glass shards of your own shattered heart to try to reach the strange plain where your parents resided, but the more you bled the further you felt.

But they lied, you're their flesh and blood, that part can't be undone. They gave you special recessive genes to a T and made you suffer as a child for having them. To top it all off they gave you this ****** photographic memory that traumatizes you too well. Its like you can never leave the blood behind.

Yet tonight your eyes hurt, even too much to picture the blood, so maybe its time for some rest. The memories, the blood, even they can wait. For now what you need, god forbid you admit this, is some silence and rest. There has been enough clatter between your ears for one night. Who knows, some people might not even be able to withstand such clatter and chatter for a lifetime.

Guess your just a special recessive alien like that.

Existence
Is a tired pill
That I no longer take
It takes me

I'm the sad sad puddle
That you step over
Out of place
Always reflecting about
Reflecting - Never doing
****** by a blank cerulean sky
That once read coulda

Looking back on it,
Even the corpse
That I have yet to become
Is bored to **** with my life.

beige sits in your skin, layers in
various shades. sometimes I mistake it for
pink, in the shadows

but no
mostly just
beige

--void

heartbreak
parallel to eye
without razor

sobbing

wet leaves
pressed in
a book
will not
dry

next

tears
do not
outlive
themselves

discovery

for another
generation

still

when in doubt
quote rimbaud
no verbs
no more

choosing the vowel “o”

that
i’m not
going to
remember
again

We might be known for our glorified past,
How we went out and played real games outside.
And then time just flew so fast,
There are a lot of things, now, we can’t ride.

We grew up knowing society had rules.
TV said to study, go to college, and live happily.
But what unfolded before us is kinda rude,
A painful slap of some dose of a new bossoming reality.

As every generation may argue,
Ours may claim to be really confused.
Memories of bike rides and skies of different hues,
Rapidly changed by virtual abuse.

We still try to live authentic though,
Thinking wishfully that we can escape the Net.
Go to places, do things, go back and forth,
Brushing off every little regret.

But who’re we actually fooling?
The Net is inescapable,
Lose interconnectedness and you’ll cease existing,
A feeling that is plain horrible.

We’ll figure this out someday,
That’s what we tell ourselves,
But as we live each day,
We acknowledge that a little help wouldn’t hurt.

'Twas foolish of me to want more,
I knew that that was just what you wanted.
It has been a craving I'm looking for,
Everytime I see my pillow, my bed.

I wake up with this imagination,
That my arms are wrapped around you,
In this world, we have one vision,
To share something that goes through.

I remember how you took off your glasses,
Placed them on the desk and sat beside me.
We'd talk and go to our mind palaces,
Every detail, yes, we do see.

The way you moved the sheets,
The feel of your feet.
My skin against yours,
We're awake until four.

The first touch's innocence,
Those moments of awkwardness,
I enjoyed every minute of it,
They're something I wanna repeat.

But you feel otherwise.
Not for you, you think.
Last moments to see your eyes,
And imprison what I feel in every ink.

Now every waking moment is hell,
Knowing you won't be there.
No one can bother tell,
If this pain'll last forever.

I open my eyes and kiss my pillow,
Grab my sheets to feel warm,
The void within remains hollow,
Longing for you and your arms.

If only the heart was installed with an anti-virus software!
We would have detected the wrong persons and never let them in

once there was a corner shop somewhere here
and a toothless man who smiled from ear to ear
his hardened gums were a vibrant red colour
and his demeanor said he’d been there before,
seen all the wonderful new things in his dreams
and had a foretaste of what was now the present
from him we learned that dreams are a version
of reality tinged with foregone conclusions
today, organized chaos, tomorrow anarchy!
flowers and flower shops shall truly flourish
as we buy old fancies and dispense with surprises
in a brave new world where nothing ever matters
so let the flowers bloom and glisten in the sun
and in showers of rain and avalanches of ruin
as the edifices of conceited man tumble and crash
perhaps we might then glow softly like the petals
of new species of flowers telling the world a word
or two about duplication and replication in time