Coming home from Prom,
locking myself in my room
and crying.

Just another night.
same as all the rest.

what does that say about me?

"You can't win the war if your mind is always starting the fight"
I stop cold in my tracks upon hearing this.
My heart thumps slowly,
my mind is blank.
"win the war"?
By this time in my life
the idea of winning the war inside
is so foreign
I hardly process it.

"win the war"
I search inside and find ruins,
the war ended long ago,
it raged filthy
and strong
and deep
and my frail body could not fight back.

"win the war",
nearly an insult
to my body
which is now just a tomb,
a deprived carcass
whose flesh was picked off
by the crows
long before I was told it was possible to
"win the war"

The war took my mind
swallowed my soul
drowned my heart
and doused the air in flames.

There is no longer a war to win,
only a forgotten soldier to bury.

She was only a little girl when it happened.
Only a child.
The world shattered around her,
a void opened up
as her throat closed.

Her body limp,
eyes blank,
struggling to see the good in the world,
to cling to the smallest bit of magic left.

She was only a little girl when it happened,
she was only a child
when she was forced to grow up.

Eyes lingering on the steel blade.
Tracing the exact way to tie that knot,
noting where she puts her pills.
Floating in the water,
body tempted tempted to forget how to swim.
Maybe if I starve long enough...
Sometimes I think about death,
but then question
What's the point of killing the body
when the soul died so long ago?
What's the point,
when I'm already dead inside?

I laid out twenty-two new shining glasses.
Regal, sparkling and tall.
I took each one in hand,
a rag in the other,
and turned on the water.

Suds spooling round
up and down
whirling softly
with old hands
washing with precision.

It's three am and I stand solitary
and tired at the kitchen sink.
I keep my socketed eyes
down to the glass and suds
for fear of looking into the reflection
of the window above.

An hour drones by,
I don't notice.
Busy standing still
in the dead of night,
up and down
round and round
suds bubbling
from old hands
washing precisely.

I wash them once
I wash them twice and set them to dry.

I dry them once
I dry them twice and set them side by side.

I won't be using these, no,
the glasses are for others,
to look proper while shining and clinking
and tipping and sipping
and laughing and being happy.

Eyes down from the window,
where a haggard thing waits,
I look to the glasses,
and wash them once more.

I walked in and saw a pair of shoes.
I thought nothing of it,
and went away.
Later, again,
the same pair of shoes.
Those shoes sat down-
blank pants-
I linger long and heard her breath,
building up the courage to ask if she's okay,
"Yeah" a quiet voice cracks.
she's not okay
she's hurting, sick maybe,
but she seems so sad.
She doesn't need me to get anyone
and when it comes to wishing her well
"yeah" is all that I hear.
"Yeah" filled with a quiet torment.

I only saw her black shoes
and skinny black pants.
curled up in the largest stall,
to think I had gone in
feeling sorry for myself
feeling miserable
there to check the mirror
to see if I still look as
disgusting as I think I do,
and there she is,
black shoes
black pants
curled where nobody would notice.
I know that voice
I know that breath,
the tears, by now,
would be stale on her face.
I went away
but still her sad black shoes
patted sad footprints on my heart.

Maybe it's time to grow up,
the fantasy world I've been hiding in
is killing me,
there's hardly anything left,
just an empty shell
for a heart
that once beat true and blue,
or did it ever?

I try to convince myself I'm special,
I can do something great
that I'll leave this **** town
and not be as poor as the ***** who raised me,
that I'll be somebody,
that I'll be loved-
I'm not looking for a fairytale
I'm just looking for a way out.

I've spent too much time
cowering in my books
and spells
and Doctors and demon hunters
and wizards
and zombie-slayers
--but it's been so long since
I've written something I could be proud of.
It's been so long since my imagination
has brought me euphoria,
since my eager anticipation
of the impossible
has granted me talent
to write a story
to bring readers to tears...


I guess I'm growing up.
Shaking solemn hands
with a childhood
thats lasted too long.
good.
maybe now I can die.

I heard you like models
tall
pretty
and thin

I heard they're half your age.
I don't care.

I'll wear those heels
cut my skin
and starve myself,
maybe someday I'll be good enough for you.

I just want to be pretty.
I want to look in the mirror and not want to cry
to not hold back the urge to drive my cracked fist into it
and shatter it
in hopes it'll shatter me as well.

I want cheekbones
defined arms
sultry curves
sturdy, thin,
long legs.

I want to be skinny.
I want to be pretty.
I want to be noticed.
I want someone to tell me I'm pretty
to tell me they like what they see.

I just want to be pretty.
I want to have a chance.
Boys don't look at plain girls like me-
and neither do the girls-
nor do the teachers.
nor does anybody.

Plain, scraggly
flabby
slouching
gross thing
that I am,
resembling a monotone thing
that crawled out of Satan's ***.
I'd like, just once,
to look in a mirror
and have a genuine smile,
to think I look okay
to not have this mutt body
drive me further into my shell
ashamed to look at people
ashamed to have people look at this
ugly dawdy body.

I just want to be pretty.

I think,

just once,

I'd like to feel important.

There are worms in my heart.
There are larvae in the crooks of my ribs.
My skin blows away in the cool breeze of the night.

I am crumbling.
I am decaying.
It is eating me from the inside out,
Tugging at my
taut veins.

Blood pools.
The mind so distant and broken
frantic with worry-
all thoughts
are nothing but a dizzying mumble,
confused and afraid
trying to break free-
trying
to accept.

It eats me from the inside out.

I sat on the bus
and drew a frown
on the foggy window
and realized I had little
to no idea who I really am.

Skinny.
Moppy hair,
high, defined cheekbones
framing your pale face,
Those eyes, nearly black,
kind and soft with illness.

The disease lies strong within you,
bony metacarpels tracing my hip,
you feel it in me too.

At peace with our dragons,
frozen in war-
purple dye
tainting the test results,
prompting questions
of skinny love
run rampant.

Voice of an off-kilter Angel,
whispering sweet horrors
into mine that are nearly deaf.

Entrance me
in your dying symphony,
your frail sonnet
your crisp breath-
your last breath.

Set me on my way
into an unknown,
shrouded
in little miseries.

What would happen if I stopped?
Simply stopped.
Would it be all that bad?
No,
no it would not.

I sit frozen in front
of the fridge the cupboards
stocked full
but nothing to eat.
So maybe I'll just stop.

I'm exhausted
but lay awake,
so maybe I'll just stop.

Would it be all that bad?
No,
No it would not.
This life is complicatedly simple,
and very hard
and very scary
and very sad,
so maybe I'll just stop.

After all,
Living isn't for everyone.

Don't wake up,

Don't wake me up,

Don't drag me from the only place I feel nothing.

Sounding alarms, a wretched voice,

telling me I can't go back.

Weak bones push a barely functioning body up and onto bruised feet,

cracked back- I go through the motions

I pretend to eat

I dress in the slop in front of me

I look to the mirror and pretend to like what I see.

I drag myself to a car nearly as broken as I

and off to banality.

I hardly breath

I hardly speak

My mind is elsewhere,

a where they'll never find me.

Fatigue overhwelmes me,

I taste the need.-

It's already sixth period-

what happened to the day?

I don't remember,

it's rare that I do.

Long hours curled in a ball

hoping their eyes pass right over me.

I sleep walk through the day,

a ghost to all who glance.

I'm home again,

where no one has the chance to see me,

I hide behind usernames

and craddle their comments.

With no voice and an empty belly.

I mindlessly tap away at an electric screen.

It's not really me.

I turn my thoughts to things so strange

and much much older than me.

Wasting away the hours,

maybe the more fantasy I watch

I'll forget about where I really am.

It's 2am-

I no longer bother to try and sleep

I can shut my eyes

and wait all I want

still nothing but darkness

and a quiet house-

why is no one ever home?

Not that I care, of course,

I'll go to the dark but comforting

corner of Tumblr,

and wait.

4:30am

like clockwork

I sleep,

dream of dark things

much older than me,

and quietly beg to never wake up.

If I weren't so afraid to speak,
we could maybe be friends,
you and I.

If I weren't so afraid to make eye contact,
we could maybe say "hello" every now and then.

If I weren't so afraid of the world,
things could maybe be different.

The fact of the matter
is that when you're alone,
things are so much easier.
No complications
fears
worries
regrets
mistakes
arguments
bruising
j­ealousy
wonder
fear
fear
gone-
it's all gone.
it's all simple
when you're alone it goes away
and it's so much easier
to trick yourself
into thinking you're happy.

Don't speak
shut up
cover those bruises
one word and it's over
if you make too much noise
you'll get hit.

Curl your hair
and hide your ugly face
no one wants to hear you
nobody cares
sit down
shut up
keep quiet or you'll get more bruises
you're nothing
you're worthless
you don't deserve to be alive
keep crying and I'll **** you
shut up
stop lying
you know he'd never hit you
you gave those bruiess to yourself
shut up
stop lying
nobody cares
you know its your fault
stop being dramatic
stop screaming
stop crying
you're not really in pain
shut up
shut up
shut up
shut up!



I've heard it since forever.
It's all they've ever said.
So that's exactly what I'll do,
I won't cry,
pretend not to feel
I'll sit down and shut up.
it's been true all along,
nobody really cares,
you're right
it's my fault
the bruises are gone
but I still feel them.
but it doesn't matter
because I know it's my fault.

So that's what I'll do/
I'll pretend not to feel.
I'll sit down
and not speak a word
because I've been told that
since forever,
that I am nothing,
and that is all I'll ever be.

So I'll sit down,
close my eyes,
and never speak a word.

Let's play Hide-And-Seek.
I'll go hide,
and you have to find me.
Count to 100
and I'll off-
are you ready
here we go
1-10 keep counting
While I hide
20-28
it's up to you to figure it all out-
you sneaky cheat!
skipping right to 90
well fine then.
You think you can find me so easy?
you think you know where
and how
I hide?
You don't, trust me you don't.
Keep wandering, that's the way,
yes I was hiding there a minute ago
but not anymore.
Now I'm on the ***** of my feet,
stalking you,
like prey,
is that what you are to me?
I can't even tell anymore.
I wanted you.
I wanted you to find me.
If you find me you get my heart,
but that's the trick, see,
I'm not sure I want to be found.
So I'll change my spot
and keep running,
keep circling you and tracing your steps
I'll keep going until it's you that is hiding
and me that is seeking.
I'll ask you,
I'll ask the world,
count to 100
and come find me,
but each time
you get so close
a hairs breath away from finding me
Off I run
away
away
where you'll never find me.
Because that's the trick, see,
I don't want to be found.

I saw what she wrote
and that sat me thinking.
Cruel eyes,
cruel hands,
painting me
black and blue.
purple here,
green there,
I'll stitch it with my hair.
Grit my teeth,
naked in the sheath
salt pouring out from
those that saw it all.

Close them.

Maybe this time
the dents in the wall,
the splintered bat-
the window
where my feet
set running
on that muddy earth-
-
maybe this time it'll hurt so bad
that it'll have never happened.

The world seemed quiet.
The teacher's eyes are sullen.
and the kids...
we're all so polite,
all so gentle
each breath filled with a cautious respect...
There's an air of despair,
as we mourn
one whom we loved.

this is where they sang and danced
this is where they felt romance
this is where they learned to laugh
this is where they bounced with gaffe
this is where they learned
this is where they yearned,
this is where they were shown the world,
this is where they slowly twirled
this is where they sang rhymes of crime
this is where they saw the tragedies of time,
this is where they truly saw the world
this is where they quickly curled
this is where they loved
this is where they began to shove
this is where they had faith in fate
this is where they learned to hate
this is where the children play
this is where their bodies lay

It's interesting to see how it goes
when somebody dies and nobody knows.
It's a cruel cruel world
when the rain flattens hair that's been curled
and her makeup is running
and she looks so stunning
but it would be crueler not to mention his tears
muscles cover up his fears
be a man
they preach
be a man
take a stand
don't be a leach
be the biggest
be the best
and not anything less
for they stress and they stress
otherwise he, is, nothing.

It's a cruel cruel world
when we brand our
children
with something worse
than labels-
expectations-
like horses in stables
bred for perfection
bred for success
bred to be a show pony
with no free will
glitter and smiles
nothing but phony,

It is branded in their skin
it's burned quite deep
like all of their kin
a scar to keep.
Hold it in,
careful,
breath with the beat,
walk in the middle of the street,
you are not your own
your heart is made of stone,
for otherwise you are nothing,
and will not be noticed upon passing.

I looked,
I looked long and hard
and shouted-
"you're ugly,
you're atrocious
you're revolting
boring
and plain
aloof
unobservant
and so, so pathetic.
You're nothing but a useless,
worthless piece of trash
My God, could you be any more sad?
Stop those tears,
Nobody cares.
It's true what they say,
you'll never be loved,
you can't even make a decision by yourself!
So many symptoms, so many ails,
stop blaming them all on your daddy issues.
So you say you wanna die?
Then do it,
what's stopping you?
praying that someone will miss you?
Well grow up, because they won't,
grow up, grow up!
older with each day
but still just a child inside,
cocooned in your ailments on a tear-stained pillow.
Stop crying,
you ***** little mutt,
why do you keep waiting for others to sew you up and fix you?
Is it because your bones are so weak
you can hardly rise in the morning?
Is all of this true?
You know it is,
My God, you are such a sad little creature."

I've said all I've needed to say,

So I step back from the mirror.

The most romantic thing I've ever heard,
I soon realized is the only romantic thing I'd ever want to hear.
He told me he'd get me pills-
not the kind to get you going-
not the ones for fun,
no,
the ones that would save my soul.
That would stop the pain and sorrow,
the tears,
the anger,
the weight,
the terrors,
and that's when I realized,
the only being I could ever love,
is one that could save my soul.

He hates writing poetry,
as boys like him often do,
he hates books,
and science fiction
and generally most everything I like.
He clings like a mollusk,
is none too smart,
and often I'm bored with his very existence,
but lord he is sweet
as he spends an hour
writing a fantastically ****** poem
to repair what I keep breaking.

Poem in hand,
he lays his heart at my feet,
and in one swift motion
I stomp on it.

They ask me why I'm sorry,
But how can I reply?
struggling to find the words
but choking and drowning instead.

Memories flash by
muddled with contempt
of his hands around my throat,
of a bloodied fist and bat.

It must have been my fault,
in fact I was told it was.
The bruises and burns
form stripes across my body
and it must have been my fault.

"You're a *****"
he'd say
"A worthless swarthy *****,
and you don't deserve to be here-
you deserve to die"

so prompt and adament in my mind
feeling my weak bones shiver and snap
as they recall a bloodied bat bruising my childhood's skin
again and again
and again
and again
and again
and again...

I'm sorry.
I'll never know what I did
to make them all hate me
to make him hate me
they say we are blood
but does blood have that much hate?
three other siblings-
they did nothing wrong
It was me
and always me
that had to apologize.

I don't know what I did,
so I'll say I'm sorry
I'll apologize for everything in sight
to make up for the little girl
who couldn't be sorry enough.

You think because I ****** your ****

we're bonded forever.

Don't "make love" to me

**** me like a man

I can't be doing all the work.

work work

that's all this is

I'm tired now

and skin is lacking bruises.

this isn't any fun.

I'm cutting our ties

let's just be friends

grow up young man

the world is darker than you think

I am sicker than your drink

I crave something skinnier

and more deranged than you.

Take your health and scamper off,

For I crave poison

of an older age.

I crave poison

that will leave its marks

I crave poison

that will **** me in the end.

I'm happy,
As the knife drags across my wrist.
I'm loved,
As the skin is torn away.
I'm okay,
as the blood comes pouring out.
I'm worth something,
as my tears water down the blood.
I'm happy,
as it pools around me.
I'm happy,
as the overwhelming pain is bliss.
I. am. Happy.
as I lose the long awaited consciousness.

Tell me I'm pretty,
or I shall cut myself from head to toe.

I fear the way you look at me,
such love and adoration,
I fear the sweet things you say
and all those classic movie actions of love.
I fear how deeply you care.

So often am I filled with anger
at your sweet words;
I am not an Angel-
how dare you call me your princess!
I'm nothing but a piece of trash
waiting for this bond to crash.
I'm a ***** fat creep
a disturbed dying freak-
I beg of you, stop loving me,
you do not know you are not free.

I'm a liar,
a sad dying liar,
you embarrass me
you're a *****
you're quite ugly
and lame
you have no sense of adventure
and not an inch of loyalty.

My dear I'm a liar,
a cruel, sick patient.
I'm a ***** fat creep
a disturbed dying freak-
I beg of you, stop loving me
For I've never loved you.

I don't like you,
I swear I don't,
I hate your stupid face
and your funny hair
and ridiculous clothes.
I don't care how funny you are,
your stupid laugh is heinous.
I hate your swagger,
I hate the slight crack in your voice,
Truly Truly
I hate most everything about you.

You're not a good person,
in fact you're quite mean,
you treat people like objects
and your drug use is obscene.
Truly Truly
I hate most everything about you.

I hate it when you walk by
and look at her like that,
look at all of them like that.
Tall, beautiful, perfect,
your favorite kind of object.
It shouldn't effect me, but it does,
leaves me standing in front of the mirror crying
wishing I was pretty
wishing I was tall
wishing for a cute laugh
wishing to be perfect
               to be your kind of perfect

You've said it yourself,
you're broken inside,
you're the shell of a funny boy
with monsters swarming inside.
Maybe I'm crazy,
but I see something more,
I'm already taken,
but I fear that I do not love him like I should...
I fear I love you.

I don't like you,
I swear I don't,
you're not a good person,
in fact you're quite mean,
you treat people like objects
and your drug use is obscene.
Truly Truly
I love most everything about you.

"I'm sorry"
said in six varieties
a thousand times a day,
he asks why,
why it's all I ever say-
but how can I tell him
that it's all I ever feel.

Sorry burns from deep within,
Sorry runs boldly through my veins,
Sorry is screaming from my soul,
whispering from my eyes
and falling from my lips.
Sorry was beaten and spoonfed to me as a child,
Sorry was branded on my skin
Sorry was woven in my clothing
and pricked into my heart.

Sorry is all I ever was,
Sorry is all I'll ever be.

I decided to keep a flower box,
outside a window with a rusty lock,
I based it with tender soil,
and water left to boil.
I planted, with careful hands,
flowers fit for the greatest of lands,
I let them soak in the sun's rays,
watching them grow for days and days.
Each day I poured, with determined stealth,
boiled water to keep their health,
I swooned and sighed at their beautiful sight,
eagerly waiting first bloom at first light,
but with all desperate love and care,
these shaking hands had not been fair;
boiled water drooled through the box,
and like a thousand shattered clocks
I broke down in quiet sorrow of what I'd found,
careful lovely flowers withered and drowned.

Maybe I'd like to be a Homecoming Princess,
Maybe I'd like to be a Prom Queen,
Maybe I'd like to have this solo,
Maybe I'd like to have the spotlight on me.

Maybe I'd like to join a band,
Maybe I'd like to speak my mind,
Maybe I'd like to win Poetry Out Loud
                                       or
                                       anything, really...

Maybe I'd like to see,
                               hear,
                               do,
                        and be so much more,
Maybe I'd like to be like everyone else...

And maybe-not maybe- quite absolutely
I'd like to ***** panic, anxiety,
and all these stupid hinderances--
and do all of the above.

I love you dearly,
please forgive me,
I do not mean to hurt you,

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
but this disease is raging strong.

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me
I fear I may be empty inside,

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
You deserve so much better...

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
I'm nothing but a monster,

I love you dearly...

Please forgive me...

This is all my fault...

I love you dearly...

please...
please forgive me.

"What If"s that creep under my skin
"What If"s turning moldy from being locked within,
"What If"s that haunt each day and night,
"What If"s that kick and scream with fright.
What if his smile grows dim?
What if I hurt him?
What if he let's go?
What if I never let him know?
What if I go under?
What if the remains are left asunder?
What if I can't resurface?
What if I do a great disservice?
What if I breath in but not out?
What if my eyes forget how to shout?
What if I give in?
What if I never end the sin?
What if my bones turn brittle?
What if my heart is really this little?
What if I lie?
What if I never cry?
What if I stay like this?
What if it's me that I miss?
What if each lash fends?
What if the message sends?
What if reality bends?
What if this, is how it ends?

"Nothing Tastes as Good As Skinny Feels"
                                  --Kate Moss

I disgust myself
                             with how I can't help but agree.

Let me grab your hand,
rough from long days,

Feel your heart beat slow,
as your stress begins to flow..
away and away it will go
as we venture into nowhere
into everywhere...
Where we can rest easy
and be free
from the ****** insensitivities of society
and forced compression of our precious time...
Of these stupid expectations
and plastic things we once thought were ideals...

Take a breath from this pleasantly lurid fantasy,
and come away with me.

You think because I'm quiet,
that I am hateful too.

and you think,
that because I am quiet,
I am clever.

Quiet means so many
different things to different people,
innocent,
bored,
unhappy,
angry,
resentful,
narcissistic,­
dreamy,
mysterious,
quaint,
selfish,
shy,
rude,
ignorant,
misant­hropic,

But did you ever think,
that maybe my silence
is the loudest
of all cries for help?

Did you ever think,
that maybe I am silent,
because I am afraid?

Deep in the wonder under,
another strikes rigid.
Fearless hands wander,
waving with an aimless purpose,
exploring the damp walls
which line a clouded tunnel
so many of us experience...

Exploring,
as we so often do,
in our darkest days and
perhaps dare to taste
the salted streams which
casually drown us in our insecurities,
not so disimilar to the sweaty breeze
that travels to wrap us in atrocities
laced with bleeding fantasies...

Deeper and deeper,
seemingly eternal,
straining for the warm caress of sunlight...
yet helpless
and silent
as the dire tragedy
of life settles to the earth.

Feel like dyin'
feel like cryin'
screaming as the darkness
closes in.
holding everything in,
shredding the pain with each layer of skin-
tormented by the shadows
that conglomerate elsewhere.

For underneath this shrill menagerie,
my heart beats
still and cold.

Snow Globes make me sad.
Such simple,
stationary things,
so easily upset by being
turned round.

There's something rotten
about the way
the cheerful snow and glitter
flurry about
and float effortlessly
into a quiet mound
on the bottom...
still
and forgotten,
until someone takes an interest
to turn their world upside down,
and for a moment,
just a moment,
the Snow Globe is brimming with life
and magic...
and then it settles,
and is forgotten.

Snow Globes make me sad.

I looked into my shadow,
black with such ignorant purity,
yet with the good judgement
I am void of
to shout out
"Don't look at the mirror!
Don't you dare even glance!"
Why not? I'd ask,
foolishly looking into
the reflective glass,
eyeing the pink,
pudgy,
fat,
stupid,
repulsive
stain on society that is me.
Cringing at the image that displeases me so,
the image that has caused the scars on my wrists.
the image that haunts my days
and steals away my nights.

it hurts.

"Because the mirror is a liar"
My shadow replied.
"Because the mirror is a monster,
what you see there is not you,
what you see there is pain.
Look closer,
for that slight warp in the mirror
that gives you a slant to your mouth
is not a malfunction of manufacture-
but of the mind,
carefully crafted
and polished
by society
that you are not good enough,
that you are something you should be ashamed of
until you hand them those so easily torn papers
you've spent so long working for
so you can be chiseled down to nothing
and pumped with plastic
to satisfy a twisted need
for standardization.
That is why you don't look in that mirror.
Because you will not see yourself,
you will see a false projection
of everything you've been told
is not okay."


I tore my eyes away from the mirror-
And for a moment.
just for a moment.
I believed that I was pretty.

We are born crying
over the loss of our past life.

Tick Tock goes the clock,
to play my final ballad.

Tick Tock goes the clock,
a simple rhythm,
to seal my tomb.

Tick Tock goes the clock,
long after my heart has stopped.

I'm done.
It's as simple as that.
I'm done with living,
I'm done with breathing.

life is a little infinity,
We have such a short time to live,
But that short time seems to never end.

When will the curse of longevity be lifted?
when will the turmoil end?
Is this a punishment?
we do not deserve this.

why?
why, with such a long life
do we also receive
such ignorance,
such cruelty,
such power?

We who are so easily damaged...
we, so selfish, so confident,
what gives us the right to live so long?

It's dark in here,
in the caverns of my heart,
it's cold and still
where my blood should be flowing.
Caress my cheek,
look into my eyes,
know that I am yours,
and you will never be mine.
It's damp here,
where I sleep,
from modest tears
shed like rain,
just a drop to go unnoticed in a storm
to fall upon your shaggy locks.
Darling shield your face,
rather I shall do it for you.
Hate to see your makeup run like this,
yet so fitting
when melting down to your wide smile.
Darling let go of her hand,
darling do not make me sad.
How many hearts
you have broken,
how many hands held like mine,
brief and behind her back.
Do not look at me with those eyes,
do not rest your head upon my lap,
do not hold me long after the public eye is gone.
Darling I am sad.
I know you are too,
but darling you are hurting others,
leaving limp surprises
for their mothers.
My love you do not mean it,
but my love you are cruel.
You are the monster
taking on the form of a boy
cowering under his blanket.
My love you make me ache,
but my love,
my darling,
you need help.

The steeple's bell
ringing ominously in the distance.
So far yet so close,
resounding inside of my throbbing head.
bare feet brushed in earth crust and moss
dragging themselves over the wet grass,
body stuck in a mechanical forward motion,
having given up
on breaking through the thick ice now encasing her rotting bones.
Onward and onward,
toward the never ending bell.
Eyes pale and absent from vision,
she stomps on and on.
A wicked attraction
to that Godforsaken bell,
forcing itself from side to side
atop a burning prison of religion.
She opens her frosty,
melting mouth,
unable to speak truth
or reach her own thoughts-
she brays out quietly,
like that of a sheep.
Mindlessly her numb body
continues to follow the clanging of the bell.
Hearing only a glorious sound
to guide her in a world of dark,
foolishly braying her heart out to what she cannot see,
too frozen and numb to feel
the scorching flames
licking at her feet,
engulfing her,
enjoying her,
kindly leaving,
only her crisp ears
to hear the bell's final toll.

Breath in,
breath out,
time will continue to pass.

Gasp for air,
and struggle hard,
the waves will continue to crash.

Keep pressing your feet
against the steep path,
for it grows longer by the day.

Stand up and hold tightly,
the bar is being raised.

My dear,
       the end is near,
so do not regret,
     do not lose faith,
let go of your hold,
give your feet a rest,
struggle no more
and take your last breath.
because, my dear,
                      the end is near,
          and you must greet it with no fear.