"That there
That's not me
I go
Where I please

I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here."

- Radiohead, How to Disappear Completely, Kid A (2000).

There's nothing worse
than feeling transparent
In a world
that stigmatizes
the thoughts


**that radiate from the dark.

The feelings are all too familiar,
as if the first time was practice.
The fear of pain.
The pain of insanity.
The sound of the drum beating to wither away
the final moments of a healthy heart.  

I cannot believe I am here again.

I am my own demon.
I fight fire with angst.
The cracks on my skin
are testaments to the
complexities within my soul.

I am my own demon.
Pushing against the currents of my mind,
The ripples of my brain
crash against the creases of my being.

You are my demon,
tugging at the bottom of my feet.
Reeling me in,
ever so deep.

So when the bee comes to buzz,
and the mosquito plagues conscience,
I will once again--
ignite the demon within.

When you fall in love,
they never tell you how it's going to end

but instead,

they tell you about the endlessness
of the possibility living with azaleas.

*******,

I only find clamor in a sea of open water.

Every night before the sun sets I write myself a letter to you.
Addressing the person I think I know.
Letting him know that love is possible despite the burns ingrained on our skin.

Every night after the sun sets I write myself a letter to you.
Addressing the person I have come to know.
The one that breaks the skin I thought was elastic enough to hold all pain.

Every night I fight myself.
Begging to move on.
Telling myself that the cracks in my skins are battles that have been won.
Feeding into the ******* the world feeds my hungry soul.

Instead, I know.
That somewhere out there you're living a life--
full of cracks that have nothing to do with me.
And in the deepest and most honest part of my soul,
I know that this is the most ****** up of all.

A drowsy mind
furthers a crack in the pavement.

The hope of a static day
is suffocated by his breath.

He then carries
the torpid body,
across the bridge.

Despite the fact that I think about your presence
constantly
you're a ghost.


All I have are the memories.

"But I lost myself, when I lost you.



I lost myself, and I lost you too."