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Laura Nov 2020
Ballerina slippers
And the sharpest knife
Slipping down the hall
Darkness of the night
Delicate dance with death
Watch the knife twirl
Leaping through the air
Slashing at the girl
Blood pours out like ribbons
Screams, the music notes
Relief was never given
Away the dancer floats
Laura Feb 2021
We could taste each other's candy,
we could share a lollipop.
We could lick each other's syrup
and swallow every drop.

It's the sweetness that's my weakness;
I can't make the cravings stop.
And if you want some sugar too
I'll buy a candy shop.
Laura Nov 2020
I’m trying to find my flowers,
I’ve lost them along the way,
skipping through my garden
on a bright and sunny day.
I didn’t mean to lose them,
I need to bring them back.
My poor garden is empty now,
no colours, only black.
Sometimes I skip too fast,
some people think I’m crazy.
Sometimes I hand them out,
all my roses and my daisies,
my tulips and my lilies;
sunflowers and bluebells.
I’m trying to spread some beauty
before I go through hell.
As fast as flowers grow
my sky will turn dark grey,
and then I’m left alone
on an unsuspecting day.
I have to pace myself,
I’m not a flower girl.
Sometimes my mind takes over
sending me in a whirl.
I want to share some beauty
but I’d like some colours too,
something left to show me
where all my flowers grew.
Laura Feb 2021
Have you ever held a razorblade,
and caressed it's sharpened edge?
Have you ever climbed a cliff,
only to dance along its ledge?
Have you ever played in traffic,
running in between the cars?
Have you ever tried to fight,
just to take it way too far?
Have you ever swallowed pills,
only to watch the bottle empty?
Have you ever had a drink,
and watched one turn into twenty?
Have you ever played with fire,
just to see if you'd get burned?
Have you ever begged for help,
to find out who's concerned?
Have you ever bought a gun,
to put a bullet in your head?
Have you ever cried at night,
truly wishing you were dead?
Have you ever wrote a note,
saying all of your goodbyes?
Have you ever tied a noose,
and hung your body from up high?
Laura Jun 2021
One of the first things they teach you in a first aid course is how exhausting it is to give CPR. They encourage trading off with someone else and taking turns. You can only spend so much time trying to revive something before your body gives out from the exhaustion. I'm suprisingly good at CPR. I can give chest compressions much longer than average. But I'm still a human. I know I will run out of stamina eventually. I've been giving CPR to something for what feels like over a year now. I'm pretty sure it's dead and yet I've tried to remain hopeful. I feel my hope dwindling though. I know it's almost run out. The corpse is literally rotting while I desperately try to bring back it's heartbeat. I have no one to trade off with. No one willing anyway. I'm expected to do it by myself. I don't know how much longer I can do this. Watching something waste away past the point of recovery while I'm expected to keep it alive by myself. I can't help but feel that maybe if I wasn't the only one trying it could be saved. Maybe if someone else gave some effort it's heart would start again. I'm tired. I'm mourning. I'm not sure how much longer I can go before I give up. All I want is someone to share the load. To try to meet me in the middle. Someone to show me that I'm not the only one who cares about the deceased. Maybe if I had some help it's heart could start again. Maybe it doesn't have to die. All I know is that if I'm the only one willing to try eventually it will. I can't save it alone.
Laura Nov 2020
Mental illness is irrational.
It fills your brain with lies.
In some ways though those lies can give you a strange freedom.
They give you the freedom to question every thought in your head.
To pick them apart and try to decide if they're rational.
To try to decipher what is reality.
But what about what is not in your brain?
What about the rest of your soul, rattling around, trapped in your jail cell of a rib cage?
Can your heart and gut have illnesses that lie to them, the same way your brain can?
If not, what right do we have to question the feelings sprouting out of our abdomens like unwanted weeds?
When you feel something in the pit of your stomach,
when you feel it crushing your heart in your chest,
how can you dismiss it?
What if your brain is so sure that they're wrong?
You're left wondering which organs you can trust, if any of them.
Laura Feb 2021
There's music in the sunlight,
I used to hear it on bright days.
A comforting sound of warmth
shining down the sweetest rays.
I used to dance to the sound;
I would twirl in empty fields.
I used to roll in the grass,
I used to know how joy feels.

There's music in the rain,
I used to hear this music too.
The sound of puddle stomping,
the sound of cuddling with you.
The sound of romance movies,
the sound of a cozy fire.
The sound of tea and blankets,
the sound of deep desire.

I miss the rain and sun,
I found music in them both.
Different sounds of life
and different sounds of hope.

Some dislike the weather,
they don't hear the soothing sounds.
They can't appreciate it,
they don't notice it's around.

I've had nothing but clouds lately,
not a spot of warmth or blue.
Still I keep my ears to the sky
knowing the weather's overdue.
Laura Nov 2020
I met two men late one night
at Yonge and Dundas Square.
We didn't know each other
but our stories we did share.
We sat for hours in the cold,
warmed by our intrigue.
Hearing of experiences
we may never see.
One of them, from Africa,
is famous in his land.
He spends each winter here,
something most won't understand.
While others flee our cold,
and may swelter in their heat,
he loves the polar opposites
and drums to his own beat.
He tells us of his wife,
his daughters and grandkids,
his sister and his parents,
the family that's half his.
Six months out of each year
he leaves them all behind.
He says he needs the space
to empty out his mind.
He loves being in Canada
where he goes unrecognized.
He can go where he wants
without the gazing eyes.
He's fluent in six languages
yet he rarely ever speaks.
He prefers his time alone
to sit quietly and read.
Every now and then
he socializes in the streets.
He shares his words of wisdom
with the strangers that he meets.
Eager to hear from others,
he turns to the other man
who tells us of his journeys
and how he just was in Japan.
He gives us a verbal tour
and describes Italy and France,
Germany, China, Spain, Greece,
the list sure is advanced.
He speaks eight languages
and has lived around the world.
He goes where life brings him
yet still can't find a girl.
Stuck living in the shadows
of his older brother,
he tells us how his dreams
disappointed his poor mother.
While his family wanted doctors,
he has directing on his mind.
He wants to work with Speilberg,
films have always caught his eye.
We continue talking,
late into the night.
Strangers sharing souls,
discussing in delight.
Finally it's time
we go our separate ways.
Hours passed in minutes,
we could probably talk for days.
We've been sitting in the rain
and we notice that we're drenched.
You never know what you'll learn
from strangers on a bench.
War
Laura Nov 2020
War
There's a battle in my brain,
a never ending war,
two sides fighting to the death,
yet it feels like so much more.
I'm not the only casualty
but I'm the one who won't survive.
This fighting will never end
for as long as I'm alive.
A will to live and suicide,
they just can't get along.
It may not be my time yet
but this urge is just so strong.

— The End —