look at all that pain

red hot tears flowing, damning any being in presence

daggers in the heart, eyes, mind

hatred
disappointment
disgust

HATRED
DISAPPOINTMENT
DISGUST

they say blood is thicker than water but since i stopped bleeding i've been able to stay afloat

the only blood left seeping from my fragile skin is a reminder of the damage that has been inflicted upon me from the beginning

of my existence, suffering consequences of choices of others,

my blood

oh mother, father,

it is time

glossy green eyes gaze out of the little yellow house

the sun gently kisses the snow-covered ground, the white glimmers brilliant as if this was death

the birds sing and dance in matrimony, and the little people in their little houses remain quaint and snug inside

the world is a beautiful place and i am not afraid to die

at the elapse of each hour, the green eyed girl chimes in to the stroke of the clock at the bell tower, and the bells sing one, two, three, four

but time tells her nothing

manic, she panics

the darkness enters her parted lips and takes to her brain, only to sabotage every last ounce of light remaining in the crevices of her brilliance

she drowns in a stagnant river of blood, further coagulated by happening wounds, painfully giving rise to the past, present, while she gasps for breath of the unknown

you feel like home with your comforting arms around me.
i long for your embrace,
but the distance between us leaves my arms outstretched,
grasping only the cold winter air that surrounds me.

they say home is where the heart is,
but where does one find familiarity in a life of inpermanence?

i realized there is no forever.
people promise eternity yet wish to not see the sun of tomorrow.
people run from everyone and everything
in search of happiness and a high.

i understand now.

we become accustomed to the brainwashed idea of what living is,
working more hours than time we spend with those we love,
to come home empty-handed with a sour face.
happiness is thought to be a piece of paper
that gets you places and things.
but is that illusion of materialism true to rid of desolation?
solace lies within
and contentment takes time.
let not our distraction of mortality wave us from seeing the good,
but our dualism let us see the meaningless of every day.
our moments are fleeting,
and will one day be forgotten.
what we smiled for, cried for, and died for,
will one day lose its meaning.
is this pessimism?
or is it truth?
is it objective thinking,
refusing to believe that
we are anything substantial?
one day they will laugh at our irrelevancy.
for people come and go,
and what is today,
will one day be in ruins.

i could never tell myself "this isn't real" during nightmares and ever since your side of the bed became empty i know why.