Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.

I have seen hell
and let me warn you
don't pack for warmth
hell
so cold
that even the ice cracks
breath comes out
as diamond spears
tearing apart innards
to shatter
among rubies of blood
Hell is every child
who ends up in an office
In fact hell is offices
countless numbers of them
for as far as the eye can see
soulless
lifeless
greedy
Every child who was told
that he was crazy
that in this world
the dreamers
are synonymous
with the failures
and so they sleep
millions of them around the world
sleeping restlessly
dreams which will never come
inside each one of these
dreamers turned adult
you can hear him laughing
idle hands...
you know how it goes
and eventually
when they are finally broken
when death seems as if it's a treat
he shows them
He shows them years spent
poor and hungry
he shows them
endless rejection
and alienation
But
he also shows them
love
passion
satisfaction
A lifetime of dreams
which will never become reality

chipped nail polish
too lazy to do anything about it
I'm not a hipster
I just like old things
and tattered, worn out people.
I think they are beautiful.
what others overlook
I ponder; spend hours
lost in admiration.
I enjoy simple things
like high-fives
and bicycle rides
and the smell of seasons changing.
random piece of string around my wrist.
no special reason.
just for the hell of it.
that's me.
in it for the hell of it.
ADD ridden
but happy none-the-less.
deep in thought.
but not in spirit.
light in peace of mind.
I'm me.
Sarah Jean.
and I'd like to think
that I'm doing pretty alright

I cannot forgive you
for your past mistakes
because they are wrapped up inside my chest,
burning like the summer sun.

I cannot forget
the nights when I felt like nothing
and I held a bottle of yellow pills in my hand
because you pushed me over the edge.

I will not forgive
this feeling of absolute sadness
wrapped up inside of me,
I will not forgive
the stab wounds to my back
that the words you couldn't speak to my face left.

I will not forgive the person I became
because you said I wasn't good enough
(and I still never will be).

I'm sorry my words come out
when I'm neck deep in alcohol,
but drunk words are sober thoughts
and I've never been known to keep my mouth shut.

You are everything I never wanted to be around,
a disease of the mind, body, and soul,
and I cannot forgive you
for being the decay that is my demise.

please come and take everything on my mind away
come and distract me from the deepest parts of myself
come and let's drink up together until we forget all the doubt

stay all night and talk me down from this ledge I've been on most of my life
stay and help me wash away the person I used to be, keep me from becoming her again
please stay and show me that I am worth a ****

give me a reason why I should forgive everybody who has hurt me
give me the home I've always wanted, preferably in your arms,
give me a place to run when my anxiety gets the best of me

just please be somebody I can count on

I lie awake in bed so still
Helpless i'm forced to take that pill
I cannot move, my fight is gone
I just listen to my favourite song.

My lips are chapped, cracked and dry
As my hair falls out i say goodbye
To those i love and who love me
Forever in my memory

But time goes on and they'll forget
The way i moved and the scent of my breath
So bury me in my favourite clothes,
My lady bird shoes and big clown nose

Then when Mama looks at me in my box
She remembers me saying
"I'll be an astronaut"

She starts to cry, as she only sees
The innocence that washed over me
So Papa takes her by the hand
And as she sobs she gives the command

My box goes down but i sore high
Me and my spaceship
Drift into the sky