It’s 7pm,
Late-August,
Late 2000s,
Massachusetts.
I’m lying on the carpet.
My door is locked.
CDs are playing.
I am safe for now, but not for long.
My windows are open and the sound of crickets is competing with my ceiling fan.

The air is sickly sweet, and slightly smokey, and suffocating, in a way only late August can bring.
Like a death and a new beginning, colliding head on.
Bending and breaking everything in its path against their will.
You go where I make you go.
You move how I make you move.
You do not complain.

It is grief, and fear, and pure apathy.
Disconnection and misdirection.
Negotiation and disassociation.

I am the only person on earth.
No one else exists.
I do not cry out in pain.
No one is there to hear it.

One day I will finally turn back and look at her.
I can’t look back just yet.
I don’t want to see her.
I don’t want her to see me.
I don’t want them to see me.
When I finally escaped, I did not believe the first step.
I was running in place behind a closed door.
And now I’m miles away, out of danger, but I cannot stop running.
I cannot slow down.
I cannot look back.
One day I will turn back and look at her,
And I will take her with me.
And I will slow down for her.

Your reactions create factions like fractions,
When we can’t afford anymore division.

Where do you go when you’re too old for Neverland?
Trapped in a foreverland
Staring endlessly at a broken watch.

As a child I cried for inanimate objects,
Feeling haunted by buildings and plants.
I used to stare at the trees outside my window,
Wondering if they were more comfortable bare.
Solace in winter solstice.

Was it chemistry or nuclear physics?

I’d rather be heard and not seen.

It’s a dream
It’s a dream
It’s a dream
It’s a dream I have not seen.

The kind of person who always calls out the first rain drop.

Escaping fatality,
In reality,
On a technicality.

Feeling lost at the expense of being honest.
Paid six hundred dollars, tipped with a promise.

Transaction complete.
No receipt.

Or else I'll ****** the clouds.
And I'll do it at night, so the suns not there to witness.
The moon is too tired, so she'll just look away.
Not that she'd care.

Did you know she's evil?
The moon I mean.

She's calm, and dark, and seductive,
But it's all just a trap.

You know, she leads the sun to suicide every night.
And she watches.
Can't you see her over there, lying faint in the evening sky as he slowly fades off?

But he comes back every morning.
Unable to escape his torturous immortal fate.
So she just hides and plots her next attempt to lead the sun to his destruction yet again,

And maybe you to yours for the first time.