You speak of things that cannot be seen and your lungs fill  up with smoke.
It's been a while since I could see your face,
through all the thoughts and the words
that float around,
making a cloud
meant to scare people away.
I'm not scared. I can hear your voice.
I can see your light and the sparks you make
by trying to set yourself on fire, but don't you know
fire never killed the sun
and the night never gets lost in darkness.
In a room with no soul, the voices come and play
in echoes and in whispers,
and then you start to speak aswell.

They say they're laughing with you, not at you but if you laugh along to hold back the tears does it count? The more I laugh the more I hide, burying it down deeper and deeper. I mask my insecurities with a funny face or a silent laugh. I'm a magician, I put on a trick to get  a reaction from the audience, don't get to close or the magic is lost. At any moment I'm able to pull a new mask out of the hat, but if you watch closely you can see the slight flick of the wrist that changes everything. A trick is ment to keep the imagination going, continue the wonders, and disguise the ugly. Deep down, though, the magician waits, hoping one day, his trick will be explained.

I am pretty sure I'm in love with you. I love the way your freckles fall perfectly in place like the ones the draw on American girl dolls. I love the way you smile, crinkling up your small little noes and squinting your eyes like the books you always read have damaged not only your adjustment to light, but the way you see earth so that now everything seems unfitting. Unfitting for a king like you. I love the way your hair looks like you just woke up. I love the way you smell. I love the way you walk like a character from the Incredibles, hopping around. I love the way you look when you read one of your novels. I love your eyes. Your eyes I could stare at forever. Reminding me of our first conversation, time I complemented your eyes . Your eyes. As if some one took the bluest lake out of your newest book and shrunk them. I love the way you talk. I love the way your voice sounds when you read aloud. It reminds me of being a kid, curled up in my pink cat pajamas, listening to my father read Good Night Moon. I love the way you dress. I love the way you laugh. I love you. But to you I'm just a friend. The person you get the homework from as you rush to study exactly 5.5 seconds before a test. I'm just the girl you smile at. But I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I love the way you acknowledge me as just a friendly face. I love the way the way I love you is just a secret.

When I try to explain to my mom how I feel, she tells me the same thing. Make friends. I say "mom,I feel alone". "Make friends" "Mom, I have nobody." "Make friends" "Mom, I've cried myself to sleep every night for the past 4 months." "Make friends"  
WELL MOM, I would love to make friends. That's part of my problem really. But friendships only evolve when somebody else feels the same as you and considering just HOW ****** UP I AM I WILL NEVER HAVE FRIENDS. I don't choose to be lonely god if only making people like me was really that easy. I hate who I am I hate the people I call my friends I hate random people I see in the halls I HATE EVERY ******* SOUL. AND I HATE IT. I hate how I cry watching my friends hanging out even though they invited me earlier that day. It's kinda funny really, I choose to be alone but I don't want to be lonely . I watch my friends bonding over people who love them. They laugh and smile, they share secrets, they hug each other, memories are made. I watch them wondering when I'll get that.

Don't make me miss you.
I am sorry I am a ******* idiot.
Famous last words.
After the fight,
You know what gets me
And provide me a line to catch
When you just need to be released.

A slippery fish flapping through my fingers,
I let go.
After all there are plenty of fish in the sea,
And seldom do prey miss their predator.