I've always been told that I am a freak. Never anything else until my friends and my love showed up out of the blue. I am not perfect. I don't know why they care, but apparently they do. They are the ones who know most about the things I've done. My attempts, my pains, and my only therapy.

And everyone else that surrounds me claims they know me. Strong, independent, weird, a lover of poetry, and some say I am nice. Others call me a *****. That's not a bad thing... Ever heard of the golden rule? I act a ***** if you treat me as such. But those other things...
Strong... I am a ******* *****. I cried myself to sleep every night wishing, hoping that something, someone would **** me.
Independent... If I was I would be dead right now.
Weird... True, but only to mask the darkness I wish would shine through. My freakish nature is now just a bad habit.
Yes, I love poetry, but only because it is my escape, my diary. Reading it is my distraction. The words seep into me and give me a feeling other than my own.
Nice... I wish. I don't think I have the capability.

And some... Call me a liar. Well, this next chapter is for you.

How the hell do you know? The things that have happened to me, the things I believe, the things I have done, the things I almost accomplished. Why the **** would you care? Why in this "God's ****" world would I lie about trying to **** myself?
I came out because I am sick, I need help. That is soooooo hard to admit. I need help! I should have been hospitalized, but no. I kept everything hidden for months. I was scared specifically because I didn't want to be judged, sent away to a loony bin. I was scared that it would ruin my life, my work, my thoughts. Rob me of inspiration, stress would take over, I would be a ******* wreck! And it did. And I am.

I have taken a turn for the worst. I am trying, but if I need guidance, I don't know how.

I have started burning again. I am sorry.
I have started scratching again, I am sorry.
I have started biting the inside of my mouth again, tearing my cheeks apart. Love, you have probably noticed by now that I taste of iron. I am sorry.

Not sorry that I did it... No. Sorry that I ever stopped.
It doesn't heal me. It doesn't make things better, but there is something about pain that is seductive. Not as much as my lover is, no, but it calls to me still. Tells me I can confide in it. Tells me that I can show it my pain and hurt and will not be judged. Tells me that it will accept me because no one else will.

And that brings me back to you ******* who don't know jack.
You don't know me.
So why the judgement? Because I was ignored most of my life, so I don't know how to be social? Because I was bullied constantly for my hand-me-down clothes from an overweight cousin? Because I love literature from a time that I feel more connected to than now?
My friends know. They know because they get it, at least somewhat. They know my faults, predict my actions, offer solace. They saved me numerous times from falling down a well, gasoline burning at the bottom.
You haven't. Don't talk to me, don't give me that look, don't gossip about me, don't insult me.

You know why I did it? My parents ignored me, preferred my brother. My former friends were horrible people, using me. Rumors were constant because of people like you. Chemicals rotted, corroded, took over the place in my brain that made me happy. Stupid ******* diseases riddled my very being. I wanted it gone, over, done.
That was my last thought before suffocating and falling asleep. My last thought before I was about to finish my masterpiece and tie the final knot. My last thought before the buzz. My last thought before I read the name and lowered my hands.
The knots untied themselves. And I didn't even read the message before I let more of the acid tears escape. I survived, but I didn't know that I wanted to.

One thing in my life is actually good, but I can not get out yet. I can not move onto our island and buy a Tibetan mastiff. I can not fulfill the prophecy I have had many times throughout these past few months. Olivia, my daughter, won't come into the world yet.

I think it is happening again. my parents, the stupid, nasally voices blabbing about things they know nothing about. The chemicals inside my mind corroding me even more. And it has hardly gotten better. Help me escape or I will go insane. Or, at least, more than I already am.

I sit and feel... Different.
Some would have inspiration, some would have peace,
And some would be able to think about anything with
That clanking of cups and the whirr of a coffee machine.
But I can't describe how strange I feel sitting here.
Maybe the people sitting here aren't supposed to be.
The snobs giggling and gossiping in the corner,
The waft of marijuana coming in from just outside of the door.
This isn't a normal place. And I
Am not a stereotypical poet.
I write paintings in my mind and draw poems with my lips.
And, right now, they aren't encasing the rim of a coffee mug.
I don't have the money.
And I don't have the rhyme scheme to
Make fun of those who don't get it.

Silent crackle, tingle,
The smell of a sticky must. Floating dust in
An abandoned attic, where the rats roam and the dead skeleton of a fish
Still lies in an empty bowl of moldy rocks and plastic plants.
Yet, despite the emptiness, a girl curls up in the corner, black
Running down her face as she weeps for the things she longs for most.
She looks out the *****, broken window at the cloudy sky and imagines it
Blue. The brightest of skies with only few hints of cirrus.
A blanket on the ground and the man she loves, nothing else in sight.
The expanse of green in her head is contrasted to the rotting floorboards she lays
On, dreaming. The steady beat of Boy in Static thrumming through her headset
As she struggles not to scream and jump, finishing the job on the window
From troubled teens years before. The sound reminds her of VHS tapes,
Press rewind, take a turn and start over. But she can't, when something has changed.
The boy she knew, looking down with his hood not up, but covering his face, shielding
Himself from her. She knew he had a ***** in his head, but she just looked away. He never answered anything she asked. He was unable.
But her heart still dropped, she smiled her best. An amazing actress, fooling everyone, makeup allergy keeping her eyes dry. She just read Huck Finn as though nothing was wrong.
Now she sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry, but her mind kept wandering to that attic.

She was there again. Blankly staring at her star charm anklet. A simple blue ribbon.
And the throbbing of her heartbeat through that one spot on her thumb,
That pressure point that hurts more than anything. But one thing could be worse.
Being left. Just like the broken rocking horse in the corner and the baby's cradle
Lined with blue silk that was shoved into a box. That baby is probably dead. Just like all
Of the others who lived there, burned by the fire. Goose flesh raises, prickly
Hairs on her legs from a week of no shaving. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.
Change the song. Bleed Like Me. Perfect. She draws on the peeling walls, two hundred
Years of wallpaper and lead paint, chalk barely leaving a mark. She sketches a masterpiece.
A child that she wishes she could have. Impossibly too young, but still...
A daughter she could raise better than her mother raised her. A chance to do something right.
More than the mechanic life she has lead, empty and useless.
Confused and pathetic. Like the broken grandfather clock that ticks backwards.
Three, two, one.
Ding-****, ****-ding. Grandfather never taught me anything. He was not a wise man.
He was a fool. Knew too much and too little, no room to know what was right.
She let another raindrop escape and suddenly it began to pour. Lightning crashes as a glass
Slipper collides with the picture drawn of her dream. Thunder as she releases a
Bloodcurdling scream. "Why!?"
Why her? The pain in her back is unbearable. She slouches too much, and her eyes burn.
She is not Cinderella; her ball gown does not glitter.
Piano is her least favorite instrument, but it somehow gets to her. Small hammers
Striking her heart strings, low notes reminding her of his voice and the soft, feminine
Voices radiating, remind her of when she was young... Immortal. She has aged since then.
Too quickly. Her entire life has been a masquerade ball. Unskilled idiots dancing
Around her and stepping on her toes. Shouldering her in the stomach,
Breaking her ribs. Beats of music guide her skilled toes, swerve around falling raindrops that
Her own eyes emit. And she crashes through the floor of that dismal attic. Broken free,
But she is still trapped. The walls are charred down here.

But the walls are not painted black. They were once a mint color, green and cheerful, healthy.
Until a psychopath lit a match.
"I didn't mean to do it." It was all in her head. The house.
She set it aflame.

She sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry. It isn't worth it to stare. Nothing will change.
She is still just a girl in a glass box, being stared at and judged. Trapped and ridiculed because her eyes bleed and bless the onlookers with bad luck. It's amazing the things
That people don't know. Drifting deeper into a pit of endless darkness. A candle won't
Live down here. No oxygen to let it breathe. But one lit self portrait hangs in the air.
Years ago, drawn in pencil. Symbolic, it wants to be erased. To die.
And the ******* the page is wearing a mask. The girl in the parchment is me.
Medium length hair and a tear painted, permanent. A Parasite. Capitalized for its meaning.

A demon is running through me, singeing
My tissues, blisters on the insides of my bones. Swelled up, show through
My skin. Waves on a shore. But I am not a beach. A ***** maybe...
Still, I hate it. The hate killed whatever flowers I had left planted in my mind.
Tainted me with the horrible visions of a tear streaked face of paper mâché.
She was the one in the attic. Her whole persona
Wilted and ashen, grey. A silent movie might mask it; the hurt, I mean.
The grey lines on the screen hiding the bags under her eyes and the redness of her nose,
Get rid of the twinkling shards of glass frozen on her cheek from crying in the dead of winter.
Slip up once, and everything goes to hell. Well, I must have slipped years before I was born.
Few smiles are left on this dismal timeline. And I shall use them wisely. But, for now,
I think I will just weep, sleep forever and hope that you don't give up on me and pull the plug.
I am still here somewhere, just dormant. Please wake me up. Get me out of this charred cabin,
This glass box. Pull me out of my warped sense of everything, teach me again what
Love feels like. I have forgotten amidst everything that I have felt and remembered.
There is no more room for things to be learned. Only for things to be repaired.
I will give you a hammer. Come inside and fix me; that ***** in your head couldn't have taken your knowledge away. You are the only one that knows.

Use this never ending lightning and bring your bride to life.

The sting of fingernails, arm rubbed raw;
I want to destroy things. Take out everything and
Shatter all of the glass I can find. It's a symbol.
My mind is falling apart and no one gets it! My
Grades fail for a reason. Everything is changing since
I was found out. I need to escape. Move out,
Get away from it all; forget. Please let me forget.

Not
Alone
Here

Everyone has something to complain about. Everyone has a reason to flip out or cry. Everyone needs a shoulder once in a while. Some people hide. I want to be the one people go to, it is my way of saying "please", "thank you", or "sorry" to those who have hurt me (I want so badly to rip your head off, so i will **** you with kindness and give you a place to whine and cry), have done something for me, or those who I have hurt in some form or another.

It isn't real sugar, honey. No one tells the truth anymore;
That was an old fad. Silly people use organic things, tell the truth, pretend to be real.
I can not enjoy the things I once did, but I lie and say I do.
Cherry red and blond like a *****. I am a liar, just like her
A "she-player" will cheat. I just can't think and put on a face that everyone knows.
No one knows the real story, the biography I have yet to write, but
Somehow they know the me that I don't know.
The me who's hands shake and hair used to be short enough to spike.
But I will grow it out. I don't see he reason to keep it
The way it is. Or maybe I will do half and half.
With my long portion hanging over my shoulder and other shaved by my ear;
Sip my coffee and write more poems that won't go far at all.
While others write about their love an prayers I write about being lost. About being real.
About being the only one I hope he will ever love. Ever touch the way he does.
In the dark or in the light, either way it is magic and
The shadows are attempted to that energy. They feed.
Explicit, I know, they like it, dessert for them.
But there are times I would rather just bask in the moment, hear their
Dead and separated stomachs growl, waiting for moans and
Crashing waves to wash up on their feet.
Dark, I know, but it is the way it is.
Hot, I know, and that is how I like it.
But I just ignore them. You are far more important in the experiments I want to conduct.
Sweet and salty: sweat rolling down your neck has never been sexier.
And I wonder... Can you be so excited that it hurts?
See I am not innocent. I have ideas that you will never imagine. But if you do?
I am always hungry for a sugary daydream. How wicked and filthy can you be?

I wonder. Can you feed me? I crave this
Nonstop.

Same cycle, turning wheels and whirring motors
Running my life, mechanic.
Sleep and time are my loves, and I am Poe:
They were taken from me, my sleep is dead.

Sleep is eternally sleeping.

The dead spider under the refrigerator,
The crushed centipede on the bathroom wall,
Crawly things: crawlersout the dead skin you refuse to
Scrape off.
Skin sleeps and melts: drip on the floor, paint stains from the living room walls.
It has been the same color for years, the exact color I despise.
It reminds me of Mondays and Sundays.
The steriotypicality.
It goes in circles, everybody hates them
But they are me favorite shape. Not then arrows guide
In the forever, never ending march forward.
An army of automatons, gears screeching and crying, but most of us are so emotionless, faceless.
Drinking not the water or bubblies at party's, but the crude oil emitted from the ground.
And it turns their skin orange, no one likes the fake ness, caked on
Tar that you think make your eyes shine.
And the gossip, squeaky voices that talk endlessly about everything but reality.
I want to **** them all, the lies.
And I want to sleep forever, escape from everything I have ever despised,
And I want him to join me. Wrap me in a hot quilt that he formed with his own physique.
Somehow make me forget about everything but that.

But no, it doesn't fit in this never ending waterwheel. Not enough grooves to
Scoop up the sand of my life and give me a mission.
But we can defy the sand, the horrid hourglass that ticks away, the sound of pebbles
Plunking into a river.
Throw them off of a bridge and jump with them, as some people do.
Ignore them, or help them. Most are too blinded by themselves.
They can't stand change, but it shapes them. A unique shape other than the rounded
The rest are.
But I am lost. No clue where to go, what I am saying, I should be put away,
Blank white room or a steel table in a morgue.

Hallowed ground means nothing to me. Coffins are cramped, horrid boxes of sadness,
I will not die that way. No crying, tears will soil your handsome clothes.
I was reborn. You still have me close; my form changed. A circle
Does not define me anymore. I put another notch in my medicine wheel, another
Cure to my disease. Another way to say as much as I do.

But the walls are still the same dreary color. Skin just cooling, but splattered on the floor;
Cover it with a rug. Distract from the blank walls, no expression. Never changing.
Or write on them with colored pen. Carve things into them.
Change yourself. Put yourself away because inside that thick skull
Is an asylum of your own.

Chill, wind on tears freeze over
Glassy eyes that can not see the disgusted expression
You painted on that child's face at the carnival.
He saw the petting zoo. Animalistic, blood and gore,
They are not friendly. Not like us, the ones who get it.
Get the fact that life goes on,
Even if you don't, if I don't. The corroded battery still works, powering
What was dead just a few minutes ago. Replace it, unscrew the panel
On my leg, I am a machine. Gears grinding, steam escapes
And I scream. I am not a sculpture. I am a real boy!
I hate that children's story. The real Pinocchio kills the maker.
I can not trust who made me, only those who help me.

It helps to be cold. Thin clothing and nothing underneath,
Help me escape, love. I need to leave this place and let the wind carry me, speak to me, Whisper the words I need to hear and
I will give you a river to swim in. Pull the silver threads that connect my heart to yours.
Make me feel again. Thaw my eyes and let me gaze into yours, see you in a way no one else
Is allowed to. And then just hold me.
All I ask is to plant my feet on the ground and run, scream,
But be strong. I can't. I know I can't be that creature running free because
I am caged. And my ice will never melt.

Not completely.

We are not pens, ourselves, red ink is not inside of us.
But we do have sensitive blood that is discolored, same as that utensil.
Difference is: it poisons us, gives us rashes and thoughts that we are not worthy to have. It wrecks our minds with ancient tools that were once unaccepted. Silly poppies can not
Ruin us like that. I know what can.
The things that worry us, teenagers and babies, parents and pedophiles;
Cease your worries. I pity you, teens.
"It is fun, it is fun." I know I know. But is it worth the risk?
Cease your worries parents. You don't need to stalk your own children.
They learn from their mistakes. They cry for a while and then get stronger.
Like I did, why I kept my mouth shut for so long,
I was better. Until you began to read. I couldn't go to you specifically for that reason,
Tightening your hold on me, mother. I am already a prisoner in my own mind.
I don't need another warden.
A century long breakthrough gave me something,an understanding that not all children accept
Their parents. I don't feel at home there.
It is not one. Just a house that I stay in, people I live with. They are family, by blood only.
****** ink: my savior. My hero, love, is you. You inspired me to digitalize, write with graphite.
But I am still contaminated, mind wandering,

History repeating, sounds piercing, a test is too much when I did not study.
Help me. The trials this has put me through are unfair. Give me my pen to sign a contract, but I
Poison myself instead. Only okay after after a needle enters my streams and takes it out.
A mechanical vampire, I prefer you to bit me instead of metal fangs.
And now I dream.
.
.
.
.
.

Or maybe I am not. We have lived as such long enough. But, still,
Write about it. Tell me how you feel. But be careful not to poison yourself.

I have experience with that. The pen has a hidden blade. It cuts you with every word you
Lay in front of you. May I be a word? Scratch my love into your skin?
I will not intoxicate you as it would. I will give you something else entirely.

But my dream ends. Reality steps on me and takes my breath from me, I am suffocating in this Hellhole. Give me a firehouse so I can put it out and drink away my parched lips.
They need to be soft so I can speak, but first... I need to
Sew my lips shut. If they are dry, they will rip and open. We don't want that.
Keep them shut, don't tear open and bleed; you would give ink poison to
Mockingbirds if you do. They mock me, copy me. They tell me they are jealous.

But why? They don't know they've been poisoned.
It is a cycle. Everyone will die of it in the end.

Feather pen, traditional; it is a lovely piece. Jar of ink,
Spilled a drop in a cracked floorboard. It spreads fast, covers the room. Isolated,
Blackened and insane. Thirty four minutes pass, not a sound.
Mind is failing: who am I? Forget your own name, voices are whispering.
Did you know lovers can find each others lips in the complete dark?
Minds reach, feel me. No. This is not dark.

This is endless, too much and too little to look for.
Skill does not matter here.
I fell down the rabbit hole, but my name is not Alice. My name
Is Death. I am a shinigami, you see. And my purpose is to cause pain and worry.
People cry for me. This dark room is where my film developes.
Picture the void that souls fall into, tortures children stabbing, cutting out their own hearts.
Write about it, children. Carve it into your skin and I will take you away.

I am her for you in your darkest hour. And I am always watching.

Never spill your blood red ink again.

Worlds coming together, scream that the things that don't matter,
Don't let the neighbor hear. Machines stab, sew, tie my mouth shut with thin cotton thread.
Purple is my favorite color.
But I sewed the wrong shape, time to start over. I have run out of fabric.
And I am broke, breaking, broken,
Don't try to fix me, you cannot put the pieces back together
With the ancient method you use. Putting clay pieces with gold,
Things are more beautiful having been broken:
*******.
It is all ruined. Plans, hopes, dreams are never real, all in my head.
A wake up call so I can chuck my alarm out the window and maybe jump with it.
Know where I am headed, some say Hell just because I tried. But I can't believe that.
Thought provoking? Good. You need to turn on that ******* brain of yours;
It is rusty. Get some CLR and clean it out just like a shower head, let the water run free again.
Gallop over naked bodies like wild horses in plain
Sight. See the things you never dreamed of, thread breaking, snapping at the seams;
Crimson silk shrivels and crumbles to the floor, looking like the liquid so many people long for.
Red wine runs through people's veins, the so-called blood of Christ that has been long dead, but somehow still teaches ignorant ******* to **** and isolate those who know the truth.
I don't believe it. Topics change and so do we, but we are stuck in a frozen wasteland, thoughts
Jumbled in a pile, never changing, ever-changing, but still the same.

Do I shock you? It is the way it is, life isn't always going to be peachy, little girl, you won't grow
Up to be famous like you want to. We all had that dream, but it unravels like the skin
That real fame paints onto you.
You will be as ****** up as I am. Writing words that no one knows the meaning to, even you
Won't know what they mean, it is a puzzle on a cell phone screen.
An infected wound from dry lips cracking, spilling blood into a kiss that was supposed to be
Passionate. But it was forced; I can call you the name in three languages: *******. Selling
Yourself for the riches that aren't worth a cent. It's drug money, I have seen it.
You will rot like the rest, and be confused as I am. Feel relieved you aren't pregnant, darling.
That will ruin your reputation, ruin your income.
But it's okay. You have a degree in law, sue the ******* that did it to you, go through the
Pain of killing once more because you did it to yourself when you were younger.

The subject seems to be sobering. More medication please, we don't want her to go insane.
Too ******* late, you *******. That happened too long ago to remember. The womb
Did this to me. Possessed me with a ghost of a sleeping dragon, roaring fire and singeing the
Tips of my fingernails. I painted them black to cover it up.
I didn't sell it, I am no solicitor, no one likes them. The hexagonal shapes I print on the snow
Come from somewhere, though. I don't have shoes, my traces in the snow are paw prints from
The realm of wolves. It is there that I am at peace, natural instinct prevails.
Tear the seams between us, dear. Take away the pesky cloth covering our natural selves and
Roam the forest with me. That is where the freaks are.

Senses explode, WWII,
Nuclear warfare on this expanse of bare
Skin supposed to be closed at my age separates,
I let the saltwater seep into this,
Slick. Time passes, hardly passing,
But, oh, how well we move.  Dance
Around our icy fire, escape from the pain
Constantly eating, feeding.
We are a buffet of things to harm
Come for another plate, fate.
Do us more harm? No. We will not stand, we can't
When we are in this state of mind. We have no state of mind,
Lust driven creatures, but we can speak. Command, tell me what
You want. You want a simple thing, but so complex.
And I want it, too, but simpler for me. A simple thing, unless thought of.
Believed in, felt deeply in ways not physical.
Arching and deepening, we will not be broken down by a measly
War outside of our windows.
Fire scorching the wooden figures, but we are sheltered by stone.
We have escaped and we are left with a heavy air and the smell
Only we can concoct. Nonexistent fabric leaving traces on my skin and yours, indent.
And your eyes are all I see, even in the dark. I know their color by heart, greenbluegrey-everchanging. But I can figure it out.
Your pupils dilate you know. You look at me and I see them. You seem drugged, dear.
Let me feed your addiction. There are many nuclear weapons left, buried
Throughout the world. We can travel and love,
Never ending.

Two. Two things that I keep forgetting, they are robbed
Out of my bank vault.
It is full of chlorine, my body reeks of it,
Taste the beautiful chemicals that are my mind.
My history.
The organization is horrible, no constellations made in my skies because
The sun is always out, masking stars and burning holes in my sockets.
I need to fix this.
Pull the beaded string dangling in this dismal room, cement walls crumbling as I dig myself
Out of this well, bricks are chucked down by laughing children.

They don't know that my ghost resides here.

I live in this dark room, where the sun never shines through the heavy velvet curtains.
Paper butterflies catching the heat from candles, singed at the edges, blue turning black,
Bruises deep, ****** knuckles wiped on your dress. Silk ruined, intimate apparel
Discarded by blood. Burn the evidence, escape the nightmare and awaken from this
Sea of chloroform.
You've been sleeping all of these years; the war, you know which one, is still being
Fought, redcoats stained with more.
That was long ago. Just sit and listen to the lecture of stories that we will never
Need to know, take notes in a screen that the pencil will scratch.
Scratches tangle, knot in my hair, so I cut it off.
Collections on the floor. Sweep the water out of the room because the flood has passed.
The house is not worth saving now.
Demolish it, destroy the silence that resonates with shadow.
Bring as one the silly waves that crash on your shores.
Correct what was always wrong.

Cut me open, cover yourself in a blanket of skin.
It won't make I difference. I don't inhabit it anyway.
It is a shell.
It is a lifeless thing.
It is not me. It makes no decisions.

Split the differences in your own mind and do anything you wish.
Take away every doubt.
Leave it on the edge of a cliff. The rain will wash it down our throats.
A spoonful of sugar.
It is laced. Silk laces, pretty underthings ruined.
They were taken off.
Too many flowers to water with the fluids running from open wounds.

They will not grow. They are made of the plastic from leftover
Glass from a broken window. Portal to the soul
My eyes are not there anymore. Blindly
Stuttering, I cannot speak.
These arms lack bones.
They were buried long ago, burned to blackened
Charcoal. Draw a masterpiece, dear.

Stab my physical canvas with toothpicks and see visions.
Crystal trees growing from my ears, reaching into your voice box.
Sing for me.

Make me dance over the salt, gives me rashes on my legs, blue flame licking what is yours.
Turn the key in my bleeding back. Twist my spine and laugh, watch as I writhe in
Lust?

How am I supposed to know. My brain is nonexistent, just gears and crushed light bulbs.
There is no light.
I took a step two nights past, I didn't see.

A tusk ****** through my foot, breaking bones.
I admire the animals caged at the zoo. They were stronger than I was, before they were
Eliminated. They are dying, wilting.
I drew flowers on my nails to represent them. A memorial to the horrid truth of knowing about the robotics of life.
This is just a computer, ringing a high. No going backwards. The button doesn't work, the transformer blew, we have no power.

My data was deleted.

Do I?
Do I not?
Do I?
Do I not?
Do I?
I won't......

Not yet.

You held me. That is it.
You held me in a way that assured me you would love me forever.
Gentle, strong. Slowly tracing the edges of my body.
A look in your eyes told me you admired them. Saw a beauty in them other than
What I saw,
Or what others saw. Just an object.
But the look in those everchanging eyes of yours told me you saw a grace that I never
Knew I had.

And then you raised your lips to mine and the entire world fell away.
Nothing but the feeling of your lips dancing with mine. Tongues twirling and dipping,
Slowly, but with a confidence that we have rehearsed two thousand times before.
But that would be the first time. The first time that a tenderness such as that has showed itself to me.
We are strong, we experienced different things than the others. We are different than them.

We know.

Maybe we can all forget, start over?
Maybe we can go back?
Maybe we can run, be who we want?
I have no clue.

But you still say it.
Perhaps.
Perhaps the wounds we bear can never heal.
Perhaps all we can do is hold eachother as we die off.


Perhaps you still entice me, make me see you as the most beautiful creature ever.
But there's a problem, men aren't beautiful. I am not talking about that.
Every pore, every curve, every color and vein your skin contains fascinates me.
Perhaps our writing has died together.
Or perhaps you are lying to yourself, and perhaps you will come back.
Because you can not void this part of you.
Poetry is magic, music, and, every syllable, a part of you now.

Tell me?

And the plot thickens
Or sickens
As they say

I laid under the sky on a bed of down
Wishing that you could be with me.
Staring at the black sky with patterns
Of sparkly green and blue,
I think of a sky filled with cotton, only
In our world.
Because in the dark days or cold nights,
It would be the only thing we know.
Pulling the sky down on top of us to keep warm,
All the while, utilizing our heat and lust to
Amplify.
Ghost your fingertips across my hips, dear.
Gently bite my neck, dear.
Drag your callouses down my legs, dear.

Send shivers down my spine, dear.

But you can't. Not yet.
We can still dream, and we can still imagine.

Dream for me; the sky of silk and cotton waits at the inside of your eyelids,
Enticing and beautiful. Picture the world where nothing else matters
And feel my touch, hear my heart beat.
See the sky of silk and cotton blur and fade as we drown in eachother.

I always say it. "Thank god."

But, here's the thing; I always thought that God would save the helpless, cure the sick and sad. And at least take the pain away.
So many things happened to me throughout my life. I was hopeless. Rumors always seemed to be about me, people lied to me, laughed at me, friends isolated me and left. I was alone at school. At home, my parents always seemed to favor my brother. I would go home, grab a snack, and do my work. Read. The entire time, my mom was drinking, watching tv and occasionally helping my brother impatiently with his homework. My father worked. And he came home late. And he drank.
And they both smoked, but at least they were 'courteous' enough to do it outside.

They did quit the alcohol and the tobacco, but still something was off. My dad lied, still drank, my mothers temper got even shorter. Scream was all she ever did. I loved school, not to learn, but to get away.
It didn't help that I had a disease in my ****** up head. It made it so I was always sad, nothing else. It soon got to be too much.
Earlier this year, April 24, 2013,
Everything was at its worst. I barely had anyone that I could trust. Two friends were there, but they didn't know about me. I was the happy, energetic, bisexual girl who wouldn't shut up. I was strong, made people happy. I was the one who didn't believe in god. If only they knew why.

He never came. I prayed for help. I wanted out. Day in and day out, my mind was on my brother and me. Our lives and how much we wanted...
No...
Needed it to get better.

I trusted him. I did, and I loved him.
Until he abandoned me.

Now, I believe in another. I dont worship, I dont pray, because I know she is with me either way. We have a connection, you see. She just knows. She is always there for anyone. People talk of miracles, and they talk of God, but only hear those stories from the liars, the fakes. Sometimes I will hear genuine stories of God helping them, and I believe them. I just think, "wow, God sure loves them. I hope that they are happy as ****, because I am sure not. "

I dont think God performs miracles. I believe tht the nameless God people speak of is an escape, a heavy fog that falls on reality. I know of so many who are clouded and ignorant because "God says so." God does nothing but hurt people, and he isnt even real. Life is. Energy, the world around us is alive, gives us life. Life herself is what performs miracles. Knowing and using the earth for what its intended for.

I did, and I was better. But still, not completely. People still lied, I was still in pain, I was still a mistake on legs. And I tried.
To all of those suicidal depression peeps of mine, you know what I mean, if not, look back at my poetry, if you know which alternate persona to look at.  
I tried. And the one time I needed God, he wasnt there. But Life, she somehow put a message into a man's head. He wanted to talk to me. And I heard the phone buzz. God cannot do that. People speak of god telling them things, and that is all. No thought other than God and his miracle. But he had no clue until a few months ago.

Thank God that this ****** up world is as it should be! But to tell the truth, I think it needs a bit less sarcasm.

How about DONT thank God because he doesnt do ****. Take it from me.

My entire life, I have been ****** over. My entire life I have hoped and prayed and needed something to happen. My entire life, or since I can remember, I have contemplated suicide, and the one time it might have happened, he wasnt there. But, somehow, you saved me. But the God that you believe in, had no part in it.

I like big bills and I can not lie.
No other hunter can deny,
When a duck waddles in with an itty bitty bill
And feathers in your face
You're on QUACK!

I want a life where I have what I need.
I want to get away from all of the **** that had been happening.
I want to leave this place and go to the school I want.
I want to start my life.
I want to sell my work and know people enjoy it.
I want to be able to make people happy, not worry.
I want to be able to tell my ***** of a mother to *******.
I want to run.
I want to hide
From everything that makes me sad.
I want to look forward to our six month anniversary, and not worry about what today is.
I want to be happy, and I want you to not have to take care of me.

I want to grow old with you,
I want to be the minority you seem to mention a lot.
I want to love you forever, and have you love me back.
I want to have silly fights about if our kids will be able to play video games.


I never want to feel like this again.

Even though I said goodnight,
I am still awake, crying myself to sleep.
And I hoped that you would've at least tried to ask what is wrong.

I may not want to talk, but I need you there, still.

I am so scared. I am crying and I can not stop,
The screen I  am using to type is blurred.
I am a violent, emotional, nervous wreck.
Tomorrow marks the day. Six months
And I can not imagine what I will do.
I want to know exactly what you think.
Tell me, with details, no short, whimsical
Answers. Tell me how much I have changed.
I don't like this. You look at me in a different way,
I've seen it. Don't you dare tell me otherwise.
You looked just as scared as I felt today.
Admit it. You're scared.

Don't lie to me, I hate it.
But I love you, so it is okay.

Take me away from here.
Away from the dozens of
Mockingbirds constantly speaking.
There is no time to fix them,
Teach them to sing.
I can not deal with the auto tune
Much longer.

+I hate you.... You got us stuck in hell with all of these blank white walls...

Respond please?
-I want to escape.
+I know... But it's your fault in the first place.
-I don't like it here.

It is lifeless and cold.
+Well... DUH!!!!!
-why do you always treat me like that?
+no reason.
- you don't like me...
+ I know.
- you're mad at me
+ I know.
- why? What do you know?
+ I know.
- you know what?!
+ you.

- do you know if I can escape?
+ no.
- but...
+ No.
- I just...
+ NO!!!
- no?
+ NO NO NO NO
                                 NO NO NO

                                                       NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

- Okay! I get it...
+ yes.
- will you be my friend?
+ I already am.
- since when?
+ always. I am a part of you. Inside of you. I am your only friend.
- not true.
+ yes. I am a part of you. Your only TRUE friend.
- not true. You're not my friend!
+ THEN DIE!!!
                  You can escape that way. And I will follow you wherever you go, but at least you will be free from this prison.

What I have done,
What I wish I didn't do and could erase,
Was telling someone in the first place.
I hate what this has become.
That poem that let almost everything out
Was my mistake in a typewriter document.

And the tears that have fallen since then are monuments
Of my pain and doubt.

Emptiness has filled me for days now.
The only remnant of joy is when my mind is blank.
Then I can smile and show the world
The ocean.
The tide has not come in yet.
And the glass is only half empty.
I think I am as optimistic as I can be.
The sun on the waves.
Reflection in the aquatic
Mirror.
But the glass breaks and twists me into a spiderweb
Of scars that I find on my body.
No one inhabits this silky realm; I am alone.
I talk to myself. I create friends
And I watch television.
Text and play games on my iPad.

I write poems. But none of it is real.
I could swear it is all in my head.
Because who in this ****** up world would actually
Stick around
To untangle me from these scars,
Glue the pieces of the glassy ice back together and take me to the ocean
To swim.

But I am allergic to saltwater.

Lucifer...

Hah! Someone needs to go back to their first grade spelling class.
The King of Hell, Fallen Angel, Lord of Demons.
His name is more complex.

His name is Life.

He robs you of all happiness, feeds on your dreams
And ***** them out in a plastic, portable bathroom.
Disgusting things.

The King of Hell is one with us.
Walks, stalks, hides in our shadows, following and affecting every move.
In every. Waking. Moment.
And watches us in our sleep.

His name is Life.
And we are alive... Aren't we?

My eyes have been replaced with black mirrors.
You can't see what is inside of me anymore.

Everything has been turned against me.
I don't know how to live without what I have always known.

But, when I find that she has lied to me...
Manipulated me and the one who was there for me more than she was...
And opened a door to my darkest theater of mind,
My most horrifying memory...

My eyes have been replaced with black holes,
Absorbing every word, every action,
And I still haven't found my answers.

Falling back, retreating.
I am not a good soldier.

I am a broken soul, and it shows.
But, even so, someone told me that I
Was stronger than I thought I was.

All I could ask myself was,

*"Then why did I do it?"

This cold, melted demon runs through
The veins that only you can truly heat.
The chilled whispers this child of Lilith
Calls, breathes into me.
His thick claws digging in my gut,
Making me bend and twist in pain
And surrender.
The blood loss and frozen, searing agony
Causing my legs to give out.

I can not stand.
I cannot think.
I cannot see. I cannot breathe I cannot speakicannot
lie.
I love this blindingly Black Blood.

In corny cartoons,
And cheesy adventure movies,
The hero always falls from a cliff.
A tree root always protrudes and saves them.

Love, you are my hero. The strongest man
I have ever known.
But tonight, you fell. I was worried when you
First looked at me that way
And came closer. And you fell.

I want to stop you, mid freefall.
I want to save you like you saved me.
Let me be the tree root that you grasp
And hang onto for dear life.

Let me be the hero for once.

I know who I am now.

Like love, just know time.

You've heard the story. You've heard the tale of the girl falling through
The looking glass that led to a fantasy land.
But it's not all true. It is not everything it was made out to be.
The actors behind the glass mock us, telling us the stories we only dream about.
They pretend to be us, drawing us into their devilish crisis,
Telling us it is okay to imagine our demise,
We tumble into the portal,
Chasing a rabid rabbit.
It bites.
And as we become infected, the darkness creeps in, flashing lights, floating orbs,
And cursed flowers shriek like a siren, and ****** like a succubus.
The mad hatter is the only sane one compared to us, but he pretends to fit in.
And the queen, she is not as ****** as she is made out to be.
She can teach us how to hide it.
Learn us a thing or two.

Like how to paint your pale lips ruby red.
Like how to smile, even if it is fake; only some care to see the real thing.
And that is the ****** up reality. No one cares about anyone but themselves.
And that's what Alice is for. We fall for it, through the looking glass, and
Trip over our own fallen soldiers.

Recreated over and over, just to get away.
I can not keep doing this,

The walls are closing in.

I have no place to turn to if I can not
Tell
My story openly.
Tell my emotions without being judged.
I know you care,
But some things, I don't want you to know.
I will talk if I want to.

This sense tells me there was a mistake, something
Someone found. Maybe I didn't want to be found.

It seems like we are slipping. I don't know why, but I feel like I have to hold on tighter.
It is okay if you want to leave, if I am suffocating you,
If I offend you.
But if there is no reason, please tell me how to make it better, I am worried.
So much has happened.
I've lost my mother to insanity and too much worry.
And maybe I am being lost, too.
Tell me if I am. I want to be found.
I want to be saved.
I am sorry that I am scared. I just worry sometimes. I have been diagnosed with multiple things by few doctors, therapists. Suicidal depression, OCD, anxiety, paranoia (not severe).
If it bothers you, I can find a way to change back to who I was.
I don't know if I like my new self, I know I've changed a lot.
I am terrified.

So sweet, so smooth, so perfect.
Did I ever tell you that's what your voice is?

The beat, beat, beat of your heart reminds me
Of the thunder. I love it so, it lulls me to sleep
Like the drums in a tribal dance. The sweet beat
Shaking my head, ringing in my ears and
Telling me a sweet bed time story of
Men playing cards and getting drunk.
It's strange that you remind me of my father, but
You do. You are not drunken and borderline abusive
And he isn't either, at least, not anymore.
But you match me like no one else ever will.
I can hear a poem in you, like a sweet song that sends
Shivers through my limbs. A song that makes me
Want you like I never have before.
Physically, mentally, completely.

Mirrors speak and I see you behind me.
Here I am, standing ****,
Frozen and warm.
Arm twitches and I begin to dance,
Strange sounds emit from your perfect lips.
Beats sound from beneath my breast,
A heart that stopped
(Or almost did).
Twinkling lights shine on my body,
Reflecting from your eyes, dear.
Demonic, angelic voice I sing,
Hypnotized.
And we are bewitched.

Just that smile. The nervous voice and the awkward hug.
You stole me away in those short moments.
Almost six months ago now.
Time flies, and if that is true,
I might as well be Time herself.
Because you gave me wings.

I laid in my bed, staring out my broken screen window,
And I thought of you.
The stars in the sky remind me of your mind,
An endless galaxy of thought and memory.
I dreamed with open eyes that you laid next to me,
Whispering small things in my ear
And gently tracing the scars on my arm.
The small blisters covering my skin
Throbbing and sensitive under your calloused fingers.
We could talk about the little things that make life great,
Or you could kiss me senseless.

These hopes and thoughts repeat every night.
The imagery and technicolor thoughts leave shivers
Running through my entire body. I know you dream of this, too.

I read your message and I felt your sorrow. I shed
Tears for you at that table, in front of everyone.
It is a tragedy that someone you love is gone, but
I promise, we can help you get through it. Your friends.
Your surrogate family.
I am saddened. I mourn for you as we'll as the rest of us.
I am sorry.

I wish. But the clouds are heavy and they
Rain around me. I am not wet.
I can only feel chills and I
Think of you. Absent, I want you
Here. Hand in hand with
Not me. Her, the other me.
The one who is sad, because you make the
Rain go away. I can't see through
These melted eyes.
They are gone. Everything blurred and my sockets
Are empty. Get me my glass eye, love,
And I will show you your future.
I can't see it through the crystal clear, but you can.
Tell me, am I there with
You? If I could write a poem a day, will you
Be there in the pages?