I am dressed in iron. Layers of it.
Sweat and blood mingling with tears.

And it rusts.

And erodes.

And crumbles.

And soon, my strong persona
Will be gone.
Or maybe it already is?
I've tried so hard to care for my armor,
But everything decays after a while.

I am exposed.

My fragile body is bare now,
And this glass figurine is crying.

She wants to be wrapped in steel this time. Titanium.
That way, she won't break as easily.
And her tears will no longer clatter on the floor,
Shattering into bright little stars.

They don't deserve to be stars.
They are dull.
She may hurt, but her tears are empty.
She has no tears left.

She gave those away too long ago, and they were lost.

And they were bright.
Wasted.


And she wants to be covered in molasses.
Maybe then, when she finds her tears again,
They will stick to her, and never leave.
Maybe she could use them again.

Reduce Reuse Recycle.
She could save her world, and allow
Other pains
To sleep there.
Absorb them from the creatures
She talks to daily.
Hiding them in her iron.
Steel.
Titanium.
Molasses.


Anything is better than
Glass.

Rumbling storms, scolding!
Why me? Tormenting my
Nostrils with something
Grotesque. I see a rotting
Corpse; she is me.

Reality shakes
And now she falls from ice clouds
Under my skin. Shivers
And small geese ****, the sickness
Consuming. I've lost the game.

nowayback-onewayforeward

When each syllable turns into a dance
across your lips,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If I took your hand and stopped you.
When each alliterative phrase swings from
My lips, My only thought is

"Stop me."

When our verses fall silent and the falling snow
Turns into thunder,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If you made my heart beat louder.

Kisses under the moonlight,
Visions of past demons
             Catching me.
                  Clamp on my leg,
Cutting me.

Dark winged faeries
   Dance on my eyelids
                                    As I sleep.
Sleep with my
                 Real eyes open.

Metaphorical eyes sewn shut
                  With burning thread.

Tip toe.
    Into the window,
Move the way the ocean does.

                      Sugar kisses
And plum colored sheets.
       Faeries dash, horrific scenes to them...
  "Don't touch like that!"

                     Feel, save.
Season the scarred plains with
            Sweat.

     Night time kissed interrupted
By dawn
                               And fire.

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.

I can taste the licks of flame in my mind,
Just barely; I cry. The sour flavour corrodes
My tongue, telling me I can't continue
To suffer the wrath. The scent kills me,
And I continue to defy what is constantly
Whispered in my fragile ears.
The sound of the bitter cackling of demons
Burns the wings of butterflies that inhabited
My entire body. The smoke from the charred,
Powder-white wings of moths,
Parasites, kiss the scares and open them again.
The desire to feel the pain consumes the spindly legs
Of butterflies trying to escape, nearly dead
By fire caused by my own hands.
My fingers shake, I am cold.
But my messages are not clear anymore.
I am no butterfly on fire.
They are all dead.

I am treated like a queen, the one woman in the world.
Why do you?
I am full of faults, mistakes, and I am a *****.
I don't deserve you. I don't.
I've felt that way for a long time. You are
Perfect.
Why did you choose someone like me?

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.

It felt so right, clear
As a crystal lake in summer. The humidity.

Teach me how to breathe under water so that I may
Follow the current.
Through time and thyme, the scents
That drive me to ask.
Question everything.

Can I make this better?
Install a light switch in the sun for you.

Sleep, lion. I will not be the sheep
You devour. I will be the lioness you sweep away.

Could I be the one to trim your ego,
Your fragile mind into a sturdy rose bush?
Thorns protruding, make me bleed again?

Maybe I will keep you.
The steady strums of my heart strings calming my ears.
And I can not predict what we could discover in this filthy music,
Or maybe the silver harps the angels play.

Send me a fire starter and foundation to cover the crispy skin of my forearm.

I am sorry, I couldn't help it, I was so cold and desperate for heat.
The firemen were too late. The steel walls surrounding me melted from
The heat and my every regret was spilled in front of me.
Underground tunnels make my black ink flow like the Nile,
Washing my pages with black and erasing my written labyrinth.

Send a raft so that I may not drown in my own madness. A signed envelope
With a perfect message.

Sleep when you write, you can dream that way, an exaggerated reality
That murders your sense, drags you into a dusty cupboard and gouges out your eyes and ears.
Three weeks later, a box shows up at your door.
You reach inside and feel everything, smell the rotting flesh. You can not hear or see anything
Because your parts used for perception are in your hand.

Happy Birthday!
From, your worst nightmare.

Waters black; time
Leads to chaos.

Fallen soldiers and their
Rotten
Bullet wounds weep.

Salt cauterizes gouges in
The pretty skin of paper
Dolls trying desperately
To be strong.

Impossible dreams of returning
Scars
And keeping the glow.

Forgotten
The dye seeped through
The palms of everyone
Who touches me.

Nightmares drown
(The happiness)?

And fear is unfinished.

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.

writing about #romance to keep from #triggers. lol yolo*

smiling like nothing is wrong when you dreamed about stabbing yourself the night before... #drama #fakebitches

maybe i would be better off dead... nah scars are cooler. #feelingencouraged #pressured

I'm barely worth a piece of pie;
An amusing chocolate, or maybe cherry,
Or maybe a new pair of ******* is
My celebration.

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.

Once upon what seems like so long ago,
We were children incapable of being tainted.
A kiss was just a peck on the cheek
And "*****" was just something that you drilled into a wall.
Boys and girls could be friends, best friends even,
Like mine were, and rumors of *** were unheard of.
When fights on the playground were just childish games,
And we didn't care about other's opinions.
We wondered what it would be like to grow up, never realizing the horrors.
Of the lies,
The drama,
The torture we would face.
Now, we think back, wondering why we ever changed.
Why we wished to be the way we are now.

Today, we are Teenagers;
Hormonal,
Emotional,
Physical,
And undoubtedly stereotypical.
Society seems to think we are incapable of rationality.
Incapable of thinking about consequences instead of pleasure
And who the next girl to "pop" would be.
But, no.
We wonder why.
Why we had to change.
Why we did change.
Why we lost our most prized possession.
We remember the friends we had,
The promises we made.
The inside jokes that everyone knew.
The one kid we wanted to marry,
And then they moved across the country.

We were so innocent, and knew so little.
Until we grew and adapted to the young adult life.
We claimed to be happy, and others believed,
But all of us teens know
We long to be young.
We long to be innocent.
We long to be normal.
Not the perverted freaks people think us to be.
Not the people who judge boys who act like girls
Or the girls who look like boys.

Our innocence and ability to understand was robbed from us
The second we left Elementary school.
Some of us now feel the  need to bully others,
To judge our peers,
To impress the opposite gender by exposing ourselves.

If only we could remember the innocence.
If only we could bring it back like a retro fashion sense,
Yet keep it here instead of letting it die for good.
Could we try?
Will it work?

Could it still be with us after all this time?

I deleted all of my poems about you
I'm trying to forget the love I had and lost
The act done onto me tore you away from me
And it hurts knowing we both regret everything

This is what I will become.
I will be a forgotten soul,
Just a withered girl, dumb
And without any control.

No way to ever see the truth
And an absolutely brainwashed
Society. Leaking lies, her mouth
Wanting desperately to crash.

The windows to her soul
Are shut and locked,
Afraid after the raid and the ****
Of her happiness.
She has lost all control,
Her mental gun cocked
And loaded, mouth agape
And careless about the future mess.



Fear instilled in ones heart can never be defeated, only conquered.

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.

Restlessly bleeding words onto a page
And looking past cliches to realize
Just how beautiful they are
Can only mean one thing.

The monster is back.

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.

And suddenly I was weightless,
Barely a cloud
Near the ground, obstructing the
Paths that my eyes wander down.
Simply a stream of consciousness,
Fear,
Anguish,
Demonstrated by demons
And the flames flavoured
Like chocolate and ghost peppers.
Burning blisters on the insides of
My teeth, spreading through my bones
As a parasite would slither
Down my throat.
And I wanted to be purified.

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

It was cold. And  quick.
Not the moment my heart was torn, but
The second it was put back together, so quickly.
So happily.
So lovingly.

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!

Click, falls to the floor. Dusty movie theater with shoe dirt on the backs of the seats.
Noisy couples in the back ******* face and other parts, distract from
The dead body on the screen and the 3-D pool of blood dribbling towards them.
"Love, won't you bite my eyes? Your lipstick reminds me of the deadly ruby liquid in your veins."

Because it is.

When I started writing, It was because I was in pain.
I tried to be happier with my words but to no avail.
The few poems I had spat out about love or *** were forced,
Driven by guilt because I knew that I was not in a safe place.
I knew I had to save myself.

And then I broke free.

This dry spell I've been in is caused by a lack of pain,
By a better place that I didn't think existed.
The future became clearer and my present became brighter.
I could recognize the faces in my dreams
And I lost the edgy, creative side of my mind.

I learned what a lovely kiss felt like, metaphorically.

I'd been kissed. I'd been hit. I'd been in bed with man and woman.
I'd been in love. I thought I'd been in love.
I'd never been kissed by another soul. Another body, yes.
But your kiss went deep. I felt it in my veins.
I felt it in the split ends of my hair. I felt it in the stars above my head.

I'd been touched by an angel. I swear I was.

Gradually, I've been brought into the world
As a new soul without torment. The shadows remain,
But the lights in my attic rarely turn off.
I can see the pages that I'd stashed away with poems and stories
Scrawled across the parchment. I wrote because I was in pain.

I don't write because of you.

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.

Welded together, we are by now. Or am I imagining?
The only key that fits my locked doors, my haunted mansion.
Exorcise these demons, love. Purify me.
Tree branches scape my windows and my floorboards groan.
Growing younger with age; you own the sands of time;
The exact crushed stone that took my life away in the first place.

I've written an epic for you, a story of things that we could see together.
Turned out lights and glimmering stars on our chandelier.
Diamonds glowing in your eyes and a fire burning in mine.
Step back and fall into nothing, but somehow something.
Birds are singing for us, love. Wherever their nests lie, we shall too,
Collapse into a thunder storm and drown out their song with our own.

Strong and fast- moving; we are no longer human.
We are a current, swift and caressing the life we have lead.
We wash ashore with the push and pull of your tides, steam
Licking us as my fire burns. The sweet moss fill our lungs
As we crush it beneath us. The soft bed of green
Replacing the squeaks that we have heard many times before.

And I say your name. Whisper and moan. Almost.

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.

Beautiful tragedy, life is. Nothing understood and
Judgement always comes first. I cannot find...
I am crashing into brick walls over, and over,
And over,
And over,
And over,
And... I am a broken record. I forget
When I say things. If I say things.
I need to just stay silent. Sew my mouth shut with thick black thread.
I can say more that way.
I might as well do the same with my eyes.
I can see black that way. I love the view. So tranquil.
But I can still hear you. I want you.

Cut these threads and let me see your eyes. The aqua-green color I can drown in.
It kills me to know you look at me. I don't deserve someone like you.
It drowns me. You do. Because you love me. And you
Allow me
To love you back. Infinitely.

I never want to leave. I love you I love you love you. I love you. I love you. A broken record again.

The misery of repeating things, thinking things. I am a mess.
But I have a vision. A recurring dream.
Stay with me. And it will be a prophecy.
Leave. And it will be a lost desire. A crushed hope.
But it gives me something to live for.
I love the pain. Thinking about bad things, my demons, is my harm. My release.
That or you. You touch me, play with me. My mind goes wild. But we haven't gone that far at all.
You just amplify this adrenaline.
It blinds me. Sight goes fuzzy, flash, blackness.
That is the blackness I remember.

Did I tell you I once thought myself insane?
I saw the nightmares you only dream of. Every waking hour.
My brother had nightmares about shadows following him. He screamed as he woke up.
He never saw them outside of his blankets.

I did. They tugged at my hair. Gave me chills. Distracted me.
They followed me constantly, but they were my friends. They knew me.
And they were pitch black. Midnight. No light. No light. No light.
Broken records, scratched CDs.
I am a broken record again. Just a dark disc turning, spinning, turning, spinning.
I am dizzy. I faint. I sleep.

This is the blackness I remember.

On this day in 1963, Sylvia Plath, a beautiful woman and well known poet, committed suicide in her apartment. A rare recording of her reading her poem The Disquieting Muses was released.
https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/10/27/sylvia-plath-reads-the-disquieting-muses-bbc/

This tilted mirror shows what once was
The me I felt most alive in. A small bird perched
On a branch, on my finger, in my hair.
She was always with me.
We are a jilted person.
Disconnected and abandoned.
I am sorry, bird, but I will
No longer hear your song.

Your life is not mine.
And the confusion spreading like flame
Burns me half to death.
But you... You are not a Phoenix.
You aren't allowed to crackle.
Ashes don't come from you, bird.

You just simply die.

I am alone.

No time, no patience,
But all the time and patience to feel like I do.

I am a *****.

No shame, no regrets.
But all of the shame and regret comes from the memories and worry.

I am a *****.

No cooperation, no final word.
But the cooperation of my final words leave me isolated.

Who else am I?

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.

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.

Sizzling my bones,
My flesh
           Cracks,
                                 Dry and medium rare.

         Yet I am cold.

Blood runs down, heating me,
                    Velvet blanket.

     Vision blurs
                                      and I f
                                                   a
                                                       l
                                                          l.
           Ribbons fly,
                                    Loquacious birds ring in my head,

     "Fall and die, demons."

Burn like I do.

                                                  Blisters in the moonlight
                    Burst and flood, drown me.

       Soothe my wounds
                                      And cause deafening silence.

It seems that heads are rolling
And ideas are left to perch atop
These humanoid bodies.
Unnatural.
When did humanity lose itself and begin
To create the poison we consume?
The rotten images of walking ***
And fumes of chemical death?
These corrosive lifestyles spread like
Wildfire and teenage legs.
Soon, there will be nothing
But the empty heads that
Obsess over the next ****,
The next dose of whatever form of
****** is "The New Hot Topic."
And the rest of us will be left
Picking up the pieces.

I feel the anxiety creeping up my arms. My hands are shaking, and I feel fragile, broken, hollow. There are pieces inside rattling like a piggy bank with only a few pennies. I an shivering I am cold.

I just froze.

I couldn't move and I don't know why and I am freezing. The voice at the front of the room makes sense but it doesn't. I get it but only on paper. I am numb. I feel sick. I feel


Gone.

Connection to my
Mind, my rationality:

Gone.

                                       amigoingcrazyithinkiamscareddont

Touch me.

Help me, heal me.
Distractions are

                                     Keys are jingling, ringing. What is that

Sound is nonexistent, just white noise.
             The line was cut.

whycantwekissitbetter

Ignorance has become a new fashion: the dresses on the red carpet and the
Black mascara on the TV screen. We write things as epiphanies come,
While they are out there making fools of themselves in their transparent or
Nonexistent clothing and neon underwear.

I imagine all of the people in Tome Square, even though I have never been.
The daily routines and mechanical gossip about the ******* celebrities that run their lives
And the stench of portable hot dog carts. You are a numerator of what you could be.
Wake up... You're dreaming. Try harder, you can't run faster after you have
Stepped in quicksand. You are so stupid! Look ahead! Watch for things before they come,
You are too impulsive!ay attention to others for once, it is not all about you.
Truth has become a new fashion: faded jeans and thick sweatshirts. Those of us
Who understand and seek nothing from others;
They are not worth it.

I am being watched from every angle.
I don't know what to do and I am scared.
I want to be left alone.
Not helpless and afraid, no,
Just step back!
I don't need to go, I don't want to go,
Stop reading the words I write specifically to escape from
The world you brought me into!

Just stop....

A black room surrounds me,
Grey shadows and eyes on the walls.

Smoke caresses me, a ****** of happiness;
He steals the angels protecting me, my spirit.
He may just be as in love as I am.
Love... Love..... Love.........

Is it though?
Words unspoken, an asylum unopened,
The craziness. Consumes.

The spice of wind in winter burns through,
Somehow flows through my arms to you.
These visions belong to the shadows of your body, mind, heart.
Tell me that I am in your darkness, do not lie otherwise.

Do you love me enough? Or is this a nightmare?

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.

+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.

I still feel the same as I did when you hugged me for the first time.
You were so nervous,
Your voice shook.
And you seemed to stand on your toes as if you were trying to fly.

And that was five months ago!
It still feels like yesterday; and to think we've lasted through so much...

In this circumstance, it seems like life is a ****** high school girl who bullies
And ruins people's lives. And we are the weird ones that don't care what she does to us.
We are the karma that will kick her as in the long run.

And we will always be the most awesome couplethe world has ever known.