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

It's been five months since
Not one thing, but another.
And I would have not remembered,
But it keeps getting brought up.

I've gotten help.
But not because I can't cope.
I need help because you are taking over me.
Stalking, suffocating,
Using me as a puppet.

And it's been five months today.
April 24th. 9:13pm.

Two days.

Why don't you understand that my tears burn me!
Stupid mind! Just let me be! I try.
I try, I do, to be happy or mask it or
SOMETHING!
Every attempt I have fails!
Just let me be...
Let me succeed in not crying just once! Please!
I am sick of the burning, the itching.

Just like I will.

Just as I feared. The exact thing I have expected and dreaded from the beginning. Countless love poems, even recent ones. They have not been a waste. But I did trust you to tell me the truth when you stopped loving me and wanted to end it. I have been confused and hurt by many things. This is one of the most difficult, not because of what I lost, but because I knew it was coming and did not brace myself for it. I've never felt more alone and more supported in my life.

I need a break from you for a while. I will give your things back to a friend to deliver. Please do not contact me.

With rain brings thunder and life, the numbness
That I search for. With rain comes
A warmth that I crave, but never surround myself with.
The safety among fingers tangled in mine and
Whispers of entrancing promises, yet
I stay alone and silent; I am unable,
Incapable, unwanted.

I write with an empty heart and an empty mind,
Void of images that inspire.
I lose myself more in a bottomless well;
I just wanted some water.
I can no longer climb, and I don't think I am coming back.
Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.

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?

Tell me...
Are we falling apart like a pastry in your fingers?
Like a lost receipt in the washing machine?

Are we falling away like a thousand year old shooting star?
Like cottonwood seeds in summer?

Is our love dying like Romeo and Juliet's?
Like the symbiosis of the bees in genetically modified fields?

Are we melting to nothing like cotton candy in your mouth?
Like plastic left beside a fire, rotten and corroded?

Are we falling apart like I feared?
Or can we stay strong and figure out
What the hell we will do with our life together?
Will we stay in stress and silence?
Will you continue not to look me in the eyes?
Will you continue to kiss me like there is something wrong?
Will you think that I am a sin? A *****?
Will you be scared for me when I fall apart again?
Or will you fall away and care more about what is for dinner that day?
Will you lie to me when you stop loving me?
Will you feel obligated to stay because of my
Mind killing me from the inside out?

Something my teacher said.
A thousand insects in one tree.

He's talking about us.
Not directly, but that life isn't it?

We are all ****** up little things in the world.
Some of us have a billion legs. Disgusting creatures.
Some have crazy fangs to rip out throats.
Some have eight eyes and see the world as a big moving picture.

But we are all insects with piercing eyes and spindly limbs and
Screwy bodies.
It's this of us with wings that can see above it.
Show their colors.

And those are the bugs that are not scary to live with.

Throw a tomato! They're squishy...
Snails are too though, but you can't
Toss them too well.
You could use them like a baseball?
"Hey, batter batter. Swing!"
Touchdown!
But...
T
H
I
S
Isn't high school.
And we aren't jocks.
We just throw cabbages and rotten potatoes
Po-tah-toes.
Tomatoes.
To-mah-toes.
Lets call the whole thing off...

Be your own hope.
And find the one that makes it stronger.
Be your own love.
And find the one that makes it romantic.
Be your own light.
And find the one that makes it brighter.
Be your own inspiration.
And find the one that makes it into art.
Be your own determination.
And find the one that makes it happen.

Be your own fight.
And be your own victory.

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.

Strange how things are twisted,
Made better or happier
Like a girl who thought her life
Was crumbling. Her
Mind a whirlpool of lies
Inside of a hurricane of torment and insanity.
Her sleepless nights are simply
Airplanes that cannot fly.
But they are beautiful.
Bright yellow birds with broken wings and
Arrows through their eyes
Fly from sight.

I can relate. The urge and incessant need to run,
The cage stands around me, pillars of a ballroom
with no space to dance. The invisible song echoing.
My mind is a place of blazing meteors
And barren deserts,
Only occupied by an occasional mirage
That screams, “I’ve found something!”
The sound burns my throat, the voice of someone else in my body.
And suddenly I was weightless,
Barely a cloud
Near the ground, obstructing the
Paths that my eyes wander down.
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.
The trees and water signifying my survival
grows. A paradise in the eyes of a starved kitten
Lacking its milk from a mother flattened on the side of the road.
But the possibility disappears
As I walk, run, fall, cuss, crawl closer to my destination,
Forever doomed to walk among the shadows and blackness
Of the sky. Colourblind. I wander and trip over cracks in the
Sidewalk as my mother's back cracks in half like a twig,
It’s not my fault! I am still lost!
Or maybe I have been found. A picture, solid and graphic
I am here. This wasteland could be my home, my fragmented reality.
The tunnels deep in the blackened sand are the
Corridors of a haunted house, ghosts
Of long lost stories whispering sweet nothings
In my disjointed ear. I do not want to listen.
“Welcome home.”

Simple, complex, loud and confusing.
   I don't belong somehow. I am free here

                       Yet, still confused.
       The ending seems far,
Nothing clouds me.
                                    My mind is blank:
Hoping to get out.

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.

Sadness follows me like a lost puppy,
Looming and pattering at my feel like rain.
Whining like a smoke detector
When a child makes a mistake.
I inspire depression.
An earthquake.
I step in fairy-like
Movements, trying to be quiet
Like a woman should be.
Destruction ripples in my wake.
I am a bulldozer crashing a funeral,
Demolishing the memories we mourn.

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.

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.

Normally red, flame like. Petals caress, and wither,
And fall. The dizzying peace in the slumber it brings,
The drug that sings an Angel's lullaby, tosses you into the toy box like another rag-doll.
We've fallen for it again. The dusty dolls and
Hollow plastic telephones that hold spider eggs are the only companions now.
But I am here. And I am your friend.
Although I can not make any promises that I am beautiful, I will be as pretty as I can;
I will wear dresses and makeup.
My scars are not covered, they show and glow like luminescent tattoos etched into my skin.
Do you have any ink? Did your feather pen spill over the page, erasing your work?
Did the charcoal reflection ******* over and stain your perfect self?
Of course it did. That is what happens when the desk you write on is slanted, demented,
But it seems to be your twin.

Your mind is not a place of blazing meteors, honey. It's a place of evil things.

You are a twisted little *****, but so am I, you see. We have both taken the wrong path,
The only difference: I know how to survive. How to fool the monsters under the bed into thinking
I am one of them. In a way, I might even be telling the truth. I painted my own mask:
A splash of black here, a drop of blood there, and... Something is missing, but they won't notice.
They will always let me dance with them around their moonlit blue flames; I am their queen,
My mask, to them is beautiful. And they understand the me that I have fabricated to escape
The wretched toy box on the other side of the bedroom, over the mountains of ***** socks and
Dusty snow globes, even if a part of me is not complete.
I am still stuck in that box long after the room rotted away, the box melted in the
Sunlight and every speck of dust swept away by the wind and rain.
But at least more of the black poppies can grow.
Normally red, flame like. Petals caress, and wither,
And fall. The dizzying peace in the slumber it brings, leaving everyone who slips the glass pill
Comatose in a hospital bed, tubes shoved down their throat to keep from asphyxiating.
No matter how many visitors come to read stories and play songs on the ukulele,
They will remain dormant. They are not longer home, so stop ringing the bell.

No, I take that back.
Ring the death bell one more time, invite everyone to the land of green grass and marble sculptures;
Tell them to bring poppies because it was the deceased's favorite flora,
But neglect to say which color. The visitors bring red,
An alien on the color spectrum and unrecognized by the ghost atop the gravestone.

Still, the dull color matches the spatter of blood on the mask I once wore, and I am brought back
A hologram, of sorts. The bowed heads below me are too dense to look up, except for one.
It's you, love. You grew the flowers that put me there.
The dull color that hypnotized me night after night and made me dream of your body
Covered in the withered petals. You, love. My poppy dealer.

Draw the forces of old and wise peers
From the light of the blood moon.

A lunar eclipse and color radiates
In these consecutive nights.

Energy calls and empowers the bodies
Who call it. The Goddess gives what the
Moon sells to her.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Trouble, love...
You drown me in
Quick
Beats;
Palpitations of my
Red *****.
My waters run for you.

Tied with
Ribbons of
Silk,
I shout proclamations
To the clouds who
Threaten to rain on us.

I know who I am now.

Stay. Will you be a penny glued to the sidewalk?

Can a leaf blowing away in the wind be a true metaphor
For the way you love me?

I wonder if your eyes will change and no longer see me as
The girl you see me as now?

I am scared. Terrified. Worried. I think, maybe, that you
Will change too much. That you will be a different person.
You already are. You're not the nervous boy I fell in love with,
But I love you now more than ever.

I just hope you can say the same for me.

Small talk, advice given, but forgotten
It seems.
No longer able to form
Coherent words, seek solace, converse
Where no one will see our troubles.

I am sorry, brother.

I need to say something.
I feel it pulling itself up my throat and
Through my lips, but it has been nothing
But my breath since I first thought of it.

I have no tolerance for anything,
Anxiety and impatience are taking over
And I know that no one will accommodate for me,
But I need to fix this somehow.

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.

Move against the darkness that bites your tail, little wolf. Fight back.
Don't you see the clearing at the edge of the bluff? The light that rains there?
Drops of glow, little stars come from the reflection of oceans.
Dance there, sing your song of howls and tribal verses.
Nothing is following you anymore. They have no want to,
You have changed into an ugly monster, dripping black and green poison.
No me wants to love a filthy girl, a demented form of a creature once sought after.
Just because the darkness yanks on your beaded hair does not mean it is evil.
You don't understand the liquid gold it speaks, you can not hear the warnings.
The white light that illuminates the field of carnivorous wild flowers
Transformed you to your true form.
And the meteor showers washed away the rest of you.
A bitter chill that encompasses the world you once knew, and isolation sets in.
The sound of your strangled cries are the only thing left, but even then,
The echoes are unbearable. Silence is your only friend.

No physical inspiration, no sound, and soon, you forget their name.
The one who kept you from destroying yourself in the first place.
Death himself asks you three questions.
"What is your name?"
I don't know.
"Do you want to die?"
Maybe.
"Why?"
I don't know.

The questions are written in your own blood, but the hooded figure is
Nowhere in the red reflection you stare into. No light. No light.
Yet you wake up in your own cave as if nothing has happened.
Nothing except the matted fur and the festering wound in your side,
Pain searing you to your bones, burning every thought to ash.

*Don't worry, little wolf. It will be over soon.
Just don't let the sunlight get you again.

I thought to myself,
"I will think about my life."
Love was a cliche.

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.

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.

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 this jeweled watch flying out the window,
It's silly, clattering wings flapping, struggling
To keep it up.
My world has crashed once, you stupid creature.
And it is your fault. Horrid
Clock.
Time is your weapon.
But now, I am a ghost.

Your ticking sword does not cut me.

My demon lies,
Crumbling mind, speaking incoherently.
Did you make the right choice. A girl
Sees what needs to be, what wants to be.

And yet, we drift. A silent voice that once lulled me to sleep,
Pushes me away,
A violent shove at my center most light.
A distant voice tells me it no longer trusts.

I am an echo. I can not do what has not been done,
My voice no longer works when I do not listen in return.
There is no music to
Listen to. Only the whistling silence of the wind.

The windows block that out. Windows to the soul
Have shutters that block the paintings on the walls
From the outside world.
Never to be seen by human eyes, even the resident.

Lost is the hottest fashion, these days.
Did you hear?
Independence is taken too far, and isolation
Replaces whatever played peaceful music in the past.

Somehow, the soldiers march to nonexistent drums and
No one utters a word, for fear
That they will be executed.

"You, dear, are too cautious. You need to let me in."

Have you talked about me?
Have people asked?
How is everyone?
I feel too awkward to
Say anything.
Are we really friends?
Or just acting like it?
Am I bothersome to you?
Do you want me to forget?
Do you really care?
Are you disappointed in me?
Are you worried?
I feel like I can't like
Your statuses that i find amusing.
What do people say?

No one saw it coming but me.
I've gotten the same question over and over
But I don't really know the answer.
But I do at the same time.
Why?
Because he stopped loving me.
* How? When?*
I don't know...
How long did you go without telling me?

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.

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

Science class is boring. People are loud. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I'm depressed. My numbers have not been good when I rate my emotions at therapy. My mom overreacts to everything and does not listen to my side of the story like always. She acted like it was my fault that I got half credit on a late group assignment. Technical difficulties deleted everything and we turned it in a month late after redoing it. Half credit was generous.
I haven't been able to talk to Sage much recently... I miss him. He is right there and I hug and kiss him daily, but I miss him. I almost had time on Tuesday, but my mom took that away. I feel alone. I've thought recently that I'm ugly. I don't feel good about myself. I promised not to try again or hurt myself, so I found another way... I haven't eaten well recently, meaning I won't eat for a while and then I will binge on junk food... It makes my stomach hurt, but I don't care.
Anyway, I almost had time, and my mom said yes at first, but then I told her that school was good and she asked about the project. Then she said no. I was trying to explain. I may have raised my voice a little, but then she started screaming at me not to yell. I wasn't. Cell phones have microphones. And mine is broken, so it just made it worse. Everything piled up at once and I started to cry. He left before my mom got there and I just sat and cried. A police woman came just to ask if I was okay. I told her I was fine, just a lot of stress and my mom pulled up. I got in the car and she instantly badgered me about why I was talking to the police and when I told her why, she to,d me I was throwing a temper tantrum like a three year old. I told her I wasn't and then her catch phrase came out. I swear, she says it to me every day. "You're full of ****, Kaydee."
I wasn't having a good week to begin with, my numbers were bad all week. Since I only go to treatment once a week now, I keep track of my own numbers until I get back. I seriously contemplated trying again or harming again, but I didn't. I was proud, and thankful that I have at least five people to support me, my family not included. They go back and forth. Everything I do is wrong, I'm full of ****, I'm a liar, and then they love me and only care about helping me.
Do they even understand how difficult this is? We're they ever sent into treatment? Are they living my life with my teachers and my views and disorders? My parents have depression and have attempted, but they still don't get it. If they did, they wouldn't be doing this.

I just want to be let go. I was doing fine until this started. Therapy made it worse. I harmed after I went into therapy. I was pain-sober before then.

My therapy place called me again today. I don't know why they called me and not my mom, but whatever. I don't even care. Normally music helps with things like this but I'm shying away from my normal taste... I've been listening to more Death Cab For Cutie and Regina Spektor. All is well, though. Just softer than the screaming and explicit lyrics I'm used to. More meaningful and poetic, I think.

Well, I think I'll be done. Writing this helped, but I am still on the verge of tears. I need to be done.

   Sincerely, Kagami.

.

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.

Karma is a *****.
You heard the saying so many times.
What goes around comes around.
The golden rule.
Whatever.

Karma is a *****.
But not to the people who deserve it.
The people who were the nice ones,
Who have  been suffocated;
Their payment is long overdue.
I know a lot of people, including myself,
That have struggled to be kind for so long.
They have completely possessed the person
They once were.


Lately I've been a *****.
Please forgive me.

Ive tried for so long.
And I can not deal with this anymore.
I feel the need to rebel.
Because it is something to do.

You would do it to.
And most likely have
If you have been as caged in
As I was.

Karma is a *****.
You heard the saying so many times.
What goes around comes around.
The golden rule.
Whatever.

Karma is a *****.
But not to the people who deserve it.
The people who were the nice ones,
Who have  been suffocated;
Their payment is long overdue.
I know a lot of people, including myself,
That have struggled to be kind for so long.
They have completely possessed the person
They once were.


Lately I've been a *****.
Please forgive me.

Ive tried for so long.
And I can not deal with this anymore.
I feel the need to rebel.
Because it is something to do.

You would do it to.
And most likely have
If you have been as caged in
As I was.

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 need you to do a job for me.
Satisfy me in the way only you can.

I've craved your touch day and night,
And I know how it feels to have your lips
On my body.
The feeling, the memory is engraved in my brain.

But I need more.

Do this job for me,
And I will pay you back in any way I can.