You are dying, she tells me.
Should I care.
Should I forgive you.
Or spit on your grave.
Battle in my head.
Everyone deserves to die in peace.
With a piece of love.
With forgiveness.
With a prayer.
Where do you think you are going.
Its not about you.
Its never been.
I need peace.
Peace to go on.
I waited for this day.
Now it is almost here.
Are you deserving of your life?
Let me see your remorse.
Not what the ear hears, the lies.
Such fake tears.
Your trickery.
Such an evil task.
Your plan.
I do this for me, not for you.
The squeezing of my gut.
I want to release the pain.
Of so many years.
Feel the calm.
Lay here  flat with my arms outstretched.
Feel peace for myself.
A freedom.
From you.
Where do you think you are going.
Release me from your hell.
So I can finally have peace.

That smell of crisp leaves.
Blowing, what a nuisance.
Reminders of death for me.
It is everywhere.
Beauty is there, but not to me.
I fake my amazement of the season.
Too much sadness, I tell myself.
Every year it is back.
Like a circle.
Then the cold.
Like a cold body in the ground.

Who are you?
That demon in my head.
Fear always there.
That dresser in front of my door.
Locking you out.
What a waste.
You took so much.
Gave back so little.
You say you are forgiven.
By whom may I ask.

That girl you never forget.
Smile that could pause a room.
So simple yet not plain.
She laughs with her head back.
Laughter is easy.
But alone is the time she fears.
So lucky is she.
To be liked.
Taking for granted her face.
Her admiration.
Wrapped in self pity.
Asking what is her purpose.
Shame on you.
Having so much.
Effortless beauty.
Selfless love.
Genorous spirit of time and effort.
Write about me she asks.
Not enough lines on a page.

Listen to me.
So much to say.
Covers her ears.
Like autism.
Pretending to shut everyone out.
Truths to be heard.
But I keep yelling.
Dying to be heard.
What will you do when you hear no more yelling.

Time too short for the living.  Too long for the dying.
Time heals all pain, they say. But never really goes away.
Time changes with the seasons.  A season of intervals.
Time is dark to light.
Time is a mystery.
Time is somewhere you have to be.
Time is a second, a minute, an hour.
Time is infinity.  The duration.  An instant.
A time warp in the matrix.
Time is a phase in your life.
Time cannot be measured.
Too much time on your hands.
And in the end, there is never enough time.

What goes on in that pretty little head.
Teetering back and forth.
Whispering and hearing voices.
Battling insanity.
Sometimes crystal clear.
Inside that box in your head.
Four sides with no key.
Seem so innocent.
Yet all the rage and fury ready to escape.
In time your wrath will be known.
Only you know.
Our nasty little experiment.
There is no remedy.
For your diagnosis.