If my mind were a piece of paper you'd be scribbles.
Endless circular motions that go deeper and deeper into the paper until the permanent marker broke through it.
The ink of you would work itself into every part of the paper's surroundings.
You'd be different colors too.
My anger, jealousy, happiness, and sadness.
Red, green, yellow, and blue.
You'd be fine tipped and bold tipped.
Piercing  specific places and blanketing every thought that occurred.
If my mind were a paper it'd be covered with your words.
Your words, too many, overlaid upon each other to become unreadable.
There would be none of my own, original, markings.
You'd be everywhere.
You're everywhere.

It is interesting to begin to have feelings for someone.
At first you are unaware of the significance.
At first it is just an airy sensation,
Where it goes and how it ends plays upon circumstance.
The beginning is just a mystery!
Will you get over it in a week?
Is it love?
Or is it playful flirtation?
Anything could stem from that one moment when you realize that something inside you has changed and you know that you will never look at that person the same way ever again.

Scars fade.
All kinds.
But some remain,
and as they fade I find it hard to let them leave.
I can see the blood fall off my arms like it was yesterday.
Tiny droplets of myself fall one by one into the drain.
I remember the feeling.
And I remember the hatred for myself.
And I remember the everyday struggle.
But something is hard to let go.
It will forever be a part of me,
but how large of a part?
That is the new struggle.
One more scar to try to get rid of.

I watch my mother weep and realize I can't do anything about it.
She screams.
Please don't cry.
All of a sudden I am no longer eight years old.
I am fully grown.
And you are gone.
I am not blinded by my innocence.
My eyes have opened and not enjoyed what they see.
A man's stench begs for a hot shower he would trade his life for.
Another child starves since their family can't afford food.
Another grave stone is put into the cemetery
And the family grieves.
If I could go back though, I don't know if I would.
'Cause I would rather not be blinded,
Than have my innocence.

The sun sets as the night comes forth.
Tranquility immerses me with a cool numbing.
The calm before a storm.
A dark feeling overcomes me. A presence of death is felt throughout my entire being.
The beginning of the end.
My stomache churns as I await the news I long not to hear.
He's gone.
He's lost.
He's dead.
The chaos is out of my control as I hear his voice in the distance,
Or is it just in my head?
Gone.
Lost.
Dead...
Night.

Who is watching us?
How far does the chain go?
As we look at bacteria with a microscope,
As a child looks at a small bug with a magnifying glass,
Who is watching us?
Are we the bugs under the magnifying glass to others?
Sometimes I wonder
If such a thing is a possibility.
Will anyone ever know for sure?
Do the bugs under the magnifying glass or the bacteria under the microscope know we are watching them?
Or do they go on with there lives unknowing of our presence?
Are we as unknowing as them?
I wonder,
Who is really at the end of the magnifying glass?

You hate it.
The slow tearing of your heart,
But you need it.
You need it to survive the day.
Because if you lose it,
You know that it is over.
The dream is gone.
The dream that someday he will leave her,
Leave her to enter your embrace;
To put his tender lips upon yours in a way so gentle that only he would Understand.
You want him to hold your hand
And whisper into your ear that he loves you more than himself,
And that he would jump in front of a freight train to make sure you Were okay.
You Can't bare the thought of the picture he has painted,
Yet you're flattered.
Then you realize that it won't ever happen.
Now you can picture it,
See his hot breath pass your cheek to your jaw line.
Then to your lips,
That's when you feel it the most.
The slow tearing of your heart.
Your center,
Your everything.
Then you see him pass
And your heart stops
Only to recollect itself when he leaves.
It only gets worse.

Look up.
What do you see?
The stars.
Your relatives, friends, and spouses.
They are watching.
Do you hear them?
The sounds of the night calling you?
Crickets, owls, whispering wind?
They are your loved ones.
They wish they could communicate with you.
But no matter how hard they try you can't hear them.
But you can feel them.
You can see them.
Each star is a person, a person that is loved by their family and friends.
They make sure your life without them can still be joyful.
Just like someone else I know.
Do you see the beautiful night sky looking down at you?
That's God.

I fell to my knees.
I sobbed.
I looked up for a split second,
and I swore I saw you smile.
The fire running through my veins took over.
I thrashed all around the small room,
And I may have hit my head.
I can't remember.
You started laughing and my limbs reacted as I crumbled again.
The dew of steam from my face had not yet begun to hault.
Was it seconds, minutes, or hours?
It felt like days.
You did this to me.
I am like this because of you.
I am here because of you.
The doctor entered the small room.
I saw a light,
and that is all I can remember.