My mind, is something you've never seen before. Full of vampires, and demons, and delusions. Words are deluted, I leave. Dissociation is the main ingredient for me to allow someone else to take over. I leave to a world of trees with glowing white leaves, a world with purple skies, and a land with no sun, only a moon that changes pigment. It is almost a perfect world, except for a select few faults. I don't wish to stay too long though, so I come back. My only wish, is that my world, could be the one I wish to stay in.

Tiny words,
On a tiny screen.
Tiny kids,
Down the tiny street.
Tiny houses,
In a not so tiny town.
Your smile,
Makes my tiny world go 'round.
I am tiny,
You are tall.
We ever I see you or hear your voice,
All I can do is fall.

My feet, some say too small, I say just right. They wear down my shoes to dust.
My calves, toned due to the many steps I take per day. Muscle and bone, something I love.
My knees, popping and cracking. Probably not healthy.
My thighs, small, but not too small, just right. Marked and stretched a tad, but two things I'm wanting to begin to love.
My hips, tiny enough to fit into a woman's size 0, but I'd rather not be in women's, rather men's.
My waist, hour glass shaped. Something that seems to be the equivalent to handle bars for my parents.
My chest, I wish you were flatter. I wish you didn't exist. I want to learn magic so I can make you disappear.
My collarbone, it pleases me. Never seems to disappoint.
My hands, they are one of my best doers. I can't write with them, I can speak with them, I can do so much with them.
My arms, they carry and hold the things I care for. Like my pets, my work, and my partners.
My shoulders, something I don't like to show off, but the Texas heat forces me to.
My neck, something sensitive, something people seem to appriciate, something your hands thought they had a right to surround.
My head, filled with voices, delusions, and a cocktail of problems. My head is probably pretty but a bad trait of my own. My eyes, ears, nose, and tongue all have false senses. My brain also causes my nerves to feel imaginary things.
My body, my body is built on good and bad parts, some things can be cured by pills, some by a different view of my image. But, on well, from my toes to my scalp, I have to deal with it, don't I?

I'm ready. I'm ready for the one named Death. I hear he fancies the name Grim as well. But his car broke down on the way to come get me. So I guess I'll wait for his arrival, curled up to my stuffed animal in my bedsheets.

I can't stop dreaming about you. The dreams are so real. I can smell you. I can feel you. I can hear your voice that would calm me and make me laugh. When I wake up I hope I throw the dream away, never remembering it, but of course, I torcher myself, so I play it on repeat. We used to talk everyday but after that afternoon at the park at the benches we haven't even looked each other in the eye. You said you'd text me once you got yourself a working phone but alas, that day has never come. So I now wish to seek out possibly unwanted attention, to replace the hole you left me with, because my heart's missing. You stole it babe. And I want it back!

My fare lady, do you really think you can push me into this monochrome river, and I not thrash about? I cling to the wilting daisies and violets that reach out to attempt to rescue me from the possibility of drowning, but they too, snap from the lining, leaving me to float downstream, being swept away to the mighty beast.

I am not real. My body is merely a vessel that muscle contort to cause a walking motion. My number in society is somewhere in the system, somewhere, but I'm not too important. My translucent hands show thin purple lines under the then sheet of paper. Later on though, the purple will turn black, and the paper will look burned, gray and black, falling apart. I do not exist, at least, not to the millions of people that gaze up at the night sky, hoping they'll find purpose for themselves. If I were to disappear, only a hand full would care, not millions, nor thousands, or hundreds. Just a small amount compared to the large school of fish that walk on land. Meaning is the key to my lock, but it was dropped down the bathtub drain a few years ago. I couldn't fill it out, my fingers just got caught in regret. But, life goes on, until my paper meets with my lighter.