beautifully sad woman,
city trees ***** mimicry,
that mean sick friendship changes,
but the blue eyes unhesitating, large,
a thunderbolt for someone,
fires of passion and caresses,
have tragedy, have disorder,
get us two confined,
now the imagines marry
a look will torment,
the dark velvet for witches,
led wolves,
each ache crackle that couldnt feel,
slowly flexes from sorrows,
and because the electrified spiderwebs,
have a small current,
an illusion that to have brightness there,
not when blinding them,
even if the sun heavens dreamed lover Greeks,
a thousand tears breathe songs.

Sure.
On the surface it seems so selfish
until you look up synonyms for selfish
and realize that it is not
ego-centric, self-absorbed, self-centered.
I do not lack consideration for others,
I only lack consideration for myself.
Did you ever consider that?
I have no ego.
I am hardly a me.
When I say "I am" a voice inside me wonders
"Who is?"
I don't even know myself anymore
so I couldn't possibly be
centered around something
I cant even find.

With a heavy head of fog,
I blink and don't recognize
where I am
or rather
I forget how I got here.
I want everyone to go away,
so I can be alone,
with my lonesomeness,
but still care about me
and come running back to save me.
Only so I can tell them to leave me alone again.
I am fine.
I am not weak.
Go away.

It'll be okay.
No it won't, I ruined everything.
You really didn't.
You hate me. Everything *****.
I'm sorry.
Me too.
But why? Just hold me.
Hang on...
She hates me.
I'm sad.
I don't feel good.
Smoke?
Okay.
Do this! Help me!
I'm at work again, but yes.
I love you, anything you want, anything you need.
Take, take, take.
What about me?
She's busy. It's okay. It'll be okay.
But now there's screaming and I'm trapped.
Everything feels scary.
I can't move. Or speak. But I have to.
I'm making things worse.
You're waiting.
I say the wrong thing.
We boil over, the *** and the kettle.
Foam and steam.
Frothing and violent.
Panic is so easily contagious.

Let these words touch you and pull you in close.
Feel me grasping at your body with feverish passion.
Hear my breath on your neck.
Could these words ever make you feel how much I need you?
My fingertips dancing across your skin letter by letter.
Each sentence wrapping around to embrace you.
The empty space between each word, a longing to kiss you.
Love in writing.

I just wanted you to notice me.
I wanted you to notice that I put mascara on,
I wanted you to tell me my eyelashes looked pretty.
I wanted you to see my subtle cleavage
and know that it was just for you.
I wanted to give you my skin,
give it to your fingertips.
I put on lace underwear,
our little secret.
I just wanted you to get me alone
and whisper to me
the things that no one else is allowed to hear.
I wanted you to pull me in close,
and press your love into me.
I wanted you to stamp it onto my heart
with a breath-taking kiss when nobody's looking.
I felt so invisible I had to hurt.
I know you can see me but I'm out of focus.
You love me but do you see inside me?
Can you see the sad, confused girl?
She needs you.
She needs you so much she doesn't know how to ask.

I told myself it was good enough because it's what I used to write anyways. It was never very classy but at least it was something. There are times when it's enough to pretend it was real.
This time I was lying naked in my bed in the dark. Finally getting used to sleeping without clothes on. That's when I remembered the blue hair. I doubt this is anything but that's the fun of it I guess. A dream within a dream. Her legs are peaches and cream in those little dresses. The weird thing is I have to set up a back-story before I can get to the meat of the situation. Before I could choose the entirely wrong word to describe a lesbian encounter. Not meat. The opposite.
    and so much more delicious.

I think it was because I winked at her. Our smirks matched.
                   this was cute.

If you wrapped your arm around me,
you'd feel my heartbeat increase.
Racing to catch up with the touches,
saving up to pay the price.
Giving me away again.

I convinced myself it wouldn't be different.
I would just be holding your hand sometimes,
to feel a bit closer.
Some moments would be ever so slightly sweetened
yet beautiful in their own right.
We would be sleeping side by side,
dreaming together.
Without being reminded we would be cared for.
I would be able to see what I love about life reflected off of you.
You would be my favorite shoulder to rest on.
I would be your friend. I would be your lover.
I would be
we could be
but you can't.

I am the snake bearing fruit.
The one with the sneaky soul.
These gifts I bring are not sincere.
Here's hoping the sweetness destroys you.
My motives are in question.
They always have been.
I am not a good person.
There is death behind this smile.

There's a toss up
  in the air
and it must come down
it must.
The choices are trust
with the crusts cut off
or *** with your clothes still on.
A dried up ******* in a
a small room with a broken door
there's something to decide.
  and I decided I don't care
except that i always do.
With a myriad of moments
dosed in darkness
vague shapes fail to excite
a detached heart.
Beating while it beats,
fighting while it feasts.
  It's in the air,
permeates the atmosphere
but never could it do that here.
With an altitude altered attitude
how's the view?

My legs are made of jello.
I keep inhaling and exhaling
in awe and disbelief
whispering "oh my god"
to myself
as I walk home.
Did that really just happen?
I really felt that,
it was mine for a moment.
I had the shape of your body,
the taste of your lips,
the sound of your breath.
They entranced me.
Your fingertips
dance across me.
I haven't felt this,
it's new.
I've felt a longing mostly,
so the mutual desire
it blows my mind.
I can see it all over your face
when you look at me,
and you actually see me.
Caught up in a tornado,
a whirlwind of lust.
Your touches tingle.
I'm breathing way too loud
and too fast.
Still in disbelief
of where your hands are
on my body.
Entirely focused on your fingers.
****.
Everything about you feels so good.

A prowling lion,
A hungry wolf.
Any number of things
may feast on me
because I am weak.
Sharp teeth
Sharper claws
my meek sensibility
cowers beneath.
A docile sheep dies
a quiet bird hides,
and somewhere silently
courage cries.
Fragile faith
manipulated grace,
ripping expression
right from my face.
Torn and shattered
bones and flesh,
cracked teeth
and broken speech.
Strong yet humble,
with placid rage.
I wear the many faces of
a desperate plague.

Blue sky moon
awake so soon.
Why are you here
just a bit after noon?
Across from the sun
a tragic tale has begun
of the love you both must share
up there.
Unaware of the unlikelihood
that you'll ever truly meet.
Over a million kilometers
means the distance matters
and all that space must **** you.
Blue sky moon,
it's too bright for you here
but it's alright,
stars are near.
Though they must be just
a constellation prize
while the sun yearns for you,
it burns for you.
Blue sky moon,
I'd love to say you'll be together soon.
but this is untrue and a painful a view.
I'm sorry.
Time is cruel to me too.

Your words
seasoning my wounds
and shriveling up like salted slugs.
Foaming at the mouth
like a tidal wave
full of rage
ripped from a rabid sea,
ripe with redemption.
Oysters spitting out pearls:
A calming beauty,
an elegant innocence,
provoking upturned snouts.

Go to the store for roast beef
and then go home.

Vain love,
a low blow
hung in the air,
an echo.
Throwback,
Go ahead, laugh.
Still trapped,
all my selves still overlap,
layered lives,
thicker skin,
various fractal faces.

My dear girl, when will you learn?
Yearning for things does not bring them.
You start from square one over and over again,
like attraction is hopscotch.
That game was fun when you were a child,
but you're older now and should know better.
Remove your heart from your sleeve, please.
It's a fake.
Taped on and cut from red construction paper.
It's the wrong shape.
Simply a repeating pattern.
A garland of garnished emotions that were never real
strung out across your entire timeline.
Old habits die hard
but love is not a hobby.

There is something I have to offer in my right hand,
Extended forward toward you.
Before you decline take a good look at it,
Consider it’s weight,
It’s balance,
It’s value.
I offer you this as a gift void of bribery,
Though a strange gift it may be.
Presented in it’s purest form,
No wraps or ribbons
Disguising it as anything better or
Any more exciting than exactly
What it looks like.
Specifically for you,
For no reason,
For I rarely dabble in logic lately.
Left to your own devices
I assume you’d pick my left hand
Which holds nothing.
Which is exactly what you want.
Which is fine with me.
I don’t want to give you anything
Anymore
Anyways.

Torsos in windows,
dark shadows,
whispered laughter,
and a wishbone stick.
Sickly, spider trees
rustle in the night breeze
lightly.
Streetlight beams find me.
Nose growing cold.
Walking from home
all alone.

"Did you count our hours?
Tally up tick-tocks?"

No.
The tick-tocks ticked me off.
I cracked.
I cracked glass faces.
Keeping track of mantles, walls, and wrists.
Time is so human it's creepy.
Watches watch you.
Hands move wiser.
That ******* glass face again
and this giant thing
looming in the corner is not
anybodies grandfather.
Trying to seem friendly while
it all slowly steals your life away.
Losing trick-track of our hours,
over and over.

Your purity, my dear, is unclear.
Once submerged, but you didn't
emerge fully cleansed.
Then again
what good is bathing in a lake
murky and mostly algae?
Uncleanly I am deemed
the doomed.
The ******.
With neither left nor right hand.
Guidance danced away slowly,
left lonely,
lost.
Only this time with a lantern
the dark, doomed, and ******
can be enlightened again.
I am open to glowing.
I'm told where I'm going
is brighter than the very sun.
Indeed, such a splendid prize I have won.
Worth more than gold,
this promise was priced.
Behold! Such a treasure
I can't close my eyes
for fear I might miss a glimpse
of what's only inside.

Patience is a virtue,
it's too soon.
I won't shoot,
I'm holstered.
It's a moot point,
point blank.
Thanks.

Where are my manners?
Managed to stick myself between
a rock and hard place again.
Not a bad spot if you're a lizard.
Not a bad shot if you're cold blooded.
You didn't check the scene, now it's a crime scene.
I've seen this all before,
and yet it seems to get
darker each time.
Maybe it's finally getting to me.
They caught up to me,
my demons did.
They hid
within my skin, hungering.
Taking control
of my limbs, and I'm fumbling.
Mumbling phrases of praises
erases their faces.
Slate clean but shivering.
Deliverance is chilling
when your captives kept you warm.
Be forewarned not to enter their house again.
They will tempt you with fire,
and so you must
build a hearth
within your own heart.
Feed it your own breath
to keep it burning
while the world turns.
Yearning to be at the center
of something you can't quite remember.

Take my hand,
take away my anger.
Take my heart,
make it love me.
Help me,
heal me,
show me,
know me.
Where you go,
I'm going.

Pettiness, pity, pathetic abuse.
Loosen the noose.
Truth,
beautifully unsound and unsung.
Among few,
under moons,
wax melting,
minds meld.
Flexible clay forms formless and formally known
by
first
and
last.
Formerly born then you die.
Fell from mouths when questioned why
departing hurts so.
Tell all I'll see them mañana
or soon enough.

It may be it's maybe too hard to handle,
or to understand.
Truly you'll take my pain away? My worry? My doubt?
Having only other mortal souls and bodies to compare to,
the gaps are vast.
There are chasms in my truths.
Perforated facts.
Even moreso sometimes it merely seems cruel.
You've been through enough.
What good could it possibly do to have you
bear the extra burden of wretched, unrighteous us?
It should be uplifting that you be so strong for me.
It is rather, and yet sometimes I find a hint of sorrow
in my heart.
A dash of guilt in my subconscious.
You, Keenest Eye beyond any measure of the sky
hide not I from it.
Observe my wandering wonders, oh wondrous one.
Let me behold.
Beautiful, of the light and the love peace abounds.
Sorrow, never to reach such a plateau.
Not ever to be but only to know.
To feel fondness for ever.
For so deeply my heart wishes to grow
as close to you.
A soul as sweet as fruits from your own garden.

I swear I'm not a Munster.
Don't leave me provolone.
When you asiago away I really Swiss you.
It makes me bleu to watch you leave.
People keep telling me it'll get cheddar.
I'm feta up with going to havarties.
Queso, maybe tomorrow will be Gouda.

Things can only be off track for so long before you train yourself.
Where are we going?
That keeps coming up in small doses.
What potion am I concocting in my head?
There are other ingredients as well
but they aren't base notes.
Accents actually improve my senses,
and since when do I create my own specific brand of tears?
They're scented almost like a perfume that smells
not a **** thing like the beach.
You know what they say,
"Life's a beach."
In a small way it's accurate.
Living and oceans.
Life and seas.
I see life.
I make waves,
and function as the tides
always pulling away or pushing towards.
Towards or away
towards or away
towardsoraway
make up your mind,
are we coming or going?
Should we ask the moon while we dip our toes in the water?
Wading for an answer while he first addresses the stars.

It's a start.

You blink your blind eyes in my direction,
my moving mouth is momentarily muted,
someone off in the distance can hear
nearly as clear as if their ear were right here
between us two.
Aware of our wordless shouting affair
carrying body language through the air,
assured of virtues demons once whispered
into each soul upon ones arrival.
Surviving key instincts to whimper and run
when you were too young to notice the snakes forked tongue.
But still you can hear nearly as clear
as if your ear where right here
beside the serpents softness.
Only to discover scales covering
and spreading along the parts of your body
which still remain hidden beneath the cloak you where made to wear
by the maiden whom named you the name you were called
by the same demon who created
what you
intrinsically
are
inside of
your very
darknesssssssssss
it hissed
and kissed you goodnight.
You awoke here.
Right here.
And nothing is nearly so very clear here.

This collection's so chaotic.
Oddities, all of us.
We ought to be audibly
deliberate more often,
rather than offensive.
Ostentatious all the time,
hard as nails,
hammering me down.
***** you, tool.
Driving around like you own the town,
but the car your only possession.
Possessed by the poison and gasoline fumes.
Light up another ****
but the air thick with vapors
threatens to blow you sky high.
Maybe next time around the block
try to be the good guy.

Awaiting first whispers of winter,
wanting to know the winner
who won with a splinter,
a thorn in the side.
Hardly noticed the leaves fall
or you leave.
You left, right?
Flaked on plans made,
snowflakes made
higher than when the trees shed
but on the same path.
Routes like a spiral,
Roots like a spiral.
Viral downward motions,
contagious and cold.
Dorothy told Alice
they weren't in Wonderland anymore
because that ruby tapping
woke them up.
Haunting grins lingering.
"What, Toto?"
We did.
It's all done.
Around again doth winter come.
Never spoke we of the sun.

You yearn for yawns all day long,
Sleeping sprawled across the lawn
while sun glows on your cheeks
and winds sprinkle seeds.
Sticking, getting stuck
in your dark hair.
White little wishes
dotted here and there,
spaced out equally as a
constellation that could blow away
at any second, no hesitation.
Guessed the pearls you hide
smiled wide like stars too,
But beautiful
from skies and oceans,
like your eyes.
Salty and blue,
please dont cry.
When the sun sets,
Get ready, go.
Dark gaps also
like your hair and teeth
lead to tomorrows rise.
See the sea, we saw the sky.
Sighed while sleeping
side by side.

I am left with this impression of deception,
stamped upon my own misconception.
I miscalculated when I walked out the door,
how many nails from my coffin were sticking out of the floor.
I tripped on them as I made my way across the porch,
and then had to run from your pitchfork and torch.
I see it now when I look in the mirror,
this monster looking back couldn't be any clearer.
But even Frankenstein was just scared and alone,
so let thee without sin cast the first stone.

Right now "sorry" is too loaded a word,
to be even slightly properly heard.
I don't need forgiveness I just want some slack.
I want to stitch up the knife wound I left in your back,
but it sure does make sense that you don't trust me with sutures.
I only hope you can again in the future.

I never did mean to turn into a liar,
or set my own pair of pants on fire,
but no matter how hard I want to put it out
there is no water during a drought.
I walked across bridges in these same burning pants.
Of course they collapsed, they stood no chance.
I've exiled myself to an island of fire,
and as I look around I think...I deserve to die here.

Betraying your trust hurts worse to me
than a burn of the worst degree.
I just wish I knew what to do to fix it,
but this isn't something I can patch up with a tool kit.

Sounds like the Sandman is some sort of creep,
who puts dirt in your eyes while you sleep.
Also, I heard...that he sleeps with the sheep.
You can count on him to sleep deep in those sheep.
So yes, he's a creep,
and he lurks in the night,
but he isn't bed bug
and he'd never bite.
You will dream sweetly
and sleep extra tight.
When you awake you'll have crap in your eye.
A weird little gift,
from one strange little guy.

That was fast, right?
I knew it wouldn't last
much longer past
that one night.

Talking to a close friend
I realized
my tendency to disguise
a dead end.

These feelings have no origin
and I know not where they go
so quickly afterwards although
I'd welcome them again.

Short bursts of affection
often zap me like lightening
only far less frightening
when shot in my direction.

To care for a soul
however briefly
carries me through life more sweetly
and makes it seem more whole.

The instant I hit the pillow,
When I've done all I can do for that day,
Is when it haunts me the most.
I can ignore it during waking hours,
and then for some reason
the dark brings it to light.
I keep trying to convince myself I can do this,
but it's beyond me.
I can't fight off a ghost and I've tried.
I've tried to rid myself entirely of
these phantoms
that I also secretly long for.
An embodiment of intangible touches
tend to linger lightly.
It's hard to see details within the shades
of the shadows.
I couldn't show you.
Nor could I speak of it.
I am to suffer with ghouls and goblins
and I shall do it alone.
Shrouded in mist
mysteriously.
I don't just hide skeletons in my closet.
I hide decay.
I hide desperation.
I hide faces.
Facts.
Fact is I lie,
I yearn for,
I remember,
over and over and over and over and over
I remember.
Repeatedly replaying real life events.
This time around I can pause,
play,
rewind.
s.l.o.w. m.o.t.i.o.n.
still frame.
You've become nothing but
a specter to me now.
Looming just barely above my senses.
You no longer possess form,
so all you can do
is pass through.
I can't even touch you.
It gives me chills.

If asked what I had done today
There's not much I could really say.
There were some routine things in between
But mainly just this one dream.
In my minds eye all day played
Some memories that have begun to fade
Where I get to kiss your sweet little lips
And trace your body with my fingertips.
It seems too good to be true
I almost don't know what to do
When images of you
Wont stop flashing through
Like a projection
Of perfection
On a reel
An unreal filmstrip
Teasing my other senses
Senselessly.
I take it back, it's too intense.
If you only knew.
Except you cant ever know.
This is just how it goes,
it usually keeps on going
by
From time to time
I'll write a rhyme
About a pretty girl.
Maybe talk about her eyes
And how they hold the world in sparkles
I look into and marvel.
I haven't said yet
A word
About how yours are hazel.
It's nuts.
An appraisal deems them priceless.
I wonder if today they were
a more green or more brown likeness?
As I completely drown
In
Them.

Start up the engine and recover the momentum
that propels you through the day.
Like every day you woke up and were already happy
just because something new had begun, and was shining.
Or raining.
Even when you woke up and it was still dark and down-pouring,
you trusted the sun to be behind it somewhere.
And after all, we owe so much of ourselves to the sun.
We worship it because it has a natural way of making us feel,
like we're alive.
Like we're inside of it and around it and it glows fire,
through us, because of us.
We are all ablaze
and all combined.
All of us a part of some infinite inferno,
that I cant even fathom.

Slowly becoming the worst possible version of myself,
the ghost of Christmas past looks at me from every angle,
in disgust.
All the phantoms are just different types of me,
with different core functions all rubbing up against each other.
They're just trying to set fire to the original one.
Smoke her out.
The person who was once a child and believed everything
that made the world feel like it was full of white magic.
Convinced that there were fairies in the yard,
and that there was always a friend running along side the school bus.
There was, too, once another girl and a little older
who found out that she could draw,
and that when she did so a passion would hold her mind and her hand.
Her world introduced her to music and she sang,
only alone and loved it.
She has only ever sang alone,
so it was impossible to hear her real voice.
That's when the girl she was went away,
and hid.
Got really good at hiding, from everything and behind it all.
This fool with tired eyes has no right to use them,
doesn't lift a finger and yet yawns at the first sight of dawn.
Yawns in the face of the sun all day, and whispers with the moon,
all night.
Microwaves every meal and eats the radiation like a beast,
because there is nothing natural about her anymore.
She has become the same plastic that she uses and abuses,
and is suffocating inside her own demise.
There are slower, much slower ways
to end your own life.
Dying is a threat to live life when life is treating you with death.
It scares those who can't bring themselves
to rediscover their own core.
The white magic.
The child.
The hands that had passion.

Am I all good?
Can you dose me?
Ease the main pain
taken hold of me.
Broken me -
holding myself together
without choking me.
Falling asleep now,
and as I come down
I slip up on a dream.
Trip myself awake,
tripping on whatever kind of medicate
is flowing through my veins
and jolting awake my bones,
snapped like a candy cane.

Floating across a river of blood
in a pool of massacred dreams,
ripples of hope.
The water runs red because of the plague,
to remind of the good and warn of the bad.
Undesirable outcomes
of the ways we've been behaving.
I wanted to take a dip in that forbidden stream
before all this happened.
To watch it run clear and catch flickers
of light across it's ebbs and flows,
like someone had sprinkled glitter into it.
I wanted the beauty,
even though I didn't know how to swim.
Never had I been within something so
natural and crisp.
I was willing to drown if it could wash over me,
and make me feel as connected as it seemed
to everything around it.
How could this be considered erroneous?
It seemed peaceful...
Until lives were slaugtered on its banks.
Others who felt the same,
our kindered hearts,
we wept into the deep opaque water.
Water none of us knew existed until we saw it.
This same small creek,
that I had never been emerged in,
was now a scarlet current infused with tears.
Ripples from the sobbing rain are what remind us,
that it is an ever moving entity,
with a mind and a song,
and will filter itself someday,
with a slow, harmonious bubbling of purification.
I can wait, and let time heal my subtle rejection,
because now I know what I want.
I want to swim in this elixir of life.

I usually want to kiss you when we part ways
not because of anything serious
but because I enjoy you
and a kiss at the end of your company would be
almost like the punctuation at the end of a sentence
It just belongs and no one really notices it
nor is it trying to be anything other than what it is

A perfectly logical way to come to an end

Chances are you would understand this yet I never act on it
because I don't want to come across like I'm trying to turn
a simple period into a bleeding heart...
That wouldn't suit either of us in a very flattering manner
for it seems to me we are both untied and unbuttoned

The upside of this effect
is that our experiences remain open ended
On the downside my days with you usually feel
noticeably incomplete

What is my everyday life but a struggle
to learn more about what I know?
After all that, at the end of the day,
all I know is that I know less
than what I thought I knew.

At the end of all major discoveries
I find more inquiries.
Lies laying in truths,
and both are so muddled
it's difficult to see which is which.

What you need to know,
VS
What you're manipulated into believing.

To the point where you cease to question anything at all.
Either for for fear of what might be learned,
or pure ignorance that you're being lied to.

My hope, my prayer, my passionate plea
for the world, for us all, for the human race -
is that we never ever lose our questioning nature.
Our drive to discover, to uncover, and to learn,
has to continue for us to endure.

I fear a day when this desire will be silenced in many.
Blissfully living shrink wrapped lives.
Carelessly carefree, carefully contained.
This time is near.
Or is it already here?

We must have faith
that some hearts can never be silenced,
some minds can never be tricked.
That some people will
never let our lights go out,
never let our originality be taken,
never let our freedom die.

There's a word that looks pretty when it's spelled out,
but sounds horrible on the ears when said aloud.
It's on the tip of the tongue, but I can't quite remember.
What could this word be? What could this word be?

"It was so simple." They finally said to themselves.
Wrong all along, and it sank in and they were soaked.

Rain, wind, thunder, lightening,
A watchful eye persists.
Gusts of air, invisible shoves
tormenting the tides.
Each wave exerts itself
testing the power of wind versus water.
At first they battle
but suddenly teaming up
they wreak havoc on everything
that has the ability to come to an end.
For while each force has the ability to remain calm
neither can ever cease,
Ever have limits,
Ever die.

I find that the more you protest
the more they seem to think you're possessed.
So convinced it's of devilish brood
for you to scrutinize spiritual tools.
What blasphemy to think that this gate beyond great
holds so much more than what's been written!
Yet I am certain you cannot crack the code
just by cracking the binding of your Bible.
My resistance would have you conceive
that in the highest glory I do not believe.
"Not so!" I shout from outside the chapel.

How do I explain myself without opening my mouth?
My words have lost their merit within your house.
They altered form inside your ear,
so that what I might say is not what you hear.
If inquiry is deemed a sin
how can acceptance ever begin?

The God that I see is vision unseen!
Such a figure unlike you and me.
He did not have a pen to write down his thoughts,
and perhaps with his prophets a translation was lost.
Could a man,
even a man in Gods graces,
fully comprehend a deity's oasis?

I'm not saying that there is no God!
What I mean to convey is that man is not all.
We are not the end and the means and the project.
There is more to come, other books to written,
to believe He created all this just for Christians...
That cannot be correct.
God is far more complex.

Mind numbing. Self induced dumbing.
Thumbing through a book that could change my life.
I just want to believe something.
Whatever thing screamed the loudest
in my immediate surroundings.
I need substance to lean on.
A crutch.
So dependent on a distraction.
From what?
Too much.
I want to pull the thread but I don't want the unravel.
Any thing that takes my mind off the fear
of an answer to the unquenchable query.
"Tell me the truth."
"Wait, no. Please don't."
If I know then I have to do something about it.
And I wouldn't even know what to do.
Too late.
I heard you.
At the end of all this I shall be deemed guilty.

Why didn't she help?