The stifling darkness chokes my senses to the point at which I can't differentiate between the sounds of water dropping from branches and the moisture falling from the edge of my chin onto the crumpled leaves strewn around my feet. 

Crickets and assorted bugs I couldn't dream of naming pierce the dark with their high-pitched keening, and the occasional large displacement of rainwater from above reminds me of my childhood fear of the dark. 
These methodical observations cascading through my mind calm the frazzled maelstrom my emotions currently resemble. 

The borrowed boots I threw on, before flinging the door open to make my escape into the dark alternate reality of the night, confine my feet in an unusual way; my toes slamming into the fronts as I walk downhill; the soles of my feet slide back and forth as I trip over the branches and stumps hidden from my eyes by the thick blindfold of night.

I crumple, much like the leaves at my feet, onto a slightly damp fallen tree and close my eyes; more from habit than to block out the non-existent light. The bark feels somewhat grimy under the hand I recline upon, but the chaos gripping my mind occupies my attention; therefore I have no brain capacity to decide if the slimy surface warrants a relocation on my part. 

I direct my full attention inward and examine my uncharacteristically jumbled emotional cloud. Angry reds and blacks flash into exisitence, before extinguishing to reveal sickly yellow veins underneath before lighting again. As the time between the red and black explosions increases, a melancholy dark blue smog coats the inner recesses of my mind like a fuzzy wallpaper and rug combo. The cloud of emotion has dissipated, leaving only dark green wisps of calm in it's wake.

This writing seems to have calmed my inner turmoil; I accept the loss of a piece of me and mourn it's destruction. I'm left without the energy to pick up the artistic utensils I would use to recreate this piece sacrificed against my will. 

Hopefully, I will regain the motivation in the morning. But for now, I shall make my way back through the slick stumps and crumpled leaves to my bed and pass the time till then in dreams.

Tell me one more real story
Before the world fades to black
And we all wake up white plastic.

Tell me one more real story
Before my hair grows bleach blonde
And this becomes yet another Hollywood classic.

Are there any more real lives?
Or has it just become boy meets girl
We'll fall in love while the sun sets.

Are there any more real lives,
Or are we becoming scripted shadows
We'll waste time paying other people's debts.

Please don't let me fall asleep
Can't live that cliché life
Want to write my own story

Please don't let me fall asleep
Can't lose control of myself
Want to dictate every detail

So tell me one more real story
Are there anymore real lives?
Please don't let me fall asleep
What is real?

Found your letter today
The one you thought I burned
Along with your clothes and pictures

It was tucked away
Between my bed and wall
Must have spiraled down
After slipping through my fingers
Sliding due to the sudden moisture
Spilling out of my eyes
I always cry when reminded of who you used to be

You rambled in the beginning
Your words jammed together
Slanted and shaky

Told me about your new cleats
I knew you didn't really like soccer
But you did it for me

Wrote all the stats from your baseball game
And explained in parentheses what each meant
Because you wanted to share your sport with me too

Wrote about the new Harry Potter movie
Because you knew I hadn't seen it and wanted to know
Made plans to see it together as soon as I came home.

It's a shame we never did
Your words then grew farther apart
And I can still faintly see the eraser marks

You tell me you miss me
You're counting down the days till I come home
You're sorry you missed my call, but to please call again soon

The thickest smudges are above your name
You settled for see you soon
Put a heart next to your name

P.S. write back soon

I sometimes wonder
If I had made that call
Or written a letter

Would things have been different for the next two years?
Would you still love me?
Would you've not doubted me?

Or were we destined for failure from the start?

What would you eat?
Maybe these plastic grapes
To feed your equally plastic personality.
Or would you choose the unfamiliar mushrooms
In the hope of ending this lie?
Either way, it's time to face the music,
Drape your tail over your arm,
Uncover your devil horns.
You're no angel,
And pretending will only make matters worse.
So sharpen your pitchfork,
Heed my words.
Life has to be a burning hell before you realize
You enjoy the warmth.

Our love is like a jawbone
On a frail patient
With cancer of the bone
On the outside, it seems normal
But underneath, the brittle sponge
Deteriorates to dust, until the whole thing
Separates, exposing the lie
No therapy can fix it

They say exercising helps
So we run our mouths
At each other till
Your well-aimed words
Shatter everything

I like maps
Sometimes spread them across my room
Covering the floor and bed
Then study the curves and bends
Tracing the little lines of blue and black
Like when I explored your face

When snow collects outside the window
I close my eyes, become Sweden
As you bend like Norway
So once again you would be
Pressed against my spine
Two shapes fit to each other

I remember glancing up
At you while driving in circles
Just to get away
Could see in your eyes
You weren't here
Oh no, not this town, this state, this time zone

But you came back eventually
With an apologetic smile
A quiet, nervous laugh
You always left me hanging
In this small town
While off in your own world

You're actually gone now
Left my safe haven of strewn paper
And fully moved into a new world
One that doesn't just occupy your mind
Making your own maps
And following them with your feet

Lying on my map-covered floor
I place one finger where I've always been
And one across the line where you are now
Only inches apart
Close enough to reach out
To bridge the gap and touch

Then I remember the scale
Sitting down in the corner
Telling me inches are a hundred miles
Lines are boundaries
And I've no business
Attempting to cross either