I am a soldier
even in my dreams
fighting against monsters in my memories
I am a soldier
I'm not so strong anymore
fighting against the blade at my wrist
I have won the battle
I am losing the war

today we decided to bake a cake.

it was my idea really,
you said you were the expert,
but i wanted to help.

i poured water and oil
while you cracked eggs,
then i stirred and stirred
until you poured it in the pans.
you placed them in the oven
that i avoided
because it is my greatest
fear.

we waited until they were done
we waited until they cooled
so that we could decorate.

again you took charge,
but i didn't mind
because i could've watched you all day,
taking your time-
so delicate, fragile, gentle.

your handwriting is beautiful
and you wouldn't let me write,
so i chose to respond
with a frosting fight.

we chased each other in circles,
in circles we chased each other.

you grabbed my wrist
(if only you decided
to interlock our fingers,
i wouldn't have minded).

so i grabbed your wrist
and we danced around-
our feet were pound (ing)
frosting hit the ground
we laughed with a joyous sound
and then you found...

the perfect opportunity.
you smeared it in my,
face
nose
hair
clothes,
so i chased you up the stairs
and you tried restraining me,
i chased you down the stairs
and you helped me see,
that we had no time left
for fun,
we had to finish the cake
we begun.

so i grabbed the sprinkles,
you caught the ones that fell;
i handed you the candles,
frantically listening for the door bell.

it came too soon
we had to hurry put everything in random places act like everything was normal
because the cake was a surprise.

later we finished,
you lit the cake,
it was truly beautiful,
what we can make,
when we work together.

.

            In order to survive, we cling to all we know and understand.

                                              We label it reality

                      But knowledge and understanding are ambiguous

                                   That reality could really just be an

                                                             I
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        ­                                                     S
                                                               ­  I
                                                             O
                                                        N
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                              All humans live with wrong assumptions

                                     For the sake of their own survival

This house made of brick and stone,
glass and wood,
now crumbles to the earth beneath me.
But this house was empty
long before it was gone.

The people inside,
the people
the people
the monsters,

They ripped open their lungs
and filled themselves with smoke.
They  ripped open their veins
and filled themselves with poison.
They grew sickly and cold
with black, sunken eyes.
They starved themselves to the bone
until that was all they were.
Feet shuffled against dark-stained hardwood floors,
yet they never touched the ground.

Ghosts.
Ghosts who couldn't sleep,
for the darkness was no longer home.
Ghosts who couldn't breathe,
for all they inhaled was smoke.
Ghosts who screamed.
Ghosts who cried.
Ghosts who never made a sound.

Holding on until fingers grew limp.
This house was empty
long before it was gone.