I don't know what to say
because after all is well,
my mind goes blank
at the end of every day.

Once I step into my room
and close my door for the night,
the feeling I thought was left behind
rises again with the moon.

Each day brings new color
or at least each day tries
but the sun goes down
and the colors turn white.

Its white in my mind.
all the empty space gives opportunity
for the dark parts of me
to show what colors they bring.

its all red

I'm thinking about you
And how we were in
Very similar shoes.

I'm thinking about your smile
And your hair
That I always envied.
It's so strange to know
That I'll never walk behind you again.

I'm thinking about the way your absence
Turned our hometown upside down
And inside out.

I'm thinking about the portrait
Your brother just drew of me
And comparing it to the portrait
Anonymous painted for your mom.

Thinking about the guilt
That I somehow still carry.
Even after knowing the truth
And knowing what happened to you.

The weight of knowing
It could have been me,
But wasn't;
Is so present still.

Why did I make it out alive
When you had so much more to live for?

I'm so sorry
That this happened to you
And I'm so sorry that i couldn't do anything to save you.

You look at me and I see the life
Teeming behind your eyes.
I wonder how it got there
And how it stays alive.

I'd like to know what you see
In my eyes when you look at me.
I have a feeling it's fear
Or nothing at all.

All that lives behind my eyes
Are lines of illegible scribble
That can barely be recognized
As phonetic syllables.

Is it obvious that I'm terrified
Of the life in you?
It scares me in the way
Most beautiful things do.

I can appreciate the appeal
But please don't let it get too close.
I'm content with my dead eyes
And it would be too painful to bring them to life.

I am scared of your vibrancy
And at the same time jealous.
Jealous because I bet the world
Is beautiful to you.

And I bet you think
I'm beautiful too.
How lovely it would be
To see things the way you do.

How lovely it would be
Too feel good things
With the same intensity
That I feel bad.

Do you ever become overwhelmed by joy?
Or excitement?
Or laughter?
What's it like to be more than a shell
Of a life that could have been wonderful?

Could there be something
In my head
That only my hands know about?

Because I'm not sure why
They refuse to stop
Tearing at my skin
Even when I begin to bleed
And start to beg.

Are my hands trying
To set something free
That's been locked inside me?
Or are they just performing
The will of my secret thoughts?
Destroying me without
My say in the matter.

I don't know why
I'm trying to analyze this.
It's just a nervous tick.

People will often say
That those who have trouble
Letting others in
Are "guarded".

And maybe that's true
In most cases.
They wear an emotional
Suit of armor
And build imaginary walls
Around their hearts.

I also have trouble
Letting people get close.
But I would not,
In any circumstances,
Say that I am "guarded".

To call someone "guarded"
Insists that they are protected,
Safe from harm.
That's where the word loses its
Relevance to me.

I am not protected.
Not in the slightest.
I wear no suit of armor
And have no walls
Around my heart.

I'm as vulnerable as a baby deer
Who's lost it's mother
And broke it's leg.
I am susceptible
To any and all types of injury.

I am not safe from harm
Or impervious to heartbreak.
In fact,
I'm fragile.
My heart is brittle
And will break as easily as glass.

I have trouble letting people in,
But I am by no means "guarded".
I have trouble letting people in
Because I am extremely unguarded.

I am not protected or safe,
But I am evasive.
Which is probably
The smartest thing to be,
For people like me.

I run from danger
And emotional intimacy
Because I know
I'm too frail
To handle being mistreated
Or left alone.

After letting myself fall
Over and over again,
I've learned that love
Is not worth the pain
It inevitably causes.

I am done risking
My delicate soul
To feel close to someone.
At least for now,
I don't want to love
Or be loved by anyone.

For now,
I'm still recovering.
I'm still learning how to live
With myself and without the
Infatuation of someone
Who will most likely end up
Being nothing but a memory.

I won't correct you
If you call me "guarded".
But those who do not wish
To be emotionally close
Are not always so hardened.
Sometimes they're soft
And scared of the world around them.

These summer days
Are so strange.
There's so much silence
That I wish was sound.

I've always craved quiet
But it's different now.
Something about quiet
Makes me uneasy.

I'm trying to stay busy,
Occupied,
Distracted from all the quiet
That's laughing at me.

Maybe I need noise
Because in silence
My mind demands to be heard.
And I do not want to listen.

I do not want to listen
To what whispers echo
Throughout my skull
When there's nothing stimulating
My attention.

I've heard them before
And I have no interest
In being held hostage
By what feels like
A foreign voice.

I refuse to follow
My diseased train of thought.
It will only lead me
Into wars
And off cliffs.

So I will make noise
By any means necessary.
I will scream songs
I don't know the lyrics to.
I will play my guitar
Even if it's out of tune.

I will listen to a comforting voice
With a mesmerizing face.
I will smoke until
The silence is friendly.
I will paint
And become enthralled by colors
That only have examples
And no names.

I want my days to be
Loud and
Vibrant.
No more dull
Silence.

My hands have betrayed me.
Once the means to write pages,
Now my hands are only dead weight.

My hands won't pick up a pen.
Or even type short,
Choppy sentences.

They dangle at my sides
And find refuge in my hair,
Leaving me bleeding.

Like my hands,
My mouth has declared itself
My enemy.

Once the passageway for words
To explain myself,
My mouth is now as useful as a broken bridge.

With nothing of value to say,
It talks  
And sings anyway.

It opens without my permission
But stays closed whenever I try
To scream meaning.

The inability to illustrate
Or translate my mind
And my soul
Is not an unfamiliar ordeal.

But it's lonely on the outside
And frustrating looking in.
It seems I'll always feel like an alien.