In a world of words
ready to pierce the soul of the
hollow hearted and
seek out those pretenders
who deny their souls to death.
And the cry of a gun,
in complete harmony with
mourning loved ones of someone
who died in the name of that sick fear.

The crowd cackles and intimidates.
It sees the weak and the lonely,
prepared to tear them down.
The lights pulse and the noise throbs
sending you in a whirl of
*no backing out

For a second the sky was mine
And I used to love the stars
I used to dream and believe
And love and create
But after awhile, when I got older
Little by little
I forgot about all of that
And concentrated on school
And girls, and popularity
But one day I had a dream
Where my wishes were real
And the stars smiled at me
Watching over me
When I woke up I was crying
And longing for what I used to be
For what I used to believe
And I wonder
Does anyone else
Miss who they used to be?
Does anyone miss
Who I used to be?
Do they hate who I've become?
It's okay
I miss me too

We sit in an art classroom.
There are windows and anyone could
see or come in.
But with the snow falling it feels like our
own world.
You lie silent there before me
naked.
Posing as I paint you.
I want to show you how I see you
through
my
eyes.

Yesterday
Everything was normal
I told her I'd see her tomorrow
Sneak out to have an adventure
Until I got the call

Today
I'm reading her suicide note again
Trying to make the moment
I found her
all make sense

Tomorrow**
I will go to her funeral
Have to face her parents
and soak up the image of her face
before it's gone forever.
See her eyes
that were more beautiful than anything
I had ever seen
be closed.

I wish she was here to hold my hand
help me through this.
She was always stronger than me.

I walk through the snow
barefoot
no coat
in the middle of the night.
I have to find you..
You can't be gone.
I won't believe it.

I have to keep searching,
keep looking.
It's not your funeral that's
on Monday.
They're wrong.

Keep. Walking.
Do not faint.
That wasn't your blood
on my hands.

*WHERE ARE YOU?!

I look at my cuts
my scabs, my scars
that cover my arms and legs.
Each one a story of my pain.
My family looks at me weirdly
'why would you wear long pants
and long sleeve shirts
in the middle of summer?'
my "friends" have heard so many excuses
for the blood.

I should stop.
I could.

But when I look at my cuts
my scabs, my scars
I am reminded of the release
that cutting gives me.
That moment when the sweet pain
snatches you from the blackness in your soul
and the beautiful red runs down your arm.
And the painful tingling hugs you all day.

But I won't stop.
I can't.

Because when I look at what I've done
it calms me down.
Reminds me that even though everyone else
leaves
I still have my razors, my safety pins, my scissors.
That will hold me, when I can't see
through the blackness of my soul.