I'm sprinting.
I'm hoping it works.
Hoping I forget breathing.
I'm sprinting till it hurts.
Till the pain shoots through my bones.
Hopefully then I'll wake up.
And focus on only that pain.
Reminding me not to "feel".
Because there is never very much gain.  
Hopefully soon I'll realize what's real.

Your undying love is so mushy and heartfelt.
So please spare us all
And keep it to yourself.

I'm trying to speak,
But the words come out softly.
Reflecting the leak
Of joy in my heart.

Nice, so sweet.
So charming.
It's very charming.
I stare blankly, as I see lemon juice
dripping from your lips as you spit sour poetry in my face.

He was like a thunderstorm.
Not in the usual sense,
With a roaring voice or
Overwhelming showers,
But in the way a thunderstorm
Reminds you of a fireplace
And blankets and smiles.
The way a thunderstorm
Reminds you of home.

My blanket is a sheet of ice, and my mattress
An uneven boulder with an angry ripple digging into my
Spine as hot tears form thundering rivers down my face.
My face,
Completely still, omitting the occasional blink of my stinging, dull eyes.
My eyes, a vault, containing the hourglass that has become my mind
Where I've collapsed, trembling,
With golden sands streaming from above, somehow finding their way
Into my eyes and mouth as I desperately cross my pale arms
Over my head in a weak attempt
To block The Memories from streaming into my conscious.
No movement. Numb
Still no awareness of my true world other than the wetness of my cheeks,
And the sharp pain which
Is beginning to travel down my spine.
And the sand has surrounded me, obstructing my vision
With their golden projections of The Past,
Burning my eyes and seeping into the cracks
Of the walls around my heart
As I let out my first choking sob,
Causing a painful tremor down my back,
And forcing me to **** away from the rock beneath me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that I can remove The Memories
From my mind.
I hug my knees to my chest and pray for some
Reprieve.
Praying for
Rest.
Praying for The Numbness to return.

There's nothing I hate more,
Than judgemental, snarky people,
Who roam this earth,
Assuming that their words are harmless, but always true.

She stands.
Afraid to move.
Afraid to breath.
Afraid that she'll hurt those around her.
Then
She opens her eyes.
the fire burning in her heart
reflected in them.
She is strong.
She can't be controlled.
The group steps in.
She grasps her small knife and glares at the first.
As if daring him
to step further.
He takes a step forward
and she takes her own.
his lips curl into a cruel sneer.
He says,
"you stupid little girl...
you think you can hur--"
She looks down at the man.
Then around at the rest
Faces all in awe of what they'd learned
they back away
and she strides away
Flaming hair rippling behind her.

He was a river
That never made it to the sea, and instead
Slowed and seeped
Into the dirt,
Causing wanderers to slip
And fall as they encountered him.

Wings are made to fly, they say.
Then why are mine weighted,
Ready to die today?