my mom told me that you called the other night.

i must admit, i panicked because the other day i thought i saw you with another girl in the park.

you’re doing even more than you thought. you’re definitely alive, and you told me you weren’t.

i hope you find sunshine there. you were always happier outside and under sun’s glow.

it does hurt that you’ll be on the other side of the county, but i think it will be good. i hope it will be good.

good luck.

i realized the other day that every single hope and dream i confessed to you came true, but you aren’t here to see it. i want you to be, but you can’t be bothered. i guess you’re too busy with her. that’s fine.

dear god i'm a demon

i thought i knew pain and anguish but nothing has pained me more than reading those poems and wondering if they were for me

or for her.

i was afraid that you would tell everyone about him. it is the only secret you know that no one else on earth does. please don't tell anyone.

i get that you left. i get it. i've...gotten over it. accepted it. whatever. but please. don't tell anyone. and remember that she is dangerous and i left for a reason.

though maybe you have said the same thing about me.

i don't know if you know this, but you always show up when i need you to. i don't think you plan it that way. it just happens.

it just happened.

i swear, i swear it always starts out fine. you and me, me and you and everything is fine. it's not me and you it's me. and you. see the difference?

it just happened.

i don't know if you notice it like i do. i think you do, and you pull away every time you realize it. i think i regret that one time i told you to think with the right head when

it just happened.

i think she's really pretty. you seem to be happy with her. then again, i thought you were happy with the last one, too. i guess it's not that simple. and maybe you be able to be truthful with her instead of last time where we couldn't control it.

it just happened.

i just wish you would stop jerking me around like this. as soon as i think i'm safe, i'm free, i'm alive! you pull me back in with some stupid line like "you're the only reason i like going" and then i smile and text back and it-it.

it just happens.

i've tried to start writing again a dozen times. at least. but i think of every single one of you every time.

most people view writing as a release. some sort of blissful experience where letting their fears flow out of their minds and onto a paper is relaxing. detoxifying. some sort of therapy that they can provide for themselves that no one else can.

i don't.

writing is protection. writing is a safety net that causes suffocation. writing is hiding behind ink that can just barely be traced back to your own true thoughts and words.

writing is you. writing was never me.

but that's why i cling to it so tightly, isn't it?

how can i simultaneously be moving forward while falling back so fast i can't recognize the hell i'm returning to until i'm already there

will you just leave me alone

terror is feeling like you're losing everything: your mind, your friends, your family, your sanity, every single unique characteristic about yourself, and knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it

Will everyone around me show me enough love to forget about who I was? I want to change. I swear, I really want to change. I know how I want to change. I know exactly what I want to become. I going to be who I want to be. I am going to be someone who is satisfied with their image and who is proud of their actions. I am going to be someone who is never ashamed of past actions and is never hurting other people with their own voice, thoughts, actions. I am going to be me.

Darling, you're being to ******* yourself.
Darling, I hate to see you cry.
You cannot blame yourself for learning how to fly.
The lightness in your step, the sparkle in your eye
I truly hope are things that will never ever die.
Never apologize for setting yourself free.
You're finally showing who you always wanted to be.

i'm hurt
you're hurting me
*and whatever

I just want to understand how you want me to last a month on my own when I can barely survive 24 hours without wanting to die

When will this all stop? When can I finally rest? I just want to die. I'm not asking much.

Does she know?* I ask.
I can't hide the wicked smirk on my face,
As I see the panic spark in your eyes.
Does she know about the flowers you wove through my hair?
Does she know about the words you wrote on my skin,
Everlasting, never fading, cannot be taken back?
Does she know about the breaths of life in the dead of night?
Does she know about the desperate kisses we shared when we were all alone?
Does she know about the tears you shed over the death of my love?
Does she know about the sins you committed that forced me to run?
Does she know, darling? Do you think she'd stay?

Can you live with the thought of her leaving, because I saw who you truly are?

I'm sorry baby but you can do that for you so I don't have anything for me anymore and you have no worries I love it tho lol okay I'll text your mom if she wants you too but she is still a little too bad she said okay good night but she is so happy I got to see her tomorrow morning so she could have a great time she said thank goodness for you so I don't have anything else for me anymore lol okay so sorry to say I don't want to do that but I'm sorry for you so much but you have a great day and you will see it all together again.

reading through the lines
desperately trying to find a meaning
a message
a long lost letter
a blip in the dead of night
you're looking where there is none
while the answer stares you dead in the face
yet your blindness is unconscious and overwhelming
your ignorance is involuntary and compulsory
open your eyes, little one
the outside world is more obvious than you think.

i feel warm and you'd think that'd be comforting,
but the heat makes me sweat and my stomach twists.
the tips of flames strike the edge of the paper,
as i hold it over the flame of a candle.
they darken and curl, retreating from the fire in pain.
ink fades and disintegrates from view.
i watch as my biography burns to ash.
i can't bring myself to shed a single tear.

I told you that writing would only perpetuate your anguish* the Night laughed as the Wind chuckled in the background.

I thought I was strong enough* the Owlet admitted.

Do you like your world of fantasy?
Where you live in twisted lies?
Your words are woven a shield of art,
behind which, you believe you'll never die.

You cry for help behind your brambles,
where thorns ***** and wolves cry.
Do you realize you tended to them yourself, dear?
You sentenced yourself to die.

I've never felt so stupid as when I forced my hand into the fire and was surprised when I got burned.

With the ivy on my house, I had to reconsider what flowers I wanted to add to my garden. I never expected to be gifted a hydrangea sapling that I planted beneath the wall of ivy. I was much more beautiful than I had originally thought, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the hydrangeas were able to grow and flourish on their own alongside the ivy. The scent of hydrangeas became comforting to me.

Not much later, a patch of ivy crept up the side of my house, right above the garden bed nestled against the outer wall. I didn't worry about it at first, I treated it as an after thought until I noticed that it had eventually covered the whole side of my house. The thick ivy had cast a shadow over my little side garden and my black eyed susans were dying. I tended to them until my knees were bruised and my hands were matted with dirt, but I could not save them. They died. Eventually I grew used to the ivy; I grew to appreciate its unique beauty and held it in fondness, but I would never forget my beloved black eyed susans.

The marigolds had inspired me to add black eyed susans to my garden. Their yellow petals were enticing and their black centers lured me in. There was just something about them that kept me coming back to tend to them, to waste my time in order for them to flourish. The marigolds I had previously planted had died due to my neglect, but I found I didn't miss them much when my attention was focused on the black eyed susans.

I started my garden with a little patch of marigolds I got from the market down the street. They were pretty, I guess. I really only chose them because there was the easiest option, since they were already grown and all I had to do was stick them in the dirt and look at them. I walked passed them most days without a second glance.

I can only hope that you can understand the message in my eyes.

I don't need to look into a mirror to see that I'm turning into you.
I already know that I am slowly deteriorating.
Nightmares plague me,
So horrible I am trembling and barely breathing when I wake.
There isn't a single person who makes me feel safe.
You always told me you were wary of everyone.
Including yourself.
The words that fall from my lips are formal, protected, carefully calculated.
My words sound like their coming from your mouth,
Like you have possessed me and will never let me free.
The wanderlust is the most painful.
I'm pulled by the sharp knife twisted into my gut.
Wanderlust makes me reckless. Wanderlust slowly kills me.
Tell me, darling,
Am I haunting you like you're haunting me?
The further we are apart, the more we see we are alike.
Before too long you'll look in the mirror.
You'll see my face instead of your own.

This place is numbing. This place is overwhelming.
Rumors say that this is the place dreams o to die.
What happened to the streets paved with gold?
I have to get out. I have to get out!
I can recognize every face I pass on the sidewalk,
And I know that every face recognizes me.
I can't live like that. I can't live like that!
If my face is known, my mistakes are remembered.
But I cannot remember their mistakes because I'm dwelling on my own.
I fear if I remain much longer, I will die if their hatred doesn't **** me first.

i hate my heart for betraying me whenever i see a rare smile on your face

Cover your eyes. Cover your eyes.
You there.* You're better off here.

The world is spinning far faster than you can comprehend.
Coloured streaks race past you.
Keep your hands to yourself, don't reach for them.
They're dangerous.

Surely you'll be better off where you are,
With your eyes covered by scarred hands.
Surely you'll be better off where you are,
where you can't see how out of place you are.

Remember when you told me you had never seen snow?
Somewhere so far away, so unknown to my own Northern tendencies
Obviously wouldn't know frigid temperatures like this.
While you dreamed of drowning yourself in rushing waves,
I fantasized about being buried under the blanket of a blizzard.

But, darling, I wanted you to know the beauty of snow,
For nothing else can glimmer so beautifully while it suffocates you.
So I wrote you a story about you and I in the snow.
I can't remember where I placed it so long ago.
It must have been taken when you were ripped from my arms.

every time i hear your voice all i can think about is that moment when my lips brushed against yours and you were suddenly alive in a way i had never seen before but maybe just maybe when we pull pack you'll take me in your arms and not leave you won't leave because you promised we can just stay wrapped up in the same sheets that used to suffocate you and while words spill from my lips you can paint them atop the music you've always loved so much but then i open my eyes and *you're not there

i can't tell you the number of times i've wanted to take back what i've said before the words had even left my mouth

I was always fascinated by echoes,
Even long before I understood them.
To call out for help, and finally have someone respond,
Now that was a miracle in my naive eyes.

When I got older I traveled more.
I explored new places with hills and valleys.
The echos stayed constant, they always responded.
The echos brought me false comfort, and I thought they would keep me alive.

Now I have led myself into a cave.
The echoes are louder here, yes,
But they do not bring me comfort as the once did,
The echoes leave me as cavernous as the place I stood.

A droplet of water falls from the ceiling as a tear runs down my face.
Boulders fall as I collapse in on myself.
Because as I stood there listening for echoes,
I realized I would rather hear your voice instead.

do you dissociate too?

do you find yourself floating in space?
not on a gentle cloud or on the wings of a soaring eagle,
but on my own, supported by just air as i lose my head.

do you find yourself underwater?
not drowning but not breathing either.
the water rushes in my ears and the voices beside me are muffled
so i am left on my own with only my thoughts to accompany me.

do you find yourself gliding above ground?
i work through motions and play like a puppet on strings.
my feet never touch the ground while my head lolls on my shoulders.

my ears are plugged, my hands are clasped to still them.
the noise of the whole world is attacking me but i cannot decipher a word.
do you dissociate too?
please don't tell me i'm the only one.

how could you possibly sleep though the night knowing that the woman at the end of your bed is disappointed because you couldn't help her, because you are healthy and her children are dying, because you may not have a shelter from your own mind but at least you had a shelter from the world and that's more than she ever had? how could you possibly sleep soundly knowing that the woman in tatters at the end of your bed is crying for her lost love and the marriage she was forced to have who a man that saw her as nothing but a ****** for him to play with? how could you possibly sleep peacefully knowing that the woman in tears at the end of your bed is looking at you and wondering why you're alive and smiling while her children were thrown into a mass grave after her town was bombed by your own patriotic country? how could you sleep and not spend every waking moment caring for the poor woman at the end of your bed? how?

Children play with puppets,
little rag dolls with yarn hair and felt dresses.
Their voice morph to characters,
yet their giggles remain the same.

Children play with puppets,
living the life they've always dreamed of.
Through cardboard sets and imagination,
the puppets explore the world.

Children play with puppets,
and earn a false sense of freedom.
Their words and actions are not their own,
though little to their knowledge.

Children play with puppets,
until those puppets wear thin.
They're left in dust, have lost the trust,
of their controlling child puppeteer.

come, little wolf boy
you do not scare me.
i've seen you before. i've met you before.
i know you're truly weak.

behind a sleek fur coat
you hide your many scars
of fathers you have long since passed
once you found out who you are

you're fur is soft,
a comfort for me
after all, i haven't seen you in so long
it assuages me and thaws your heart

you've been running for so long
through snow, sleet, and hail
you've forgotten that you can rest with me
we always stay together though gust and gale

How can I be so aware of my own insanity and yet have no power to control it?

a devil
a devil
a godforsaken devil

you take her hopes
you hold her dreams
you shatter them into pieces

she has given you her heart
something that I know is not easily given.
She has shown you her weaknesses, her loves,
Something she protects with her life

And you've thrown it all away?
Without a second glance at the stress fractures you've created on her body?

You've taken a priceless blessing,
a rare thing of beauty
and brushed it to the side
like a cat bats its toy.

Let me tell-no.
Let me promise you
That if you even think about playing with her a moment longer
If you have a single though of getting away with this

You're wrong.

I will give my life to protect her.

my hands are cold
they're frozen really
my fingers are stiff
barely moving, barely able

her hands are warm
they're pleasant really
her fingers are flexible
always moving, always able

she wraps my arthritic hands in her own
kisses my palm softly with heated lips
she pretends that it doesn't hurt her
that it doesn't sharply pierce her skin

the reality of the situation is that i am far too cold
the most electrifying of touches will never help
i am beyond saving, cannot be thawed

Do you really think you've won if I am the one who came out stronger, and you're still pained and miserable?

tiny flames leap high
for only a few seconds before they die,
blown out by gust of your superiority.

the room may have been alight for only seconds, yes
but that short time illuminated your surroundings
and nothing was left hidden

in a year the flames will have another chance
to fight against your supremacy
and try to one day give colour to your dark room

empty beds and wrinkled sheets
are all i remember from that week
a pillow to support me
not much, only barely
and a blanket to keep me warm

with both arms outstretched
i cannot reach the edges
if i roll side to side
i'll never fall to unforgiving ground
i'll only ever be drifting over cotton sheets

the sun shines through linen curtains
casting shadows across a soft gentle face
i impulsively turn towards the light
which a smile tugging at the corner of my silent lips
i spend the day happy, laying in my empty bed

Everyone has a a billowing pillow that's larger than their troubles sitting at the bottom of their cliff.

It's comforting, it's warm, and suffocating as you land on such sweet bliss.

The pillow envelops you, compacting you in a small, tight cocoon.

The pressure forces you to to gulp in air and squeeze your eyes shut tight.

"Everything will be fine," they whisper. "No need to fright."

And suddenly, as you're wrapped up in a pillow, everything seems to be all right.

He called me a chameleon once.
The words fell like sweet thick honey that matched his sandy blonde hair.
It fell just over his eyes. I had to duck and search to meet his gaze.
He told me that I acted like a mother to one, and a daughter to another.
He told me that he had yet to figure out my true colours.

I only smiled.

He studied me carefully everyday afterwards.
Peering, leering, examining every last breath that left my lips.
I chuckled, and allowed it, knowing he could spend his life dedicated to studying me yet never find the answer he was looking for.
A chameleon can only blend in with what surrounds them,
fire, blue skies, dark blizzards, animated companions.

A chameleon can never see the colour of its own skin, because it's too busy trying to match everyone else.