"when was the last time you were truly happy?" she asked, finally looking up from her notebook. making eye contact, i discovered i much preferred her nose buried in whatever she's writing.
i looked away to break the tension, but that only did so much. her beady eyes bored into my soul, trying to pick apart the girl that sat before her.
it would be an exaggeration to say that i never felt true happiness. i'm sure when i was young, naïve, and unscathed by the world, that i was a happy child. however, to be perfectly honest, i could not remember a specific instance.
in middle school the sickness started and grew inside my chest. concreting my heart in its paralyzing notions. it metastasized to consume my body, everywhere the darkness touched. blinded my eyes and deafened my ears to where i was left alone with it. and it owned my life.
granted, there were days where the sun had managed to peak through the thick blanket of clouds. and there were times where i would smile, i would laugh, i would forget about life for a while. but its presence was constant, following me wherever i went. when i would get lost in daydreams, it was always there to tug me back to reality.
when was the last time i was truly happy?
"i honestly don't know."

Where the slow river
meets the tide,
a red swan lifts red wings
and darker beak,
and underneath the purple down
of his soft breast
uncurls his coral feet.

Through the deep purple
of the dying heat
of sun and mist,
the level ray of sun-beam
has caressed
the lily with dark breast,
and flecked with richer gold
its golden crest.

Where the slow lifting
of the tide,
floats into the river
and slowly drifts
among the reeds,
and lifts the yellow flags,
he floats
where tide and river meet.

Ah kingly kiss --
no more regret
nor old deep memories
to mar the bliss;
where the low sedge is thick,
the gold day-lily
outspreads and rests
beneath soft fluttering
of red swan wings
and the warm quivering
of the red swan's breast.

My heart is a wasteland
And you are the debris
So *******
And all your broken pieces
When I was lost and lonely
I reached out to you
And you left me stranded
I was created in fires
That burned hotter than hell
But your love made me know
What real torture was
But I did not cry out
And I suppose thats when life
Assumed I consented to the pain
And that was when you knew
That you were under my skin
And in my veins
No matter how deep I cut
Or how often I cry
There is no getting you out
I hope you choke on the ashes
That were once my beautiful flames.

The heart where once
love resided fell too cold.

Now the flesh turns
an uneasy grey beneath
a thin layer of dusty frost.

When touched,
the fingertips stick and the cold bites.
Few dared to warm
the space with their hands
and now neglect has my heart forgot.

There's an uncared for path.
An overrun piece of forest
nearly hidden in the brush
that leads to a cave.

There's a cool breeze
that staves away my curiosity.

I can't bear to explain the
words that might be better left unsaid
trapped in my throat, with a few
letters hanging from my lips like the dark blue
clouds in my mind burning my fingertips
whenever they graze your skin.

Can we just watch the
light from the sun disappear?
can we lie on the roof and gaze at the stars?
can we not leave out anything unsaid
for one night?
Hopefully, these thoughts will
echo past your eyes, dripping with dreadful
shards of my mind. **(c)

I am 10 and the things said to me
again and again are like bullets
in my gut, and punches to my head
they tell me 'its your fault your dad died'
but my friend still turns to me and says
'god, you're so perfect'
I am 12 and these things are still being said
but now by different people, infact,
they are being said by the boy I used to care for
funny that, i thought he cared too

I am 13 and my eyes are bloodshot
and the ****** tissues on my bed
from the state of my wrists
lay scattered in pieces, much like my life
and the next day my friend asks
'why are you so perfect Georgia?'
but she hasn't seen my wrists yet
and she doesn't know about how many tablets
i've taken in one night
just to escape this so-called "perfection"

Now I am 14 and while my friends are out
having a laugh and making memories
I am sitting at home with an elastic band
tied around my wrist, so i keep pinging it
because people started to comment on the state
of my wrists, and legs, and stomach
and I couldn't bear any more mockery
But I'm on pills now, every morning
to control these urges to rid myself
My friend, naive is she, still messages me
saying 'I want to be as perfect as you'
No darling, you do not want this
whatever this may be,
it is not perfection
what sort of perfection
kills you from the inside?

i fell in love once
and my love was the ocean
deep and dark and unexplored
a mystery wrapped in seaweed
and colored with the shades
that nebula and dying stars
reserve for their coldest parts
it was an easy fall
like laying down after a long day
of holding up the universe
with only your pinky finger and
a stack of phone books
or like sinking into the water
not drowning
but hovering
just beneath the surface
air is just an inch away
and you are surrounded by warmth
by cold
by water
my love was so beautiful
their voice was a dying star
an explosion as life is melted into light
the noise of it absorbed by void
and absence
and nothing
their body was the oldest tree in the oldest forest
tall and wide and strong
and dying
but still beautiful
still green and lush where the branches were resisting
still brushing leaves across the sky like caressing the clouds
still humming the noises of a settling life
and since this act of falling in love
i have found that the easiest love to fall into
isn't romantic at all