Mother you saw the cuts on my hands
you asked me what they were
I told you they were barbed wire scratches
when I climbed up a tree
in our backyard.

Mother,
there are no trees here.

but you stayed silent
in the church pews
praying to a god
who couldn't save your daughter.

Mother, remember when you tucked me at night
and held me
because I am afraid of the dark but
told me nothing would go wrong because
you are the light of my life.
and everything is gonna be alright.

what happened?

one day,
you asked me if he does things to me
when we are alone
I felt your chest tighten
as i replied with nothing but a straight face
i forced myself to shake my head

just to see you breathe again.

Mother, you saw the lines under my eyes
you keep telling me I should go home earlier
go to bed earlier
but you do not understand
that monsters do not always hide
under your bed
sometimes, they welcome you

"home"

Mother, I want to tell you but
do you really look at me?
or you just see the
smiles
and how hard
I try not to make you worry.

do I really have to end up in
hospital beds
before you finally see
how unhappy I have been?

do I have to destroy myself
even more?

Mother,
tell me
when is everything going to be alright?

Mother you know how much
I hate enclosed spaces and
darkness
but right now
caskets seem like a pretty good bed
to finally
sleep.

Mother, tuck me in bed-
one
last
time.
okay?

Only the eyes of an artist could see
the mistake I am,
and yet still think of me as his masterpiece.

Flaw by seemingless flaw
I was created.
Sewn together with intricacy and care
from my delicate skeletal structure
to my foundation of muscle and fats.
Knowledge and hard logic
corresponding with feelings
and favorable decisions.
Pain and tears,
blood and sweat;
is what I am.
And who I am
depends on the crowd I'm in.
Aligned perfectly in body and soul
just like the planets dancing around the sun.

And in all of this
he signed his name
in MY fingerprint;
looking past all my flaws.
Making it obvious
that I am his
and he, truly is, mine.

I'm a thinker; master over my own mind.

Engaged in the intricate way words spindle together
through my ever racing mind.
The room is beautifully silent but in that created a scene so loud
it was unexpectedly ear shattering;
maddening it was.

Now I'm no longer in control of my thoughts
but instead a slave to the voice that no one else hears.

As quite as the room was
my thoughts began to make noise
as my thoughts and actions took
each other by hand and hand
the symphonic, bittersweet harmony
arose from my thoughts and onto my skin
colliding with a blade of steel like a
horse-hair stringed bow to the copper
wire on a delicately crafted violin
getting louder and louder, the scene does,
with every vigorous sawing motion of hand and tears streaming,
the symphony came to a stop with one
sharp note and a crooked smile.
She rest with corrupt joy as a reward for all of the hard work done; as
the notes were written down-- not on paper,
but on skin.

Silence says
a thousand words
to the people who cannot see,
but falls upon the ears of deaf
in my final hours' plea.
As I drown in my thoughts
I look up in hate
to you who does not give way
to the girl who would take a gun to her head
and count:

1...

2...

3... BANG.

Don't tell me that no one will care
because they will.
Don't tell me we'll move on
when you know we won't.
Don't tell me that you're okay
when you have the rope in your hands.
Because,
Death,
is felt by all those who care.
You'll say I'm only doing this to myself
or I've felt pain much worse than this
or give yourself some other ******* lie
to cover for your exit,
your escape,
your stairway out of hell.
Well guess what?
If death is grief, hatred, tiredness, and
disappointment in what you've seemed to fail at doing, then I guess I've all already dug my grave

Right

Next

To

Yours.

Because I'm not letting go of the people I care about.
And I'm willing to fight for every second
they breathe.
You say you're pulling me down
but I'm the one holding my ground
not willing to let you sink
to the bottom you think
you've already hit.
Death,
is enviable,
And I feel it everyday
when I talk to you.
But I don't mind.
I like the pain
just like you.
It may not be the same kind,
but it definitely feels the same.
And,

I

Love

It.