These late nights I spend my time
staring at a wooden ceiling
with little plastic stars on them, reliving every ounce of pain you poured through me. Every time I cried out in pain, you laughed with pleasure. Every time I begged for you to stop, you only made it worse out of your own satisfaction. Every time I believed the lies, you let me because of your own insecurities.

The blue and purple marks faded but here I am a year and a half later still feeling their sting. Here I am, unable to have intimacy because of your lack to do so when you were given the chance. The chance I regret giving you. And the one after that. And the other hundreds of times I let you crawl back in and convince me, things were going to be different.

The feeling of being pinned has lifted but you're weight still holds me down to where I can't get up. Forcing me to wait until the time passes and you are finished with your masochistic games. You use your strength to your advantage and take my only form of innocents you haven't already stripped.

On nights like these, the flash backs take over, consuming my ability to tell up from down. Remembering is almost worse than living the memories that broke me long ago. Why? Because now it isn't only hurting me. Because now it gets in the way of me being able to give the one person who deserves to have me completely my intimacy. Because now, even though years have passed, you still manage to push me down when I try to get back up.

I see your anger in life playing out around me. I see your cruelty in even the smallest reactions. Your vision of red still drowns me when I receive a compliment as simple as "you're beautiful".  Your need to hurt the ones who show you loyalty makes paranoia creep into my mind. Your desire for control build a wall so strong inside of me I appear to be soulless.

All those months of being worthless and helpless and good for nothing, being told I was ugly and a **** and how no one could ever love me. All those months etched in my heart with a dagger which drips with your blood none of which to be true.

You made me into your own insecurities. You made me soulless. You made me break over and over again. You stripped me of innocents. You took what I wouldn't give and left me blue and purple.

But I guess this is what I deserve for making a deal with the devil. Late nights staring at a wooden ceiling with traces of little plastic innocents
taunting me with something I can never get back.

Pale cheeks and eyes of innocents
she with holds too much pain to be known. Invisible unless needed, deprived of self worth, and discarded for the sake of not meeting society's standards for what is considered a beautiful person. Accepting the sorrows of others for the sake of them not being hurt by their own misfortunes thus causing her to spiral down a never ending staircase which only gets more lonely the farther she tumbles. Surrounded by those with claims of desires only to be shown through the selfish lusts of their own wants different than spoken, for ending in a tragic flaw presented by the misinterpreted Heroes themself. What is worth her time for she is more wise than those of her time because she spends such hours in situations unfamiliar to those of whom before her time. Her uncharted royalty illuminates individuals that recognize such value and are drawn to the aura glistening off the dullest of unpolished possessions leading them to question the recognizability of her worth which appears undoubtably answered through the remarks and expression of the crumbling world around her. However after she makes her depart from this temporary home of which we call a world, equals find her to be appealing and more wise than any role model whom set the standard. Others do not have this problem because they were part of those lucky individuals with appearances socially acceptable. As if society it self actually knows them. Her pale cheeks and eyes of innocents which withhold too much pain for one person shall continue their days being a passing face as only a blur on a page with worth cast aside until she breaks from the never ending sorrows of others.  One does not receive a value nor acknowledgement by other humans unless they are either pretty of dead.

Oh gentle eyes see nothing but greatness.
And greatness seeks nothing except success.
But success can be brought down by lies and arrogance.
Lies make the soul weak and untrusting.
Arrogance makes the heart cold and entitled.
Is weak, untrusting, cold and entitled gentle and full of greatness?
For what do our eyes deceive except for what he wants us to?
For what does our soul deceive except for the peaceful death among everyone?
For what does our eyes cherish of all the misguided beauty of helpless creatures?
For what does our soul cherish except for the pain in the eyes of a dying butterfly?
Oh so gentle eyes see the beauty and regret full of greatness in this disaster of a land.
Oh gentle eyes at last you seek the truth.

I've always heard people saying that the eyes are the windows to the soul. My windows aren't windows at all. They are steal doors bolted shut from the inside. Behind the doors, is a little girl with the looks of innocents. screaming and kicking she fights, her little weak body is no match for the metal chains and latches, holding her in place. so much pain is held within each scream and cry poured from her mouth. No one coming to her rescue. no one caring about each cry for help. So chained up she will remain inside of these so called windows that we call eyes.

Nothing but lies and untruths.
Nothing gentle ever meant.
Nothing but pure lies.
Lies of love. Lies of caring.
Lies of accepting. Everything a game.
Everything seen as wrong doing.
Everything pushed down farther and farther.
Always left defenseless.
Always buried alive.
Always underappreciated.
Never knew the truth, Never been perfect.
Never known to any worth.
Left stripped of humanity. Left being a different person.
Left to live a dead life.
Unaccepted.
Unaware.
Untruths.
Nothing but lies and untruths.

The sound of slamming doors fill my ears. Distant screams and shouts of hateful words linger in the air. I lay where I was forced to the ground covered in precious silver tears. Using only my hate and anger to keep me going. The pain burns inside, swallowing any part of myself I have left. My fingertips outline a clear, soft, edge that will allow every painful thought to seep out into the blissful darkness. At first I feel a different pain, a type of pain that should send me running to the farthest of corners but instead I welcome it/ The pain reaches a point where I open my mouth to cry out but not sound comes out, The warmth of the burning covers like a blanket made of bricks. Pressing on every nerve, breaking every bone so easily, crushing everything ever known. Then all of a sudden, the pain slowly exits. I feel it run along my skin as it makes its way into nothing. The only evidence, a small mark distorted by the skin. the only reminder of how much pain was shed. The only way one would know, is the sound of slamming doors.

As I take a step towards the never ending drop off, I near tiny rocks tumbling down to the waves below. The memories of you, of us crashing into my head. Pounding, beating, coming in with each wave I hear yet again another lie. Each memory more painful than the last. Trying not to let it take control of me. The sound from the violent waters beneath me digs the knife in even deeper; pushing me towards the edge. Looking down I can see the swirling truth that has been hidden for too long. Faced with the choice of which way to go. Another lie! Another excuse! I can feel you trying to reel me back in with your soft, gentle, untruthful words. I start to turn back to you when you shoot out another bullet of silver. Feeling myself wobble on the edge of the sharp cliff fro the impact taken. Wondering if you will reach out to catch me before I fall, but your eyes filled with red and your lips form to a slight smile, your body does nothing but stand taller with more pride than it did before. You have made your final move so I must make mine. I stop fighting, stop trying to catch my balance. At last see where you truly stand. I surrender and give in to the current that will carry me far away from my everything that has turned out to be yet another lie.

Only can see is darkness. I can feel a cold piece of metal against my back and an old wooden dock beneath my feet. The smell of salt and sand fill my nose, my hair flies freely and I can hear the songs sung  from the flying birds above. I have no memory of how I got here or why am here and I can sense that I should be afraid. The blackness is removed from my face and floats way with the gentle breeze that softly floats by. I can see the picture that I painted in my mind splayed before me. I see no one. Everywhere I look is empty and I still feel anxious and scared. Finally, I see someone. Standing at the end of the dock, you turned to face me. I relax. For I know I am safe with you and you would never let anything hurt me, but as you come near, I get an unsure feeling. That's when I noticed a pain in my hands and feet, and a smile upon your face. I try to escape the pain but I am tied down and strapped into this chair you put me in. I was wrong about you. Your smile grows more intense, and at that moment, I realize this had been your plan all along. I realize that this has been another sick game to you. The pain intensifies and spreads like wild fires burning up each nerve, devouring each part of me quickly. You approach me with words on your lips just crawling to reach my ears. With your face just inche's from mine you whisper, "It was all a lie. You ment nothing. You are nothing. How can you be so stupid? Good luck putting yourself back together this time." You give me a meaningless kiss while I'm biting my tongue, holding back a scream. I'm starting to fade in and out of consciousness. It looking through blurry tears, I watch you glide away with that crooked smile still displayed in your face. You sharply turn around and look me head to toe, watch me be swallowed by the flames filled with pain. You open your mouth and say one last thing, "I love you", you tell me with a teasing tone and a half chuckle. Then with that smile never leaving sight and everything falls black again. And all I can see, is darkness.

Cornered. Backed against a brick wall. Nowhere to climb, nowhere to turn. Too late for anyone to help you. When you try screaming no sound comes out. Even if you were to scream, no one would hear you this abandoned place. You see shadows emerging from the distance. Your fall to your knees baking for one last chance for forgiveness, knowing what's about to come your way. As the shaddows get closer, you find instant beauty in everything surrounding you and no longer feel the need to scream. Shadows close enough to touch you, that you take in all the beauty and surrender your all.

Lost, hopeless, ready to surrender. The final seconds. The day when you come to the overlooking balcony to raise that small piece of cloth that is isolated and alone, colorless and blank. When you stand before then and take your final breathes as an individual ready to lose the game completely, to protect others, and to save them from the pain and hurt you are about to absorb. The sacrifice and bravery no one will ever know. Your name, never to be remembered again. You wonder if someday you will be famous for your novel action, or if you will just be another character in your grandfathers bedtime story. You are shaken back I the present and remember why you are standing here. You take your next step forward. All you hear is nothing but silence and your own heat beating faster and faster as the seconds on the clock tick by. You hear the sound if your shoes scraping against the tiny rocks under your feet, you finally trench the balcony, cloth still in hand, about to stand for what you believe in. With all eyes on you, you slowly raise that soulless cloth into the air. With eyes closed and God by your side, it all ends.

I can feel the warm grains beneath my feet and between my toes. I can feel the salty breeze floating in my hair and settling somewhere far away. I can feel the sharp bite of the clear water splash against my ankles and my thoughts sink away to the beautiful memories we had under the bright bubble in the sky. I Feel the warmth from your skin and the comfort from your touch. Feel the butterflies caused by the look in your eyes, and my knees quaking with each spell binding smile. Feel your hold on me grow with each word pulling me close. Feel your safety from your strong arms around me. Feel your chest rise and fall with each enchanting breath. All too quickly the bright bubble in the sky pops and I'm drowned back to where the blue monster now surrounds me, lapping up past my chest feeling the chill stiffen my senses. The dark beast beacons me out farther despite my warning urge to fight the unwanted creature.  The sensation pulls me farther out into oblivion. The fact of the sorrowful chill indulging me to the point of numbness is inevitable. I'm stuck in a trance of the dark monster with no escape. Hearing the sound of destruction deriving from the distant clashing of anger against sharp rocks. The warmth is gone replaced with an icy shrill while my hair gets thrashed around by the wrath of this unforgiving creature indulging in my confused pain. For the anger knows no mercy as I feel the rough touch of death dancing upon my skin. All at once, as if I'm left with no choice, I give in to the blissful surrender wished upon me. For I am no longer restrained by the blue monster but have now confronted the dark beast and welcomed it home, as I bring myself to rest no longer lingering on the plain. For you, my dark beast, have returned

For who am I to judge another sinner in front of God. For who am I to feel pain for foolish actions done for misguided reasons. For who am I to be selfish for I have no reason to suffer. For I am not to play God in this game of black and white. For I am in no position to have sympathy and pity thrown upon me. For I am not the soul that should have wishes wasted upon. For what does a blind man wish for except for the sight of others. For what does a deaf child see but the joys of sound. For what does a true sufferer feel except for the selfishness of her own desires of hope casted away by times of neglection. For I know not of answers to prayers begged upon the broken sky's rays of sunlight. For I know not of the reasons for tears blood and death but only ones inner beast looking for it's fountain to Eldorado. For I know not of the amount of hurt in ones shattered soul to the point of rest. For who is anyone to judge another sinner in the hands of God. For Who is any one to play God in the game of black and white except for the one who sees grey. For who is anyone to think they know their purpose before fulfilling their task to reach the true wealth. For why do I suffer, for what is my journey, for who am I?

Seasons come and go but the feelings of those changing leaves remain. For they never die but simply change colors into a form unrecognizable to the following time to come. There comes a time for the pain and sadness felt in the chill of the sharp wind that seeps beneath your coat felt by the gentle touch upon your skin. And the grieving becomes masked by a joyful smile full of rebirth and colorful buds that form from the memories of the previous temperatures. Your aura becomes bright for you can feel those butterflies glistening on each flower awaiting for the birds to fall in love and start the next chapter. For the flowers will suddenly reach the height of their beauty and slowly fall into crispy colors of oranges and browns. It all happens so quickly that all too soon your left with nothing but an empty skeleton surrounded by glorious colors that only resemble the memories that came before but leave the following seasons unrecognizable. For the cycle will repeat yet each time we will feel lost and hopeless for what may come next. Seasons may come and go but the brilliant changing colors will always remain a mystery to those who come after.

History can be a scary thing. Repeating history, remembering history, experiencing history. How such a small mistake can lead to such a big consequence. Something you did such a long time ago still haunting your every more. Daring faith, testing trust, and revealing hope. You can't take back that unspeakable thing but only accept what is and take what u must. How can one live with the secrets hidden only for the purpose of none knowing of such thing that causes suffering. Once an action is done, it can not be taken back for it is engraved in the stone of our past, our history. Once a word is spoken it can not be replaced for it lingers in the stale air  sending chills up your spine and creeping into the back of your mind. We must find a way to accept the inevitable of what is and what was by attempting to hide our pains in a laughter of false truths. The paradox it's self explains the meaning behind the truth of our history.

I sit in my little black corner watching the world run it's course with ease. Through the thin glass separating me from this lie I see the way everything happens in a distance. I find joy in little children exploring the possibilities and letting their imagination control the universe where endless creations can be captured. I find curiosity to those who look at aspects differently for they are never correct but their colorful mind always busy sparks questions in which no one can tell the answers. And I find sadness in watching the people of the world prance around in completely obliviousness to the little souls urging for the light but held to the shadows. Every blip of shadows are never noticed by the faces rushing by. Screaming and fighting they struggle against the grey cloak with holding them from freedom as if they will never fly again. For myself am only an observer of this so called life in which I will never be noticed. I wish to take away their struggle and fear only to be replaced by fascinating hues of a bright summers day or of a silver rainy night. Yet I can do nothing but sit here In my little black corner watching the world slowly fade away with ease behind this thin glass separating me from the truth that may come to be.

Death comes when all is right and love is strongest. No one is ready and no one knows how or why. So much anger is passed when the final judgement comes and regret is the painful killer that tears you apart and makes you crawl under the biggest rock. Your souls retreats to the deepest cave for you question what has been done and what you should do next. Paralyzed and unwanted for anything but time and memories. I feel nothing but this love that is unconditional and undying, Immortality my darlings. It brings comfort in those times when all is right and love is the strongest.

If perfection had a synonym, it would be a simple word with three simple letters. Him. Him with the eyes that could cut your soul in half with a quick glance. The one that pulls your heart in so many different directions. The way he makes you that person you have always wanted to be. He tells you his secrets that were tried so hard to be kept quiet. Oh the amount of goals he could achieve. Him with the crooked smile that makes your heart beat fast. The one who makes you mad but still gets you to laugh. The way he glows and shines as the light in your darkness. He comforts you in your time of need and won't leave your side till you order him away. Oh the amount of people he has wrapped around his finger without his knowledge. Him with the the sense of humor that makes you giggle like a school girl. The one that can make you smile even when you don't want to. The way he doesn't try to change you but instead embraces your distinct characteristics. He listens to the nonsense problems rambling in your brain and doesn't question you. Oh the endless talents he can perform with the humility of a deer.Yet his flaws are defined they only add a piece more to his perfection. If perfection had a definition, it would be one simple word, consisting of three simple letters. Him.

One. The warm touch of your hand meets mine and they fit together as if they were carved for this moment. Two. We step a little closer as we close this gap between our hearts and our bodies react as one. Three. Our eyes lock and gaze at each other as we see through a new pair of eyes as if we are meeting for the first time. Four. Across the way we glide together, never splitting and in perfect unison. Touch, of your hand on my waist, strong and sturdy to catch me when I fall. Step, we step apart as you turn me around and dip me low only the catch and hold me after. Lock, our souls lock together as this never ending moment keeps us living the fantasy that only few experience. Glide, we glide along for years to come and move swiftly by with much experience only learned from each other. Touch, step, lock, glide. Over and over till we become dizzy of our own movements. Touch, step, lock, glide. Touch grows soft and almost invisible. Step moves too fast to keep up and we make too many mistakes to get the rhythm back. Lock loosens and shatters as it falls. Glide sharpens as you fall away and I stumble to regain my balance. Touch disappears. Steps trips and off beat. Lock no longer there but an empty hole in it's place. Glide isn't smooth for I fall to the floor with a unmistakable blow. One. I feel for your touch but not finding one. Two. I take a step towards where your warmth used to fill the air. Three. I look for your gaze to lock with mine but don't find anything to hold on to. Four. I try to move as we once did and glide in circles but the movement is incomplete for there is nothing to fill the void. All I can do it close my eyes, go through the steps, and count to four.

Hanging from my fingertips thousands of feet up I feel my arms growing weak. With the ground of air under my feet and the slippery rock sliding under my fingertips I cry out for help. One last begging plead for rescue. You see me there but don't hear me. You laugh thinking it's another game and that I will recover as I have done countless times before. But this time I'm not playing a game. I need you to reach out and grab me, pull me to safety, But you just turn and walk away. I scream your name hoping to see you run back to save your damsel in distress. You do nothing of the nature except keep walking the opposite direction of where I fall. I tumble down faster than light, feeling my body hit every rock, every splinter of hope shooting through my heart. The last thing I hear before my vision fails me and my mind goes blank is words spoken in your voice. Such a waste.

Boom. I hear the crack of the wood shatter from across the way. Adrenaline rushes through me as I scramble to replace the fallen pebble. Boom. I hear the screams of the twigs snapping across from me. How much longer do I need to live in this hell till freedom? Who knew it would come at such high of a price? Boom. Another one fallen. How many more need to suffer before peace is made? And at what cost? At who's dispense? Surely the ones in charge don't know of these inhumane actions. For a great leader would never jeopardize this much for what other than a game. Boom

Minutes pass day by day but the same thing remains.  Inner demons tearing the seams of the soul wailing for a chance to be heard. Forced smiles, false laughs, masks painted by the banshees themselves unrecognizable to the viewers eye. The appearance from the eyes looks like summer but feels like the frost from the winter. The words sound of clarity from the rains of spring but represent a dryness from fall. Misalignment, dis-alignment, nothing of the sort to be let known for the fear of disappointment. Not for yourself but for others. Not to be seen for the unspoken truth of not being good enough for the world that took you under its wing against your will. Degraded, suppressed, all worth striped of meaning for those exact reasons that you hide your face in crowds so no one can see the Unbearing truth of reality. It gets worse and worse each day you hear the lie from his lips which only ends in more places to apply your makeup. The shame beats down on you like a blistering flame after its wrath has been contained for too long that you believe the spitting so called "truth" being fed to you on a shinning silver platter. How long do you have til those demons unravel the unseen beauty that nests somewhere unknown? I'm counting down each minute that passes during each day to the final place where your mask can be shed and your worth can be defined.