I wait for each message like a dog waits for his master to throw the ball.
Eagerly,
Wagging my tail like a stray puppy that's been offered scraps from a picnic.
Grateful.

And perhaps that's all I am to you.

A charity case,
lost cause,
ego boost.

Who knows?
Maybe I am merely a passage of time until you can find something real.

Maybe I am just a bird with too much imagination.
Or a cat taking too long of a nap.

Or maybe one day you will walk me down the aisle
and I will know, just as you do,
that irrationality is my biggest flaw.

Perhaps we are just friends who are in way too deep,
or maybe I am clinging to feelings that shouldn't exist.

At this point,
I'll take what I can get.

i sit and i stare
and i stare
and i stare
and i stare

i don't really feel like doing anything else.
i don't really feel at all
i can't feel
i can't sleep
i can't.

it all just wraps around me
like a safety blanket of numb.

because if i take the blanket off,
numb turns into pain
and pain turns into nothingness
and i turn back into something i never want to be.

i am an addict
clinging desperately to the hope
that somehow, some way
i will get more of what i need.

by any means possible.

serotonin doesn't come easy,
but some day i'll feel it again.

My skin is melting off my bones as they deteriorate
and yet I have never been so alive.

Symphonies of steel dance up and down his skin
leaving trails of crimson behind them

he digs a little deeper every time.

Maybe someone will hear before its too late

or maybe he can just let go.

He trudges through an endless, desolate plane.
He opens his mouth and all that comes out is some inhuman noise that makes him sick to his stomach.

He goes back to smiling as he walks.

His bones are shattering with every step.
His ribs bend on themselves and scream as he goes, and his spine constantly cracks as knees threaten to give.

He smiles a little wider.

His skin begins to peel and melt away
Bones showing through patches,
his hair falls out and he falls

he keeps crawling towards this end that he cannot even see,
and everything burns hot and white on top of an ache deep within that not even he can pinpoint.

The noises that come from him are far from human,
but then again so is he,
as he crawls, a pile of bone and rotten flesh.

He just keeps crawling through this endless grey,
with his throat screaming for water, his stomach for food, and his heart for release.

And as he continues to crawl

he smiles, just a little wider.

He used to have such life behind his eyes.

He would laugh, and play, and joke around.
He played cello, and piano,
and he sang with everything inside of him.

He knew how to love and he loved deeply.
And everyone loved him, too.

Granted,
That was back when they called him "she."

Shoved him into dresses with matching bows,
and forced him to take ballet and drop out of soccer.
They put him in a pink room with frilly purple sheets,

and everything around him made him want to die.

As he grew worse and worse
the life that he held in his eyes faded to a dull, empty blue.
And the world around him seemed to turn grey and desolate.

He went through each day with a smile plastered to his face,
plodding through an empty, grey plane with nothing but that smile keeping him from releasing the broken, shattered sounds that seemed to echo in every fiber of his being.

It's hardly any better now,
but if you asked him,
he'd smile a little wider and tell you it was fine.