I dress like a school boy. Plaid collars clashed with sweaters and stiff jeans that are skin tight. I paint stars on my cheeks because i am one with the sky, one with the world above me, a part of this universe. I wear crooked eyeliner to match the fierceness in my eyes.  But nothing i do seems to mix. I am the human truth, that part of reality the world does not want you to see. I am not plain or irregular, i am blank. My hair is blue but it does not stand out against the greys and the black. My bedroom sheets are red stained with white and the walls are sticky like rain. They close in around the empty spaces, threatening the oxygen filling the room. Its not always this hard to breathe, but when it is I feel alone. I feel every breath escape my body and form clouds in the sky that turn into snow. The snow falls into piles around the ground, where people shiver and catch colds. It is made into snowmen, and dressed better than the people dress themselves.
Then they melt. They melt like the fire in your eyes on a stormy night. They melt like the lives who were never meant to be lived and they melt like the tears trickling down your chin. They melt like the silence left after you're dead and gone, and when there's nothing left to say. Then the water runs in your veins and pools in your heart. It stains my hands and knees, and all the places I pray at night, hoping someone out there will hear me. And as I stand up and dust off my skin tight jeans and salty skin, I push off my scratchy sweater that i have hated to wear and look at myself in the mirror. I ask "What am i? Who am I? And why the hell am I here?" And the answer is never to be found, like the stars in your eyes,  like the stars in the snow.