Rivers, eyes, pools of blood, dense and hollow all at once,
Colors shifting like embers, burning like flame, the blue kind,
Deceptively cool in appearance but in truth,
Truth,
The most deadly of anything.

Can’t cry, can’t smile, can’t feel,
Can’t be real,
But can’t be dead because if I were
Maybe it wouldn’t be so ******* cold,
But to hell with the idea that I’m alive,
That’s *******
Just like everything else they said and don’t you *******
DARE
Ask me who “they” are

Because

They are the directors of the last movie that caused me to panic
They are the boy cracking his ******* knuckles in class and overloading my senses
They are the dark and the shadows that I’m scared of
They are the light that I want more than anything and then
They become the tall ******* in second grade who held your books over your head, just out of reach of your chubby little hands

Except the “books” just out of my reach aren’t stories now, they’re lightbulbs
Which is the most boring thing ever to a kid
But when you grow up and the lightbulbs go out and you reach for a replacement and it’s not there
You’re even more scared of the dark than you were when you were 5.
So you do the thing where you lay really still and wait for the sun to come up but hey, surprise surprise,
It never ******* does, and you forget there was ever a time when you weren’t laying still in the dark.
Hell, you forget there was even a sun in the first place.

And yeah, maybe it sounds like I’m making the whole world out to be against me but sometimes
It just feels like it is,
Maybe they didn’t mean to do it but the road to hell is paved with good intentions and
At this point my backpack is full of ******* cement so
I guess I’m to blame too,
Paving my own path to hell which would be poetic if the heat would stop burning
all
my
*******
nerves

away