I can no longer sleep at night. The reason is unknown to me. Some nights I could sleep for days on end if my body would let me, but then there are those nights where I cant get a blink of any rest.  My emotions seem to run ramped when I am wide awake, no sleep to over take me. The demons like to come out and play then. The darkness is their playground and they will never pass up an opportunity to come out and play well with others.

I cry over you, you and you. The confusion when you left, the emotional wreck you put me in and the heartache when I lost my best friend. Three times I have fell in love and three pieces of my heart forever taken with one of them. One day I could see myself never loving another soul ever again. I may as well be a stone figure perched upon a grave, forever crying. I have nothing left to give to anyone.  I am emotionally numb.

I am falling back into my native roots. My old friends are knocking at my door, wanting to come in so badly. They want to help me. Help take all the pain away, but the reason why I don’t let them in is because once they’re in, they will never leave. Last time a miracle happened and they left but I know if I let them in for a second time, they will just barricading themselves in one of my rooms. So, I let them keep knocking. Their knocking begins soft, slow with sweet words escaping the lips of lies, but over time they start to get louder, stronger and harsher words. They scream now. I do my best to ignore them by distracting myself with other things but it doesn’t work. Curled up in the fetal position on the floor farthest from the door now, I clasp my ears shut with my quacking hands. Pleading to God that he keeps me strong.

Kayleidh. The name repeats several times with in my head, over and over. My day seems to just drag by in such a fashion that I think I may start to go insane. Thinking of the years I will be missing watching you grow.. kills me. It tears my heart apart, ripping it so painfully slowly.  I remember the day you were born, your first words, walk, friends you made at church. I hold the very few pictures I have of you, dear to my heart. I cry dry tears for you when I am numb. I know the truth about your real father. How he beat your mother, my aunt, when she was pregnant with you. How when you were barely three months old he threw **** at you, spit in my mothers face while protecting you in one of his drug rages. How we had to steal your mother and you in the night from him to save the both of your lives. But whats funny about that, I bet your mother will never tell you any of this. She will pin my family as the ‘bad guys’ and feed you lies.