My day of rest—
a 24 hour period of remembering why
our connection was lost,
After 6 days of relentless longing
for what we were—
My once-a-week return to the path
of the "straight and narrow;"
I’m looking for someone different
but clinging on to someone the same.

My day of rest—
I wish it were actually restful—
shut away in a far-off room, withdrawn,
sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor,  
amongst the dust beginning to settle.
Rattle, rattle, squeak, squeak—
I hear your ugly whispers float
through the keyhole;
I feel them brush against my skin.
Hesitant, dreading,
I wait until your footsteps are just the echoes of our memories parting.
You chose to parade the streets with your rebel flag held high;
I chose to hitchhike on an abandoned railway
with my dignity wrapped in red
tied to a stick thrown over my shoulder
because my cross got too heavy
and this is all I have left to hold on to.

My day of rest—
Shattered as suddenly as the window
you swung through to enter
My meditation room.
At this point it would be nice to have a panic room
full of pills and the liquor needed to wash them down.
My only exit is through the door I swallowed the key to
So I escape with my head in my hands,
my arms folded around my knees,
Wishing upon the starless night that,
At worst, the roof would collapse on you
and crush all the hopes, promises, memories that
today I regret or,
At best, that you will disappear, being merely an apparition,
haunting every breath I shake through my lungs this day.

I sob
Yes, I sob
Like a bulimic purging her system of consumed poison,
I get rid of the venom that is you.

You were closer to my heart
than the color is to my skin
But with a little fire, bravery, and surgery
All that can be rearranged.
And on this final day of rest
I sterilize myself and lie on the table,
all my prayers written in a flat line.

How do you fix someone who doesn’t even know that they’re broken?

“If I had seen the signs…” If you had ****** looked for them,
You would have seen I was surrounded by my own emotional army.

Part of me hopes you blame yourself for not being there,
For not knowing because you honestly didn’t care.

I hope you blame yourself so you learn
To recognize the signs in someone else.

I hope you blame yourself so you learn
How to be a better friend, an even greater person.

But all of me hopes you realize
I love you, and
I did it for you.
I emptied a space in your life so
You could fill it with something better.

So throw down your **** flowers,
say a prayer, please, and go.
Fill that space.

******, more so than yellow snow.
Angry, more than a striking cobra.
I’ll be a good friend and warn you:
I’m not your *****, so don’t test me.

People are like play-doh to me;
this is why I can never grow up.
Try as you might, but your actions will never be your own.
They belong to me.

Manipulative? Yes, of course.
Ashamed? Certainly not yet.
I’m a danger to others when I’m alone.

Scaling a mountain with my own bare hands,
I’m tougher than nails:
Break me and I’ll harden again.
Chip me and I’ll re-grow.
Let me grow out and I’ll **** somebody up.

Sometimes I think I should be surrounded by four white walls.
I hate white walls—plain, empty, like that love you covered me with—
So I’ll cover them with scrapbook paper.
Band-aids are more fun to play with than antiseptic.

I fell in love with fire at the
ripe age of seventeen years old.
I dared to flick on that lighter and
watch the sparks fly, intrigued by
how fiery the air felt.

Fancies turn to habits
Habits turn to addictions
Addictions turn to years
Years cut through naivety and
solidify into adulthood.

I flailed, I flopped,
I even stopped, dropped, and rolled
in filth, in mud, in murky waters
that rippled into a crystal ball of
an unfortunate future, indeed.

No prescription or over-the-counter reception
could soothe the burning you created.
I never realized how flammable my mind,
my heart, or my in-between places were…

As my soul smoldered
my throat choked on the smoke.
I asked for it to stop but all you heard was
“Keep going…”

You prodded, you poked, you stoked
the flames that licked from the freckle
on my foot to the freckle on my ear.
You poured out
the gasoline of selfless love and
smiled at your victory.
You crept into my life
You caught glimpses of the parts
of me hidden in secret places
You conquered my reason

Worst of all I was folded
in the hollow of your hand,
Beating around a bush
with a dead Trojan horse.

I didn’t see it coming, but I should have
known—I trusted you with my crowning jewel…
I let my guard down. Hell, I even
sharpened the knife you used to carve out my spine.
You entered my safe haven
in disguise, leaving  
a trail of matches behind and
scorching everything on your way out.

One shot to the mind,
To blast away these thoughts:
The desires for your company,
the temptations,
the cravings,
All the "you're good for nothing" diatribes
that fire those cursed watery bullets---
Their residue's left behind on this,
my partially cracked soul,
A soul held together by a bond
smaller and stronger than
The rusty links that chained us
Together.
My head tilts back as I release
The trigger.
Lying on the floor, staring, mindless.

One shot to the heart,
Aimed at the gravity that pulled us
Together.
The heat ripples under my skin,
Tearing at my flesh,
Ripping through my veins.
The world flips.
I forgot about the hollow in my chest,
Having poured out its contents
Into your eager hands.
You quickly drank me in and just as quickly
Spat me out.
I'm slumped over, wearied, heartless.

One shot for good measure,
I'll shoot myself in the foot
For trying to fill someone else's shoes:
Someone important,
A girl with self-esteem,
Somebody worth it.
But, no. Instead,
This one goes to my liver,
My trophy of good times gone bad.
It's the keeper of my time;
I'd pray for another chance at life,
but I'm too busy holding this
Weapon in my hands.
I've got to keep myself
Together.
Knock on wood,
I close my eyes, embracing
the clutch of darkness.
Staring at the new moon, I rest here, lifeless.

So here I am,
left with
Three empty rounds and
Nothing to chase,
Nowhere to go,
No one to be,
Standing in a kitchen feeling lonely,
Feeling hopeless.

Feeling at first like a footnote in someone else’s story, the princess begins to write her own.
Finished with one chapter she steps off the pages to look at her work, and she is
Filled with the delight of a child playing with a new toy – a smile for each ink stroke.

Good things turn to greater things for the princess as she is bestowed with her father’s wisdom.
Great things come to pass in the kingdom as a stranger from the wasteland wanders to the valley.
Gut feelings from the king warn against the stranger’s intentions and the princess is

Hidden away in the throne room until the wasteland merchant leaves.
Her curiosity tempts her to drop an ear by the door beyond which was the king’s conference.
Hints of a secret passage beneath the throne room lead to her the discovery of a lost reality.

Inching down the stairs the princess peers around a corner to see a maze guarded by an
Incredibly strong and lethal man with naught but a hammer and some nails.
In the sights of the guardian, the king’s daughter moves forward to stand before him.

A princess born unto an old king, enveloped with the love and kindness only a family can offer.
A beautiful mother, crowned in splendor, respected above all else.
An adoring brother willing to die for her, willing to live for her.

Beneath the kingdom on the hill lies a valley of vibrant life and loyalty.
Beyond the valley is a forest full of hopeful dreams and those to whom they belong.
By the king’s decree, none should venture past the forest lest they wander into a wasteland.

Children screech with pleasure as they play in the valley under surveillance.
Choosing to watch rather than work, the princess falls under the spell of jealousy, yet
Chats with the king demand responsibility, respect, reverence.

“Do my bidding until you are of age, then you may choose your ways over mine,” says the king.
Doubting her wisdom, the princess waits years for assertion.
Dreading the consequences at first, she later comes to desire them – always pushing her limits.