I am nothing groundbreaking.
I am not earth shattering.
As a matter of fact, it would be difficult to distinguish me in a crowd
From everyone else.
I will not be anymore signicant than anyone else
When the sun explodes
When the world ends
When the universe shatters
But oh sweet irony,
That I will know all this and continue to believe
Somewhere deep down in my heart,
Where the ignorance in humanity lies
That I am somehow different
That everything I do matters to anyone but me
Simply on the principle that I see the world through my eyes alone.

What does it mean to be human?
Does it mean that your body is flesh and bone?
My body is made of plastic.
What are you made of?
What makes a person whole?
Is it fulfillment? Happiness? Soul?
Whatever the case, I am not whole.
Are you?
Are humans intelligent or ignorant?
I am both.
Which one are you?
Are humans kind or wicked?
I do not know which one I am.
Do you know?
Do humans get to choose who they are?
I have tried to mould myself as best I can, into the person I want to be
Have you?
Are you human?
I am, decidedly, not human.
I am that which I do not know of
I am that which I do not wish to discover
I hope never to know who I am.
Who are you?

He looked like heaven
And smelled like spring turning into summer
And maybe you left because you knew you didn't belong there
Maybe you know your place in the realm of the dead,
You certainly have the ambition to get there
And it feels too much like home, so much so that
You know that you could explore every corner of the universe with him
And never find anywhere like here.
Although the city keeps you up at night,
The sound of people weeping and gnashing their teeth in the streets
You throw yourself into the fire
"Burn me!" You cry, and you are burned.
"Cleanse me!" You wail, and you are made blind
Because there is not way for you to unsee what you have seen,
Except maybe forgetting what the world looks like
Plunged into eternal darkness
With only the scorching, dry heat of the flame
The sound of pain outside your window
And the ghost of the smell of spring turning into summer.
Tell me that you detest the memory of his eyes,
Tell me you do not cling to them like a lifeline.
He is roses and quick fingers.
He is bright eyes and a sharp smile.
He is the scent of spring turning into summer
He is heaven but this is home.

A curious mind cuts the tape on a dust covered box
Hands grasping at memories, that which was lost to the tale of time
Fate plucks something out of the box,
A cassette tape.
He listens to the naive voice of his younger self
He smiles, a fragile, nostalgic thing
And then he hears them,
The shadows that used to haunt the corners of his vision
The monsters that used to lay under his bed and outside of his locked door
His hands grasp for something from now, a piece of the new reality he's created
But all he can feel is dust.
He is not who is used to be
He is no longer scared
He is strong and smiles wide and easily
His voice is steady now and never breaks
His hands don't shake,
His scars are healed
He is different.
But deep in the back of his mind he knows that he is not all that different,
He still locks his doors at night
And flinches at loud noises.
Boxes are sealed shut, and shoved in the back of closets for a reason.
They are filled with little but skeletons and dust.
Open at your own risk.

Stick my veins with pins and needles
Fill my blood with poison
They'll pretend not to notice the ever growing circles under my eyes
Or how my skin get paler with each passing day
Let them pretend
Let them whisper their concerns behind closed doors
Open me wide and fill me with malady
Take up your knife with a close precision
And cut me out of my body
Let my spirit rest in the stars
Take away my earthly pains
With your head held high
And the bittersweet taste of indifference on your lips
(Bitter for me, sweet for you.)
Pour death into my bones,
Don't cease or falter when my eyes flutter shut and my lungs seize up
Let my heart beat slow and my mind go numb.