You don't know me.

You don't know how much I want to slice my skin.

You don't know this type of adrenaline.

I want to take a knife my skin and have no mercy.

I want to see blood run I want to see gory.

It's a terrible sickness that I have kept at bay.

But today, right now.

I want to drag a blade against my flesh.

Forgive me though,

because I live life in PG.

And I won't do that to you and I won't do that to me.

Good riddance.

When I was a child, I developed slower than the other girls.

I noticed this and it bothered me.

It was simple things,
like lying about when my period came.

And on my first day of high school
I wore two bras
to compensate for... something.

It wasn't until the second day of high school I realized my uniform shirt was transparent...

That was the closest I had ever been to "stuffing".

Once when I was on a school trip, I had another girl chase me trying to read the size of my bra.

I get it they're small.

I told my mother that I wanted a **** job.
I must have been like 12.

She laughed and told me to ask her again when I was 18,
and to write it down in my diary so we could both look back and share a laugh.

I mean I guess she was right.

They ballooned into 3 times their size, maybe more?
And over the past year they have been here
almost taking over.

And now I find myself in the funny position of wanting to hide them.

Not hide,
but

stow away for later.

When I am out and about I would much prefer to have a flatter figure.

My chest that is.  

Which makes a complete opposite of how I felt growing up, longing for large balloons to make me pretty.

I tried binding for my first time tonight.
But I couldn't breathe very well.
And it wasn't flat enough.

She smelled like roses.

No,

something better than that.

I was in love with this girl for a while.

Pining, crying,

the usual.

She was so out of reach and then,

I don't know how but
I got the chance of a life time.

It started with knees.
After an episode or two of orange is the new black.

I realized I couldn't live without trying.

So I touched my knee to hers.

And then....

She was in my bed. And she smelt amazing.

I put my nose between the bra of the girl I had been in love with for most of highschool.

It was

mind blowing.

She smelt like roses,

or,

what you imagine the sweetest smell to be.

I've never smelt anything quite like that.

She smelled like happiness.

I remember putting my face between her *******,
over and on top of,

Just taking it in.

Sometimes I think about whether or not I'm really a lesbian,

and then I remember her.

So thanks, I guess...

You fragile tease.

Also known as,

My first love.

Drops of depth

Morning breath.

I am becoming more meat than bone.

Sleeping woman, sleeping lover,

beside me, my home.

Simple lover, simply sleeping
I missed the last lunar eclipse.

You've been mine forever now,
and I have proof in pics.

Tiny moons on the floor,
We never fight nor need the door.

Tiny baby
tiny moon
All I ever need is you.

Blankets
Pillows
Our fat cat.

Goodnight moon this is the sun,
good night moon you are the one.

It could be fun,

Or it could be
a repeat
of last time.

Boys, cottage, girls, drugs,
me?

The last time I went to a cottage,
I cried until I was taken home.

The time before that, I was with a group of
people and

things,

they weren't great.

I have not been to the cottage
since

2013.

The year things happened.

Maybe this year
I can overcome that
fear.

You can feel it in your throat.

Your Chest.

The feeling of wanting to scream,

but you can't

so you cry.

But I don't want to cry

because

I am strong.

I dream of the animal parade.

The one from the Teletubbies.

I dream of simple times.

When I would burn oil over a candle and it would smell like summer rain.

And it would smell like the first girl I loved.

When I was very young, I started to develop an eating disorder.

I was a toddler. My parent's first child and I went mental when they tried to serve me vegetables.

I would discard them in the radiator and sooner than later a technician was called.

And my parent's were appalled when they realized the reason was that their child refused to eat what she was served.

This continued into early childhood.

I lived with my grandmother who I've called Grandy forever.

She made the same three dishes every week. Macaroni Pie, Rice, or Potatoes.

On the odd occasion,  I would get pizza or pasta.

Macaroni and Cheese, or something else that pleased my taste buds.

I quickly tired of this pattern and a disgust for these meals arose.

I could no longer eat them without wanting to *****.

When I was no older that four years old, my parents tried to feed me a few days or a week old alphageti. That was the first time I ever gaged on a meal.

But those moments came more often than I would like as I grew.

I filled up on chocolates and candy, slices of pepperoni so I wouldn't have to eat the **** I din't like.

This distaste of my Grandy's food turned into a fear of food itself.

I couldn't be experimental, I hated having to eat.

I wished I could just take a pill and defeat the hunger that haunted me.

For years I became anorexic. And not because I wanted too, but because for all that time food was my enemy.

When I was in daycare, I hated sweets of any kind and had never had a sip of soda. But once night when my parents were late to pick me up.

All Dee had was marshmellows and seven up.

I hated the sweet treats that would burn my teeth and the soda that would burn my tongue.

But I was young and no one cared.

I didn't allow myself to eat for several years until I ended up falling in love with a girl who cares.

But some nights when I am drunk and to lazy too cook,

I find myself in the kitchen eating an uncooked hot dog,  

and I remember where it all came from.

I still hate sweets and soda to this day.

But at least now,

I eat.

There was one night when things were still bad,

Bad as in
I was still dating a man although I'm a lesbian,
and still not eating properly.

Or,

at all really.

We used to drink the hunger away.

Be it one dollar iced coffees, or a beer.

I knew how to fake it.

If I didn't get what I ordered, the gag reflex kicked in.

He didn't like that.

I shouted at him
that I have
an
eating disorder.

-

Things are better now
I've gained 50 pounds
and I look
healthy.

Except now my family is telling me to lose weight.

It's like I can't win.

I know it shouldn't bother me
but it does.

Would they rather me be on the cusp of death than have me with a pudgy tummy?

My mother told me to lose 20 pounds.

Doesn't she remember when I needed to gain them?

I thought she would be proud.

But,

whatever.

When I step on the scale I smile.

When I was young,

I had my hair done for me.

Ponytails, pigtails, whatever.

And then it being the '90's.

My hair was chopped off due to lice.

I cried, and cried. I was in the second grade.

"I look like my grandma..."

I thought.

Years go by of growing it out.

Boys used to pull on it,
as if
I were a
doorbell.

My hair was long but I did not know what to do with it.

I would spray it with foam, or spritz.

I did whatever I could to it.

I burnt it with a straightener.

I was even silly enough to use a curler on my already naturally curly hair.

Like I said,

I had no idea what I was doing.

Then I chopped it off.

Like it was nothing.

And I didn't care.

It's growing back now.

Almost to my *** which is what I wanted from the start.

Sometimes you have to lose before you gain.

Hair I mean.

Sometimes my own poems trigger a panic attack.

An attack from within.

It's because here,

time does not exist.

Nor does the vape,
the glass of wine,
the time.

Anxiety and panic attacks are trying to come for me.

I prevail.

We're getting older.
Like the loons call from the lake.
A sense of sadness.

Excuse me while I take a moment to,

to get back into what I used to want to do.

I'm trying to push back the block that is writers block.

And I know this poem *****.

And the reason I'm writing it is to keep myself writing.

These are all just words on a page, a page I used to get no audience out of.

I used to write to myself in secret.

But now that things are getting slightly more public,

I feel like I can't be as open and honest as I once was.

I don't know.

I just want to keep writing.

And writing.

That's all I want to do.

I Still have flashbacks to all of the boomers who told us we would never succeed.

That we would quit.

That we would be a starving artist.

And I mean,

they were right and wrong all at once.

We are all still writing Mr. P.

Or whatever your name was...

Banana Ninja man.

A woman came in
and read me like a book.

Taking in each piece
of ink,
of scar,
of flesh,

that is stained.

She read me like a sapphic poem,
dissecting the inner meaning of;

each line,
each dollop,
each stroke.

She looked at me as if I were sheet music,

Deciphering
the vibrato,
the crescendos.

I bask in this newfound admiration.

Allowing her to peer into my soul,
and make sense of the marks
on my skin.

I guess,
instead of anger
I feel sadness.

I guess,
that is apart
of growing up.  

Memories slip between cotton sheets, plaid underwear.

Voices seep between thin walls, thin thighs.

School bus rides.

The ones on the way to a field trip.

Belly's flip, sun kissed.

Sitting in the back of the bus just to feel it, to feel the...

I don't know who I am anymore.

Memories passed like green grass

green screen, green memory
greened out.

Fade to black,
or so she thought.

So she said.

Maybe it's all in my head,
maybe it's a nursery rhyme,
a rhyme or a reason,

maybe I'm late, maybe it's the wrong season.

Kisses after dark.

Her mother was away.
But her Dad was awake.

He didn't care, he liked me. I like him.

But the rest of that family considered him a sinner.

For what I don't know.

But I was in love with his daughter.

And he knew that and didn't care.

He let us kiss until midnight. He let us kiss until we were out of breath.

The night I spent the night he gave me the slight and didn't say a word.

I was hungry but her arms were on me and when 6am came she draped a blanket over me but I knew I had to leave.

I only tell this story so you're not alone.

She hurt me. And it hurst me to tell this story.

She snuck me out before her father could see me. I skated home and took selfies. I was so happy.

But then she told her mom, and she made sure I would be gone.

I am convinced had Hannah's mother not gotten envolved Hannah would have broke my heart in a different way.

I'll never forget how we almost had ***.

I was the first girl you had ever been with and you thought
I was beautiful.

Fingers over ******* you were so worried.

You never let me come
and then you stopped coming
around.

Never fall in love with a straight girl.

I always feel cold when
I watch it snow.

Outside windows,

white sheets sleet like linen sheets.

Textile worshipping cults praise Satin.

Maybe we're all better off believing in something,

getting down on our knees,
and phalic objects.

Because in the end
none of us really know
why we are here?

But does there have to be a reason

Can't it be enough to watch the seasons.

To fall in and out of love,

to have feelings.

Yesterday I went into a store
where they were burning incense.

And, in an instance
I recognized the smell.

Sweet, sweet nostalgia filled my nostrils as I remembered
riding my bike so many summers ago,
down a road that at the time felt like I was riding
into a different plain
of existence.

It was quiet and the streets were paved with concrete
as opposed to the ashy asphalt that covered the rest
of the small town
I grew up in.

Something about the way the neighbourhood was lined with colorful bungalows and huge trees
where the wind danced and sang
as I peddled past.

I once longed to live in a place like that.

Once we went to the mini houses.

All of the doors were small.

Once we met up at the end of a trail, and there was a bridge that we sat on.

But the tiny village was better.

Tiny doors and tiny lawns.

I don't know if it was the ****.

Tiny houses, tiny problems.

One day I will open the door and be me, that lesbian.

When my hair is up, and when my hair is down I feel like
a different
person.

Closed capsules of promised happiness give me nightmares.

Medication is just another word for being sick.

Or is it.

I need medication to feel normal and even though it's been a year or so that still feels strange on my tongue.

I remember being utterly crazy and nothing could tame me. I was a beast in my own body.

Now I am, me again. I think.

I'm still not sure how anyone put up with me.

Hold me tight, I'm not a sinner.
Please don't take me
as
a beginner.

I am not
a
good person.

I look at you and want to
scorn you.

I tear my hair
from
my own skull.

And nothing seems to quell the
pain.

I could lie here forever.
I like it like that.

Blankets over heads,
pillow fort synagogue.

I am plastic and wax,
I melt at the touch.

Please don't abandon me friend.

I'll call you from a pay-phone sometime.

But I am not coming home.

I am fine.

Nothing can hurt me.

Sometimes saying goodbye is easier that holding on.

Sometimes it's better to let it go.

Let me go.

//

I am quiet like a rabbit.

Rabbit racing heart.

I saw your face,

through what felt like a foggy cafe window.

I saw you, and yet you probably don't know.

Every day I hope to run into you.

Even though it's been several years.

I just believe in deserving private closure.

You look the way you used to when I was in love with you.

I wonder if you ever think of me.

Foolishness
can only lead to
more foolishness.

You draw the card of the clown,
the card of the fool,
the jester.

Thinking about things that do not matter.

And dreaming of useless banter.

Fog in the windows,
isn't always romantic.

Hand on hand,
after school hugs,
dancing in rain,
flipping of thugs.

Anonymous locker love notes
you kept in a box,
driving past your house,
and always having to stop.

We rode in a horse drawn carriage
at this time of year.

Autumn will always be close to me,
and make me feel close to you.

Breathing in your scent.

Why did I take that for granted.

Because you smelt as sweet as a spring rose.
You smelled of poetry, of prose.

It was of second hand book shops,
it was getting you to notice me.
It was everything in between.
ye
I was in love with you,
I was starstruck, blue.
I was everything you wanted and more,
but I saw you to the door.

You were once the apple of my eye,

You made me see the sun shine bright.

I dedicated myself to you, my darling Rarity, through and through.

"Can you please stay until he leaves?"

I slip the note to you across the counter.

You, take one look at the man, crumple the note and nod, stuffing the evidence into your pocket.

Me, loose lips and sweaty palms.
Shifty eyes on the guy who will not leave.

You, make yourself comfortable,
take up space.

You are loud.

You make the man feel unwelcome.

He leaves,

I breathe,

you come up to me.

"What the hell was that?"

Me
in tears,
not in tears.

Shaking with fear,
fighting for breath.

"He makes me really uncomfortable. He has said things to me that are, disgusting..."

You ask why I still let him in.

I tell you that my boss doesn't get it..

because..
because..

"Because he's a dude."  you say.

"Because he's a dude."

You look me in the eye and tell me that you would never let anything happen to me, that your husband is in the car outside and it would have gotten serious if it needed too.

We have an unspoken bond now.

Her and I.

Thank you.

My aunt died last night.

A part of me is Trinidadian.

My aunt died last night.

I am half Trinidadian.

Her name was Aunty Rita.

It was a common,
family joke

to yell her name.

Like this,

RITAAAAAAAAAA.

And now I don't think I'll ever hear that again.

My mom is going to Trinidad for a week.
And I wish I could go too.

Is it ironic that I dreamt of Trinidad the night before.
Is it ironic that I dreamt that a dog died or almost died and I cared for it.

My aunt died last night.

Aunty Rita.

We went for a ride
the other day.

And something within me
woke up.

Maybe it was the wind in my face,
the hot sun beaming down on me,
or my hair cascading across my back.

Or perhaps the sound of the cicadas
singing in the trees.

I have a tattoo of a cicada on my neck,
and nursed a dying one back to flight the other day.

It was the way we took one turn
and all the sounds of the city
were cut off.

There was silence,
and there was peace.

It was the way my heart fluttered
when we stumbled upon an old park.

I asked her to ride the see-saw.
I hadn't been on a see-saw since I was 11.

We only went up and down a few times
before deciding not to test our luck
any further.

We picked up lunch at a supermarket
and ate it in the grass.

I had to swat away ants,
and those tiny red spiders
that look like laser pointers.

I decided to start romanticizing my own life a few days ago.

It's going well.

When I was last in Trinidad,

We stayed at our aunts house on the hill.

It was bliss, it was
private.

But our next door neighbours bore a secret.

Within the windows of dancing curtains laid a girl.

A girl I never knew.

From what I heard she was very smart, and talented at chess.

She was a friend of my youngest sister.

But something happened,
the worst.

And she is now bedridden.
I never saw her.

But my youngest sister did.

I can't imagine how much that must have
hurt her.

And yet we all went swimming.

In her pool.

While she laid there,
totally unaware that we were
there.

It was our last night in Trinidad and our uncle came to visit.

We were all hyper fixated on going underwater.

That we all but ignored him.

Yet I have never met this daughter who suffers from something affecting her brain.

She may or may not be still lying there.

Or perhaps she is dead.

Sometimes I realize I am more lucky than I feel.

I've been in love twice.

Once with permanence,
one with lice.

The lice was the worst to cure.

Every moment
of her,
shiny torture.

She hid out,
snuck around,
grated my mind.

Made me think that she was mine.

She lifted my bike
up over her head.

Our love almost blossomed,
but then it was dead.

Then I fell in love another time.

It snuck up behind me,
no reason no rhyme.

It made me who I am today.

But bottom line is,
I'm gay.
I am gay.

When you realize you are actually pulling off your own skin.

When your teeth fall out.

One by one.

Teeth from gum.

Nightmares can mix into daydreams at any time.

Without a reason, without a rhyme.

My fingers are covered in glue,
I don't know what  to do.

I can live with it, or peel my skin off.

I'm not sure which is worse.

Bleeding to death or forever living with this.

When timelines emerge, danger occurs.

You can't pick a scab and pretend the wound was never there.

plastic capsules
plastic manuals
plastic life

my tongue shifts,
fights
words once said

thoughts once uttered
head in the
gutter

I am an anomaly

bone teeth barren grin
paper spiders
paper skin

open window
open kin

Let them out,
see them in.

Listen, I'm fine don't worry,

um.

I have it figured out don't worry.

um.

I have the support the jury.

um.

I think I am sinking, no worries.

Help, I think I'm stuck on my tongue.

Help, I used to feel old but I'm young.

Help, I once was a child but that's done.

****,

I thought this would be more fun.

****, I'm still feeling old wounds.

****, I still love cartoons.

****, the world is ending,

typhoon.

See you soon.

It's just something that's been nipping at me.

For a few years.

I think experimenting is normal.

All I mean by it, is that I would love for you to refer to me as a someone.
as a fairy
as a gem
as a them.

But I am also okay with being
perceived as
a female.

I love my **** and body.

But if you were to call me a they and then a them,

just know it sparks a certain amount of joy.

She/Them

Between the glisten of tinsel,
the weight of the stocking.

Someone is crying,
and someone is knocking.

Mixed in with the raisins,
the cookies,
the milk.

One dressed in flannel
the other in silk.

Dressed in textiles and six feet under.

One
In the dirt.
And
One
Under the covers.

Tonight one child goes to sleep with hope.

And elsewhere a mother is trying to cope.

One is young, so fresh and alive.

One is grieving the death of their child.

So hug your loved ones close tonight.

Because somewhere,
someone
does not have
that right.

I am a skater.

Sort of.

I ride a longboard.

And one time, I skated home in love.

It was 6am. And the sun was starting to rise again.

After spending the night at her place.

At the point I didn't do sleepovers. I loved to smoke **** and watch reruns of old **** that made me laugh.

But that night.

I didn't care that I was sober, that I was ugly.

I didn't care that I wanted a bowl. Of food of ****. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was her hand on my thigh, the silent sigh. The moment her sister when up to her room at five in the morning.

After watching countless shows and music videos we finally were alone.

And we kissed and we stripped and we were marry. We almost had *** but then she carried me, to her bed.

And laid me down and with a smile she covered me with a blanket.

I couldn't take it.

So I woke myself up and kissed her good bye.

Maybe that was my first mistake.

And then I skated down the hill to my house. On my longboard

And it was morning.
I took selfies at that moment wanting to pinpoint the memory.

But nothing was stopping me from playing all the previous nights actions in my my head and in my mind.

She broke my heart in the rain. I've never felt so much pain.

And then I finally fell asleep.

Is it possible to shift from love to hate.

The thought of you fills me with disgust.

In the tiny photos I see of you I feel anger.

I wish whole heatedly that I had never met you, never experienced that pain, that game.

Your game of lies, your game of sin.
Your game of fine for now,
but not the end.

I hate your stupid naked cat.
I hate that compared to yours,
my voice is flat.

I hate you,
I hate you.

Because you were a terrible friend.

I hate you,
I hate you...

Because it's never the end.
*
You made me seem like the crazy one.

Even though you were the one
leading me on.

I remember your father at 6 in the am,
he didn't care that we had just spent the entire night awake waiting

For you sister to go to sleep, at 5am in the morning,
...So that we could finally kiss, only to have sweet nothings.

These memories are real and that's why I put it down on paper.

I loved her deeply, it's stupid, I'm learning.

If I were to cross her path one day, I know for sure that I would say,

I miss you.

When spring comes around
I touch the flowers and they turn brown.

And that reminded me of the summer
my sister almost drowned.

Had I not been there to pull her
body from the water, it would have
got her.

Nostalgia drips like sweet lips and sunny
window sills.

Back when time would stand still and
promises were never broken.

Pinky swears and thumb wars,
basketball on the street in bare feet.

Popsicles and bubblegum.

I touch the plants after it rains,
and it feels the same as something
I've felt before.

Pictures of girls taped to closet doors.

Thank god I finally opened it.

Snowflakes feel like gentle cold kisses
like the calm after
Christmas but the excitement of
what's to come.

Forgive me for being so glum.

Hum, hum.

I am fine and I am humble.

The smell of death isn't sweet.

Discrete, discrete.

Death is but a child.

A child I kneel to and ;come, come come.

The moon falls and rises,
follow the light.

She whispers places of safety.

I burst to flames and parts decay.

I fall, I fall.

Places, places to
see.

I am undone.

Come, come.

I walk down the street, through the forest. I see ashes of those who tried. Tried to come.
come.
come.

It's over now isn't it?

I see rivers, I see oceans.
Stay uniquqe.

It's times like these that I would have messaged you in vein, in pain.

But I know I can't do that anymore.

Even though it hurts and you would have listened, would have been too eager to listen.

I know it was all wrong.

But at the same time there is no one here to take your place.

I live in a small world with few to talk to. And when the one person you rely on most isn't talking back.

You sometimes need that support of someone else who will listen. And let you rant.

I need a new best friend.

Remember that time I offered you a ride but you said
you already had one
with one of the
guys.

Which is funny because you once said to me,

"I love riding with you,"

Because I sang along to the radio
and danced in my seat.

Do you remember telling me
that I

made a purple sweater and a magenta cap
look beautiful.

Because I remember you taking the time to
message me that.

I remember driving a car illegally,
that is,

without a license
to pick you up at
midnight.

I remember the way you looked at me.

And I remember the way
you treated me
after I became
dead weight.

I remember when you put your hand atop my hand
and
pretended like nothing had happened.

The worst strangers
are the ones
you used to know.

Body against body.
You smell amazing.

You smell like summer time and sadness.

The smell of you, is one I wish I could bottle.

In the middle of your ******* smelt the sweetest.
hThe sweetest scent I have ever smelled.

Do you remember yelling at the kids throwing litter from the bridge?

I remember everything about you.

Darling muse

Heartbroken fuse.

Your ******* smelt like sunshine.

Have you ever had
one of those moments.

It can be something as simple as a missing pen, a missing beanie baby.

Or maybe you forgot your phone at home.

But suddenly nothing else matters.

And nothing makes sense.

You are lost and all that matters is solving the problem at hand. But you can't understand what to do next.

You whimper and cry and you freak out and swat and people look at you funny.

And maybe you are with you significant other and she doesn't seem to be able to muster up the rhyme of reason to your treason and you are stuck in an unspeakable battle against yourself.

Those moments when you shake and shiver, when time goes slow and your thoughts thinner.

Don't care what's for dinner because chances are you're going to throw it up.

Seriously? Crazy. Crazy seriously.
At least in some eyes.

Swallow back that pill honey.
It's the only thing keeping you from jumping off that balcony.

I swallow medication with liquor.

Does that defeat the purpose?

Take your medicine,
take your medicine,

take
your
medicine.

Sorry.

It should be simple.

But nothing,

is simple.

Wish I,
could feel better.

Wish I,
had sent that letter.

take your medicine,
take your medicine,
take your clothes off.

I'm kidding.

Cut your shirts till they're dirt.
Cry till you're dry.

But most importantly,

Take your medicine.

What do you do when you miss someone who doesn't want to see you.

Who doesn't want to talk to you.

Who probably never thinks of you.

What do you do when you dream about them,
night after night,
and as a result,

can't stop thinking about them.

How's she's doing?

"It doesn't matter."

Can't stop thinking about
memories.

about the

could be's.
would be's,
should be's.

"She doesn't care."

And yet I still feel a sadness in my chest.

"You miss her."

I miss her.

"You just wish you could see her."

I just want to see her.

"Just once."

I miss her.

Is this the part about heartbreak they don't tell you about?

How sometimes, you actually don't get over it? Ever?

"You would have gotten over it, but you didn't get proper closure."

But it hurts.

"It hurts."

Why does it hurt?

"She was your friend, but you loved her. But she was your friend."

I think it will always hurt, just a little.

"That's okay."

But the dreams,

"They will pass."

But the feeling,

"It wont last."

It's the one that got away.

"She's the one that got away."

Sweet Summer time breeze
It's been a rainy season
I'm not complaining
The droplets on the windows
Remind me of better days

The depths of the pool,
A silence unlike others.
Strange faint echoing.
Feeling limitless, weightless.
Savoring, then ascending.

I have never been in a place that feels so much like home,
until the day that I looked into your eyes,
made you mine.

I smell things, feel things that I thought were long forgot
Ranges of emotions that were once long sought.

I didn't know that my senses could be controlled.

I didn't know happiness could be put on hold.

But I do know that when I walk down the hallway of my home,
and see, smell, and touch things that are my own.

Take in the scent of impending Spring.
Wonder what I did to deserve everything.

My eyes burn with happiness now,
the tears that fall are from wondering how.

There were a few.

Let me say some key words.

Mall, Down Fall of rain. One umbrella shoes off.

Totoro, I already loved you.

Lockers, notes,

I asked you to prom.

Talks of *** and talks of love.

I finally made my move.

Hand on your knee, you saw right through me.

Kisses after dark getting no sleep.

Goodbye, goodbye.

You found a man.

Goodbye, goodbye
why are you still in my bed.

Goodbye, goodbye hannah.

I'll probably never not have you on my mind.

First love, you.

Blankets by the stream, lunches outside.

I took your side against my best friend when you threw a banana peel.

Anyways. My dear. My could be best friend.

I still see you in my dreams and I guess thats enough for me.

Scratches, scratches at the door,

where am I?

I know the bed, I know the floor.

But I have never been
here before.

I am trapped,
I am guarded.

My nails dig deep into the paint,
aesthetic disregarded.

Help.

Where is my family,

I am alone I am

Dying.

I haven't eaten for days,
it feels.

Oh wait,

My human came home.

She has pets and dinner.

Disregard what I just said.

Can you, can you,
keep the devils at bay?

You can't, you can't,
they like to play.

Play with the membranes of your tired mind,
and whisper seductive, tentative lies.

They talk to you like they are your friend.
Yet they feed on your insides, they welcome your end.

Wanting nothing more than to see your undoing.
Giddy with power at this mess they are brewing.

You fight, and you claw, and you bleed through your eyes,
but still they persuade you with lustrous chimes.

You stitch up your mouth, and bleed out the truth.
You've wasted away your eternal youth.

And even if you give into their sin,
They'll just find a different way to begin.

If you keep looking, still you will find,
the devils, the devils, the devils inside.