There used to be a person that I knew.

I didn't know them well, mind you, but I knew them.

I could reconstruct the way they walked,
I could find someone with a similar accent, to describe how they talked,
I could tell you what they looked like,

But you don't need me to do that.

You knew them. *Well.

I, don't cry.
It's not my way, for one, and for two - I don't really have the right, at least, not in front of you.
I choose utter silence and avoidance - I speak only to avoid suspicion.
And if I shiver uncontrollably despite not being cold - it is winter.

You, do.
I do not see you cry, it is left unspoken that you do not want me to comfort you - I avoid you instead,
Your red eyes and absence from places you usually go tells me the truth.

Two days past, we make eye contact.
And then we drop our eyes, look down,
but make our way to each other regardless.

We do not talk, and our expressions betray nothing beyond smiles
- I was feeling something else, I assume you were too -
And then we walk together to our next destination.

The next day I actually say 'Hello,'
And there's this momentary surprised look on your face, before you say, 'Hey,' back.

I knew them,
You knew them better.

*I wish they hadn't died.
I wish I'd known them a bit better.
But I don't regret knowing them while they were alive.

I have never met him,
But he thinks I am stunning,
He's everything I want,
No one else is in the running.

Skin like a Redmayne,
Darkest eyes I've ever seen,
Just a posh boy who's determined
To crush his parents dreams.

He's the Saint of Temptation,
Talks like he's got a title,
In love with the East,
A master of survival.

He is steeped in history,
And though I do not know why,
His reputation reaches further
Then the late night red sky.


The only problem is,
He's as perfect as can be,
No matter how stunning,
Another girl's with him, not me.

It's like having phantom limbs,
All protruding from random points on your body.
Sometimes it's like having limbs where there should be nothing,
And your brain is telling you that your hand must've taken a wrong turn.
I want to touch parts of me that don't exist
Outside of the empty vacuum of dreams.
I want to drag the scalpel across my own skin
And rip out the heavy weight of the tissue that drags me down.
Most of the time it's something I fixate on multiple times throughout the day.
Sometimes the worst-case scenario takes hold,
And on those days I've got a serrated knife in my hand,
I'm trying to find a reason to put it down.
I almost always put it down, if only out of vanity.
If only for the return of sanity.
So I breathe, I try to gain more air than is possible
Because the heaviest weight tends to be lying on my chest.
I breathe enough to return to passive fixation,
Where it's like an obsession and I'm stalking my own downfall.
I just want to touch the parts of me that don't exist.
I want to feel that they exist.
I need to know that I exist.

My biggest fear
Isnt the monster
Beneath my bed
But is the monster
In my head.

My heroes growing up
were golden-haired princes
and gun-toting superspies
that would crash through my bedrom windows
and whisk me away
to a world more beautiful than this one.

My heroes as a young, ***** teenager
were the scruffy rebels.
Sid Vicious. Joan Jett. Amy Lee.
Gerard Way. Brendon Urie.
who would scream their ways through my bleeding ears
and pierce my heart like needles,
And stir my pre-pubescent *** drive like a raunchy letter to a middle-aged, dissatisfied wife.

My heroes changed as I grew older
As my standards became lower for them.
because I thought i didn't deserve anything.

The man across the street who smiled at me.
The man who offered me a towel when I threw up on the bus.
The classmate who gave me directions once.

Then I met you, and you saved me.
Like the golden-haired prince
and gun-toting spy
from my dreams.

But today

One came in the form of a lady who bought a necklace from my mother.
And now we can afford two coffees instead of one.

Modern-day heroes.
****, I need to learn to save myself.