This place is haunted,
whatever lives here will ne-
ver rest. All our dreams
fall down a wishing
well to the place that does not
sleep. I am long dead,
a floating, empty vessel.
I am not alone.
I will never wake nor close
my red eyes because
my friends and I stay
here, always, forever in
the house that never
                                                                                                                      rests.

Witches, ghosts, and dark
Asylums left with empty
Conclusions. Death and
Rebirth bring about
New horizons. Skylines stained
With blood and cobwebs.
I'll adorn my best
Black gown and windex my tomb-
Stone. I shall leave this
Haunted, tormented place and
Seek love from the dead.

I develop a
serious ******* headache
thinking about you.
I'm absolutely
empty. My petals are gone.
I doubt they'll return.

If you sing and play
Your golden harp, I'll strum at
My shaking heart strings.
Use your turquoise bow
And your amethyst arrows
To strike my hurt heart.
Shower us both in
A wispy smoke of sage and
Deep, rich lavender.
We can sit and laugh
While we count the crystals in
Our eyes together.
Just use the painted
Melody in my coloured
And growing spirit.
Let us nest upon
The clouds and soak in the sun
Through the long, warm days.
We can dance on the
Falling stars and the comets
When the moon arrives.
Please, continue to
Sing your dreamy songs; I will
Always listen for your
                                                         Harp.

You are far, far a-
Way from me. You dance on the
Sun and sing melo-
Dies within the stars.
I fall asleep to your con-
Stant songs about love.

Your small, fragile,
Broken face will be carved in
My mind forever.

The coldness consumes
Me in it's large, sharp cocoon.
I'm swallowed by it.
By the hard, crushing
Tragedy. I don't know what
To do to make it
                                                             Stop.

These next few hours will
prove whether or not I can
handle what comes next.

I haven't looked out
the window in some time. I
wonder what's out there...
                                         This isn't a joke.
                               I used to look out it all
                                  the time; now I don't
know what lies beyond
the pane. Is it different?
Or have I just changed?                                
                        ­                    If I decide not
                                to look will I be happy
                                      with my decision?
Or will I be sad,
tortured about what lies be-
yond my window pane?

The pang, pulse inside
My chest warns me of the hours
To come. I am so
Anticipating
What will happen to come next.
I close my tired
Eyes and envision
The once dry grass now covered
In a thick layer
Of snow. But you still
Manage to look the same. Just
Like I left you. On
The day we first met.
A lump forms in my
Throat and my lungs clench softly.
I imagine your
Small, smooth, forever lasting
First kiss at midnight.

I know the ones I love actually hate my guts.

I keep my teeth clenched.
I keep my heart filled to the
brim. Ready to explode.
                                  
                     ­              I keep my eyes closed.
                       I keep my mind else-where so
                                      I don't have to hurt.
      
                         Sadly ironic
           how I keep my heart and mind
                      oh, so seperate.

I wished up the fragments from our last time together and cut them up to piece them together again.
                       I used those fabricated pieces and created a new possiblity, a new oppurtunity. I saw it so clearly.

Suddenly,

                                        A bolt, a pang of
Foreign emotions
      
                                    Plunged and sifted,
Tore through my heart

Replaceing every sweet thing I thought with doubt and anxiety. I felt the constant squeeze. It became too much.
                       I said no. I turned down every solution and answer. I left you alone. Without an explanation.

I don't know
                                        What else to say.
Except
                
                                       that now I wish I
Could change
                                    
                                     so this night could

have happened.

A stolen chance and
My own foolish anxiety
Kept us far apart.

I have just met you.
I fell in love and in lust.
I'll never see you...
                                
                                                      ...Again...

I want to be stuck
Inside my little world in-
Side my little box.

I can't explain the
Way you're making me feel. I
Think I feel something.
                           The feeling swells in
                           My chest. All I need now is
                           Your strong hand in mine.

It seemed like time stood
Still. And I counted down the
Minutes one by one.

These different states we walk across, our toes skimming the edge, arms out for balance.
My head is like a metronome swinging back and forth. The only reason it stays is because its attached to my neck.
We continue to hop the rest of these bobbing platforms. They dip in and out of the water that we're forging across together.
You're a few steps ahead of me. It doesn't seem that much distance but suddenly you're being swallowed by the fog.
I can't see you tip-toeing over the lonely islands anymore.
I'm lost and even though I'm afraid I try to make my way. I stop just on the verge in my bare feet on the slippery isle.
I look up and away from my cold toes and through the thick haze I see the pattern of your summer dress.
Little blue and yellow flowers dance in the now blowing wind. Your leg peeks out and they step back. I reach out a hand for you.
But I suddenly lose my footing. I sway and and grab at the air. I find myself falling into water that never touches my skin.

He lays awake just after death has left and life has breathed fresh air into his lungs.
His state is questionable, fragile, sickly-sweet.
His eyes remain tight but through the sliver he can see her.
The strength within him is not much but through muster and the dreamlike purgatory he wanders he slowly lifts his hand.
Tall, carved from stone but with a lump in her thin throat she gazes down at him.
He believes that all he sees is a dream so he begins to whisper soft, such lovely words to her.
He asks questions with a voice that is shallow but has the quiet intensity of the wind.
"Love," he begins. "Do you think she could have loved me?" He finishes his sentence with a slow breath.
The small man resumes to lay there breathing ragged, however, steady.
Such words he'd spoken before about walking across the stars and love.
"Where she stays, she is far away from me." He tells her, although she stands still beside him, her fingers lightly brushing his.
A decision remains in her mind, her heart and an answer resonates on her tongue but she can't find the courage in her voice.
She says nothing and continues to listen to his muted mumbling, lips forming the words but saying nothing more.

Shocks of purple on
My palet. Watercolours
Seep close together.
The blue comes into
Play and sends the paint away.
Green and yellow here
To stay. Orange has
Nothing left to say. Splashes
Of them all race in
A neverending
Whirlpool of emtion and
Thoughts that create a
Startling panic
That can only be silenced
By the sweep of my
Brush. Quietly I
Put paint to paper and pour
Whatever I have
                                                      
                                                          Out.

I'm too busy
            Spending my
                                                     time
                      
                                      Falling
        
     In
                
                    Love,
        
                                     And being
      Hopelessly
      
                                                          Lost.
Being around
                      You is like

                                           Breathing in
  
   But
                     Somehow
                
             I
                                     Continue
   To
    
              Remain

                                           Breathless.
Let me swim
                 In those

    Oceans                            
                                          You

Call
                               Your
              
                                              Eyes.

My bed is warm but my heart is loud,
You're so far away sitting atop that cloud.
I wait for all the love you're bringing.
Is it your voice that I hear singing?
A hazy room and a guarded mind
Leaves one with little or no time.
I stand still during every passing hour
Praying you'd ring the bell in my tower.
Leaving my arms with your imprint
Doesn't make anything less different.
My bed is still warm, heart still loud,
You still sit happy on that cloud.
I can't feel the love you're bringing.
I beg, hope, have faith that its your voice singing.

Holding my breath tight
Inside my chest. I'm waiting
For the slow, sad end.

Before you begin an essay the first thing you need is a topic. Once you have that its easy.
Or is it? I'm here to argue that it ******* is not.
When you are given the slightest glimpse as to what an essay even is, around age 10 or 11, you are taught the hamburger method.
                                                                 The top of the bun: Your intro.
                                                                   The tomato: Your first point.
                                                                      The lettuce: Second point.
                                                 The meat: Your last and probably strongest point.
                                                         The bottom of the bun: Your conclusion.
Although some methods and structures are different this is a summation of what I was taught in elementary school. I continued with this idea that while writing an essay all you had to write was your opinion on a certain subject.
When I arrived at high school my first two English teachers were less then willing to add upon this "hamburger technique". They gave me the A I wanted and didn't give any notes of improvement.
I was convinced that I was on the right track.
When I started my third year of English my teacher arrived with a rude awakening and a failing mark.
Confused, digging and shuffling through the relentless amount of sheets she'd given me I tried to figure out the rhythm of writing an essay.
I looked around. Some students had no clue, while others grasped the concept as if it were their birthright.
                                  I, however,
                                                    continued to fall
                                                                             into a swirl
                                                                                            of do's and don'ts
                                                                                                                        for writing an essay.
All the sheets mentioned all kinds of things. But in the midst of all these possibilities there still wasn't
          
                                                                               a clear answer.

The sheets and booklets I'd received seemed to talk down to me with words that even though I knew and understood were now foreign to me.
The overwhelming need to prove that I could write an essay always bit softly at the back of my head. And when finally faced with the challenge the need chewed deeper and harder. Confusion setting in once more.
Leaving everything I was taught about essays

                                                                                     as a big
                                                    sloppy,
                                                          
                                                                                 blurry,
                                                           jumbled
                                                                                                       mess.
                                      Filled with words that made me feel
                                          
                                                                                                                 completely stupid.
                                                                             And rules that made me feel

                                                  suffocated and limited.

The screaming that you can't hear but can feel ripping from your lungs and tearing up your esophagus.
Your heart is carried away into the sky along with that yell and suddenly you're empty.
Nothing can be felt anymore and your brain seems to turn off, refusing to cooperate, refusing to react.
Your knees buckle, your arms limp. All you can manage to do is breathe. Still feeling the steady inhale and exhale of breath.
The crashing, devastating yet slow realization that you've had a roaring victory and a soft defeat.

I hate forgetting
Your voice. Your face is blurry
In my clouded mind.

This anxiety,
makes my heart flutter at his
slow reply. Waiting.

I crave his letters
locked inside a mocking screen.
Let me see your face.

Please let me hear your
voice. Your face so close to mine.
Feeling your colour.

Learning everything.
Time with no limit, no strings.
Pockets of soft words.

Every word we want
to say. I do hopelessly
love every small thing.

I want to take a gulp full of air as my head hangs over the edge.
I want my hair to stand on end and goosebumps to appear all over my skin.
I want my rapidly beating heart to burst out of my chest and fly off into the wind.
I want to see so much land, so much space that I can't breathe.
I want my tears and sobs to turn into melodies you'll hear in the distance.
I want candles to go out on their own.
I want the wind to stop blowing.
                                                    The trees to stop twisting.
                                                       ­  The flowers to stop whistling.
                                                      ­         Keep the bugs from crawling, the birds from chirping.
                                                       ­               I want my throat full of words so it will pour from my lips and drain onto the ground from my agape mouth.
I want my eyes vacant and my shoulders to slump.
I want darkness and light to collide above me, and I'll never see it.
I want to feel small.
I want to feel big.
I want to be here and hidden too.
                                                            ­          I want every inch of me inspected with a fine toothed comb.  
                                                         ­                  I want every part of me accounted for.
                                                            ­                    Music all around me.
Every where and no where.

My hair keeps falling out. I brush my hair every night and look at myself in the mirror.
All I can see are tired eyes from a long day.
What I feel is a heavy heart inside my chest making me hunch my back.
I continue to comb the brush through my hair and my hair continues to fall in clumps around me.
I look down at the discarded strands and set the brush down.
I feel empty and cold, yet everyone says I'm warm. My heart still feels like its gaining tremendous weight. I pull my shoulders back to keep from falling over.
I turn off the lights and lie down in my bed. Its chilly beneath those covers.
Soon it won't matter because I'll be fast asleep and inside a dream. The only place my heart feels weightless.

I see him kiss with ferocity, his lips moving away from his teeth and towards her mouth. Her eyelashes flutter as their faces meet and their lips lock together, fitting perfectly.
His hand raises and he brushes her hair in between his fingers.
She scratches her nails where his short hair and neck meet.
He rests his smooth hand at the bottom of her back and pulls her right against him.
Although the passion and hunger seeping out of their pores is prominent...
          love is expelled
                     through their eyes.
Love gnaws from their hearts
          and continues to chew them up...
                     from the inside.
For now they'll have that moment.
          Later they'll begin to decay
                      
                     Rot away...
                      

                     Because of the love they share.
Raise to the sky their chants of love



                     and loathing.

I imagine a
world with flowers, just flowers.
Writings on walls all

Around me. Every-
Where I see beautiful land
Scapes, enough to make

You sit and stare for
Hours. Stars in the sky all
The time. The sky is

Not just one colour,
Its many. The sun stretches
And the moonlight drips

Into waterfalls.
I look around and sometimes
See hazy paintings.

Just texture and paint.
Together, married in this
World I created.

Take your drugs, whatever.
Pick your poison, any kind.
Choose your weapon... Now.

She tries to make her voice sound like silk, maybe she succeeds.
I know what her real voice sounds like and it makes my ears bleed.
Walks with a swagger in her hips and doesn't look back.
Attempts to stride away from all the qualities she lacks.
Glowing, eyes like the spot where the storm meets the sea.
Who is that girl? Who could she be?
Looks familiar, swear to god... I think its me.

Like love and time just
Know. Plan, listen, seek, swimming.
Hand in hand, dreaming.

Her voice sounds like small
Shivers. Like a whisper on
The soft, snowy ground.

Pigeons sound sometimes like wind passing through the slit of a slightly open door.
And lockers sound like screaming mice when they open and close.
The people are speaking english but making no sense as well.
They don't make sense regardless of the way they enunciate.
Its lifeless and hollow.
Nothing clear, just murmurs.
They sound the way my nails sound when dragged across a chalkboard.

My toes are chilly.
The cold keeps me from sleeping.
Is my heart the same?

Waiting is a terrible form of torture that I subject myself to.
I look away for a moment, my impatient mind flustered, and you're gone.
I chuckle despite myself because I can't believe it. You've left me breathless again.
You've made my heart thud and my palms slick.
I waited, stared at what you wrote, at what I wrote. Cursed myself for my ****** awkwardness.
Didn't I ask the proper questions? Use the corret smiley face in the right context? Did I stay behind the necessary boundaries?
Or was my fatal mistake due to the fact that I didn't cross that invisible line?
Was it because I didn't look between each sliver between each letter in each word in every sentence?
Was I supposed to do that? Was I? Are my questions too many or not enough?
You had such a striking smirk... I wish I could picture it still.
Your presence was remarkable, I had hoped it'd linger around me longer.
You're so astounding, astonishing, outstanding. God how I wish you knew these things.
I wish you knew that the scar you imprinted on my memory was still raw and hungry for more.
Waiting is terrible, torturous as I said before.
But its cool, I'll wait. We both will.

Completely I am
Alone. Destroyed by the things
I have loved. Alone.

A cliched love story
Fable told throughout the ages.
Conventional meeting,
By chance
Absolute chance.
Feelings switch on in moments
Without any forewarning.
Its not fair
Never fair.
Looked around all night,
Discouraged.
Found you in front of me,
Completely reassuring.
Every love story is cliched.
But that love story is cliched
Unless it has a twisted middle,
And an inevitable end.

He walks outside to watch as veins of electrical light sizzle in the night sky.
The rain strikes against the pavement. The water on the road slides by.
The man stands tall, his shoulder aching from his previous operation.
He looks at the blank, dark mauve sky with a frown on his face from the whole situation.
His wife sits in the kitchen, crossword in hand and letting the news play like white noise around her.
Their children, all in bed; all of them unaware of the storm parading outside or of one another.
Three out of the four are asleep while one records these events, sleep stinging her eyes.
She should sleep for her dreams take her away from the darkened skies.
But for now she will be hypnotized by the veins of light illuminating her night.
She'll watch the light pour through her window until her eyelids are too dreary for her to keep sight.
So goodnight, goodnight, goodnight