Ounces of it crawled out of my mouth
drawing in new life until the next climaxes out

I hold it,
a small pain dawns on me
as such a tiny thing
its quite scary

A machine beeps and brings me back to reality
to a muzzle linked to my life, my face, my reality

Inclined to fear what I cannot remember
I see only masked people five steps apart
contorted faces becoming their masks

Until the dream rippled to
only a murky beeping sound
which soon enough was drowned out too
leaving a quiet room of silent saviours.

THIS HAS SOME SERIOUS SUBJECTS - suicide

Rushing through a forest,
of dashing bright colours escalating down from above,
glazing me in a warm hug.

My feet,
exposed and free from self control,
threaded through vines of ancient trees and trodden upon moss that glistened in the light that began to blush for the beginning of a sunset...or I thought it was the light.

Instead, a red line waved on a branch near the moss and with a ghostly glow,
it captivated me.

Its beauty taunted my feet,
so much so that I ran,
and in less than a second I stood taller than the branch, and evidently, the thin piece of red..hair?

I held it softly,
watching the small creature curiously, whipping around desperately against the cool breeze,
and I just got more and more curious.

I looked away, for a second scouting for another piece of delight, when I looked back the only delight I found was the sun light, reflecting of a ghostly grey line, in my pale hand.

I unfurled my fist,
and felt my heart sinking as I watched the slow sad descend of the old grey hair until I couldn't see it anymore,
and started to trod away, until that is, another ****** red hair started to blush.

However this time I,
Did not run
Did not walk fast
and Did not touch.

Instead I,
Swallowed my pride
Searched around
and Saw a long line of them on branches,
like soldiers ready to be inspected.

It was enchanting, the way the colour seemed to glow as I walked past each bunch of red hair that increased in size as I got closer to the end, ...  but at the end of the path is why I never admired the colour red again.

Strangled, dangling from a tree, red marks scraped so hard against her neck she bleeds and her hair...
her hair coming out in knots at her feet.

and i realised why her hair was so red...
it was covered in blood,
contorting to hide the grey oily twigs of  elders hair that was whisked away in the wind, to the blushing sunset I never want to see again.

The wound you left me,
cut deep within me,
no bandages of a new love will cure me,
but as I watch you leave my eyes,
Sanity crept out of my mind...

eager...
excited...
bundling up inside me..
for a small token from a very special person
to come through that stretched box in the door to be ripped open.

1 day...
2 days...
3 and 4...
where has my butterflies gone,
my tummy empty of excitement which fuels.

finally,
metal clanks;
SNAP
and paper wades down the red oak door
to the ignorantly tranquil floor. and as it flutters down,
it resembles the last fleeting heartbeats of an old women
who I once called grandma.

from the moment we live
to the moment we die
we are apart of life
but when you end that time,
you get a choice
of running as beast, chained by humanity,
or be the earth that watches silently.

I don't know how people see,
What's on the surface
But not what's underneath.

How are you meant to know,
People as an individual.
There are secrets people hide,
So you have to
Read Between The Lines.

The curtains tear, open, because of my hands,
which manipulate its material to open for the mornings welcoming glance.
A shower of light, gushes in the dark, sleeping, bedroom,
which spreads like a wildfire, into the gloom.

The room, now new and bright,
has now been set alight, for a new day to arrive.
My eyes, have now adjusted to the blinding spell,
which the sun casts on our world.
My legs, had now moved,
to the door, on the other side of the room,
where my first step will begin, for this new day,
which like any other day is unique and beautiful.

Drifting,
oh so ever slowly through conscienceness.
Through the fires of my turmoil,
which roar in agony, to real.
To the calm breeze, of my sleep, which surrounds me, and conceals me.
From the ripples of water that act as memories,
which leads to the play in my dreams,
made and constructed by all these things,
that I have been over the years.

My dreams have been made by feelings I had,
like the fires I spoke of but more serene and sad.
Horrors of losing the people who are close,
are made true in my dreams,
where my monsters come close.
These dreams make me sad and cold inside,
even though I wake up, sweaty and alive.

I sleep again,
my calming beat, reminds me.
I'm in a field this time, the wind, unusually warm and welcoming,
its calm relaxes me as i conscientiously sleep.

My last dream,
before I have to re awake, to start my day,
is one of memory warm and sweet, as I eat and chew something chocolaty new.
A birthday I think, this memory is,
as the food, I scarf down my throat,
is something as great as a chocolate cake.
This memory I realized, has been lost in the junk of my mind,
and I hope one day,
I'll remember these memories,
outside of sleep and outside of my time.

I listen too my class mates screams,
hoping for their expertise; of how to enjoy child hood
in the normal way I should.

The teachers shout over their arouse,
hoping for some child to speak out.
All I do, is sit there and listen,
to all the rowdy kids and the teachers anxious rhythm.
Lost in my mind, I try to think :
when will I,
be able to see,
why the world is so annoying to me.

An introvert I am today,
I hope tomorrow will be another day.