you are an artist.
you like to paint
                             smiles on your face to conceal the pain
you like to draw
                              laughs out of the hollow pit of your chest
you like to colour
                              your wrists red and taste the life flowing out of you
                              as if it would quench the thirst created
                              by the loss of someone that you knew
you are an artist
                             you love to create
                                                             you
                                                                     love
                                                                              to
                                                                                   erase.

i have
locked myself
into a cocoon.
a shell, a
crescent moon.
wind
is battering
against the
walls, shelling
seeds into husks.
the day feels
long and this
song will
have to wait
until the sun
comes. till it
enters the
cracks
in wood
and skin and
allows me
to imagine
again how it feels
to be human.

Put down your pens and pencils,

You've been on that swing long enough.

Congratulations. You did the crime, now...

Your five minute egg is ready.

The ebb and flow of tides is discriminate.

Your light turned green.

... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...Blast Off.

... to conclude our meeting...

Just one more contraction...

My worthy opponent considers...

Find the escape door in this room before
Time's Up.

Be reassured. Be content. Good things take time, and don't wait
for them to happen.

But if Time isn't Matter,
Should it.

"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.

without the sound of rain she is lazy. without the taste of *****, she's

awkward. without a tan, too pale; without a page to turn,

lonely. without a song to hear she is calm. with no party, she is her

own. without a shower, she's disgusting. without blindness, she's

cute in those glasses. without food she looks like she should eat,

and with no lover,

she is sort of lost. without a smile, she seems depressed. without

kissing she is ***** and with no bra she is a ****. without laughter

she is bored. without the ability to remember, she is thankful, as well

as naive. without the ocean she is suffocated, with no future she is

trapped. and without hope, she is most hopeful; without herself, she

is a shell.

I want to be left alone
                                                           ­     I don't want to feel alone
I want someone to hug me.
                                                             ­   I hate being touched.
I want to tell someone.
                                                        ­        People scare me.
I want to speak.
                                                          ­      I can't open up.
I want comfort.
                                                        ­        I push people away.
"I'll be fine."
                                                          ­      "No you won't."
"But I will."
                                                          ­      "What if something happens?"
"No, it'll be okay."
                                                          ­      "But now you're doubting yourself."
"NO."
                                                ­                "Oh come on. I'm a friend."
"You cause so many problems for us."
                                                            ­    "There's nothing you can do now."
"Don't do this."
                                                          ­      "It's too late, I've won."