Could you tell me, dear,
Where our bones will rest
When the sea swallows the earth
And the sun swallows the sky?

Will we lie atop mountains?
Poised as prayers to the stars,
They could surely keep us
Among their frozen peaks.

Will we lie upon sands?
Warmed by centuries of sunlight,
We could bask in the fires
Before burning alive.

Shall we sleep beneath oceans?
The secret worlds of silence
Could hide us from the end
And carry us with the currents.

So long as I lie with you,
The stars can fall to the pavement
And the cities can collapse.
There is peace to be found in your presence.

Dearest Reader,


My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.

On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.

I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.

Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a *****-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.

Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.

Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.

During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."

The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.


I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,

Margot Dylan

The mother screaming in pain,
the fathers sarcastic laugh,
the smell of petrol and burning skin.

The inferno is rising
"Run little one, run, live for
me”, and away she went.
Watched the inferno consume,
her mother and that man.

Buried under the ashes,
memories still fresh as ever.
A small house stands, where
her life ended.

A couple fighting and screaming,
a little child crying.
Will history repeat itself?
And leave another child orphaned?

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

Never think that that smile means he likes you
Never think that that wink means you look good today
Never think that that laugh means he wants you around
Don’t entertain such thoughts, you can’t afford to think that way

Because once you do, you start to fall
so never think about love at all

Or you’ll come out wounded and bruised
and you’ll feel broken, empty, and used
ignore the weak knees, the flutter of heart
ignore the butterflies, they’ll tear you apart
don’t be fooled, honey, it’s all a trap
and once you’re caught there’s no coming back

Never think that that hello means he missed you
Never think that that how are you means he cares
Never think that that look means he loves you too
Don’t let those things get to your head, honey don’t you dare

'Cause once they do, they'll poison your mind
you’ll be ecstatic for a while and then you’ll find

That you’ll come out wounded and bruised
and you’ll feel broken, empty, and used
ignore the weak knees, the flutter of heart
ignore the butterflies, they’ll tear you apart
don’t be fooled, honey, it’s all a trap
and once you’re caught there’s no coming back

All bad things are wrapped up like presents
but they turn out to be Pandora’s box
and they’ll shine bright like a diamonds
but one touch and it’ll turn to rocks

To,
All the flowers whose petals I have plucked,
If I only knew He never really truly loved,
To all the tyres I burned,
If I only knew they wouldn't change their minds ,
To all the trees I had cut down,
If I only knew my book wasn't to be published.

Therefore;
To all the mothers that cried because of me,
If I only held patience rather; when their Child bullied me,
To all my loved ones I say sorry,
If you only knew I could never change truly,
I'm sincerely sorry.

No,
To all the teachers I spoke behind,
No, You were never that; of an ingenious mind,
To all those friends I lost, because of my losing temper,
If I only knew, you weren't as forgiving as my mother.

If only,
All the loss my body had to bear,
And the Childish trinkets my body had to fear,
How heedlessly and needlessly wasted, were my tears,
I knew,
I'm deeply sorry.

To all my guides who thought I aimed at nothing but the best,
If they only knew how afraid I was of my everyday life test,
I'm but sorry.

Why does the wind howl so loudly
Why can't the moon talk back
To the lonely souls with tear stained faces
Why aren't the love letters in vintage stationary with ironic stamps and coffee stains returned
Why are novels abandoned and potted plants left unwatered?
Loneliness is universal, and the universe is a hell of a lonely place.