i used to write about him
endlessly
in tattered journal pages
and in cheesy poems
but i didn't want to admit it

i didn't want to admit
the fact that he was gone
and writing him into paper
wasn't going to bring back
the person i once knew

i didn't want to admit
that i wasn't in love-
that instead, i was cold and lonely
for endless summer nights
in the pitch black vacuum of my room
when everyone else was sound asleep
and i should've been, too
i guess at that time
i just didn't want to admit
the fact that i was too busy writing
to realize i was just lying to myself

so this is me finally admitting it-
this is my apology letter
for blindly lying to myself,
for believing the miserable lie
that writing about him
would bring us back to life

because so far it hasn't worked
and i'm undeniably sick
of lying to myself
and ignorantly believing it will

Is the happiness getting to you yet?
Do you wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat?
The joy is infecting your mind
but the foreign feeling is soon to be denied.
You cough, you *****
You get a diagnosis. You soon find out...
Your sick with happiness.
-Aiyana

Spending a month in a hospital teaches you a lot about people.
The doctor that told me to shave my head or she wouldn't treat me,
The nurses that spent forever chatting to me
And giving me supportive advice about how my illness doesn't define me.
The woman who was given a terminal cancer sentence
And chose not to pay attention to it and defied it anyway.
How she sat next to me on my bed,
Told me that all suffering is valid,
And just because I'm not dying, doesn't mean I don't get to complain.
How she complains more about her skin problems
Than she ever complained about her cancer,
And that's OK, because pain rarely follows rules.
I never even learned her name,
But she gave me the words I hold most closely to me
On those days when I want to fall asleep and never wake up.
I'm allowed to scream and shout and rage against the pain
And the unfairness of it happening to me.
I just have to make sure I know where the line is
Between giving my darkness a voice and pitying myself.

Feeling so sick and tired of
Feeling sick and tired of
Being so sick and tired.

We shall rule, when the Captain dies,
We know and we believe,
As we wait patiently,
As we plan carefully.

When the Captain  dies, we shall rule,
We have taken in more,
More than we can condone,
But we will not lash out,
Because,
We shall rule, when the Captain dies.

We shall rule, when the Captain dies,
No one will accuse us,
No one will think it is us,
Because they can not see our hearts,
And we have served with our blood,
And with smiles on our faces,
Surely,
When the Captain dies, we shall rule,
We deserve to rule,
The Captain will have to die,
For us to rule,
So,
We shall rule, when the Captain dies.

We shall rule, when the captain dies,
They say,
But there can only be one Captain,
Who will be the Captain?
If we all want to rule,
We shall know the answer,
When the poor Captain dies,
Because as we secretly chant,

When the Captain dies, we shall rule.

Not a ***** nor a snake,
temptation just runs thru my veins.

The male flesh makes me weak,
Their touch makes me weaker,
Their scent fills me with pleasure.

I may have one, I may have two.
Knowing that they genuinely care
And knowing that I am growing weary of one
But love him deeply.

To give in to the fling, or to return to the one I love.

I play them both like a fiddle.
A game that tortures me as well.

Knowing I’m doing wrong.
Not knowing how to reverse my mistakes.

I sit here idly.
Wondering where I went.