dreadfully and drearily so she picked around her nose where her ring used to be

full of dead and destruction she ripped out pages of John 3.16, where her crown chakra used to feel free

wistfully wishing for her black jeans with a string instead of a zipper; she now wears a gown

wondering why, she contemplates in her midnight blue constellation journal: to down-
right mortify me,

to make a mockery, to….to, to…. to…. find me in case I pull the fire alarm and try to escape

she puts together puzzles with her mother’s name in cursive in the bottom right corner and puts them together with tape

begrudgingly so she ties up the used new balance sneakers she borrows and moans

she wants to move her body, for her form has been stagnant, oh how she wishes to roam

jogging, running, sprinting from the wolves to the butterflies and bunnies

painting a stain glassed window as a holy shrine to The Queen of The Goths, she’s so spunky

wondering where her soul’s mate could be in a blizzard this thick

but she knows she’s been a real witch, flying into her alter ego’s psyche on a broomstick

if she can infiltrate her reflection in the mirror she’ll catapult into outer space

although, around her neck, she’d much rather wrap a shoelace

In five days time, 120 hours, 7,200 minutes, not only does the doggy door open,

so does the front door, who had the key? Will the door be closing?

Jogging, running, sprinting from the eyes of the doctor to the arms of the unbroken

My feet are swollen

My hands need lotion

My thoughts are golden

I am coping

He is coping

We are coping

They are unbroken

Over a basket of fish and chips, I realize I was chosen

Is that a ****** up notion?

I just don’t want to feel hopeless

Is this excess of energy a bad omen?

Back in the free world now, I’m so scared of my spirit being stolen

But my energy is as vast as the ocean and potent

I win, I win, I win !

But the imperialists are closing

In

laying in a warm patch of sunlight surrounded by dandelions

and an orange glow peaks through my closed eyelids

leaving an ache behind my forehead

daydreaming...

of no more teary days

no more chilly hands or goosepimples

of a day when my patch of sunlight lasts for an eternity

and I never get cold

One X on the calander and a cup of luke warm coffee
The sidewalk chalk is like padlocks on my feet,
But they cant stop me
Through a static phone line, I can still hear you talking
Nothing of the nice sorts-
It is impure and not godly

Your perception of me slips through the cracks of you teeth
Bitter and raw things you breathe
Your voice is muddy and meek
Another X on the calander
Not a lot of sleep in between

I am wondering where your love went, because it doesnt live here
How many Xs on the calander?
A few weeks? A month? A year?
Both the liquor and the answer is clear

Long car rides spent swallowing sentences
Its a muffled radio, singing along with the tention
Where did you heart go? Every beat a lease of absence
Where did you put it? In a drawer or a cabnet?
How many Xs on the calander will it be till I once again have it

I have this announcer
In my head
Speaking through a mic
broadcasting my sensational endeavor
I decided to do that year
only to follow up half way
Because of manic episodes
Composed of unorganized perfection
And useless, jumbled words
That often didn’t make sense
But the announcer never failed
Using their echoing voice
Overpowering all other thoughts
Would debut some idea
Unfinished
Making me feel
infinite

My worry consumes me
My thoughts are scattered
Much like the trash in my messy room
My heart aches so terribly
I can feel the pain of it in my belly

The sharp pieces from my broken heart spill from my mouth
They cut the people I love wide open
They bleed out
Suddenly, I am sick of me

I wonder how I got this way
Was it the hand slipping under my shirt, unwelcomed?
Was it because of all the spoons with burnt backs?
Was it the visions of my mother’s swollen face?
I want to know what the **** it was that made me so hideous

Alas, I don’t have the answers
And while the weight of the world is not on my shoulders
It is certainly on my mind
It is certainly in my heart
And I pray that one day I might rest