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sophia 9h
flowers that climb to tickle the bottoms of your feet,
falling just to pick yourself up and do it again.
swirl of no-worries, no cloud of darkness
***** hands, messy hair.
something good before the bad
somewhere between pool parties and first kisses ー
sixth grade orientation and the summer of ninth grade you learned to welcome pain in your life.
Pain arrived unannounced in the form of curly black hair and a 12 pack of beer.
Pain arrived looking like a pencil sharpener or thin red lines across pale white
It took form in a lost best friend, years in love with you, while you loved everyone but yourself.
Pain was packed in a suitcase, and boy did Pain travel.
In 06’ it lived in a room, in a house you did not recognize.
In 07’ it stayed the night in your family van.
In 13’ was rushed to live in a hotel.
In a year you do not remember, it locked the door and left for the night, leaving their two children behind.
Pain was watching as he reached for the knife. Pain also guided you up the steps of the police station
But now...
at 18, pain is waking up.
Pain is believing you will never be loved.
Pain no longer sports curly black hair but now exists in pixels and LED lights
and fits in the palm of your hand.
Floo 2d
Is this the teenage tragedy?

I've heard it way too many times.
This solo singer melody,
In a choir of lonely lies

I sang her story last year,
In a bed I'd made my coffin,
Sleeping as though I'd died already,
And was just waiting to be forgotten

Back then I'd thought I was so alone,
and that my thoughts were so unique.

Until I overheard some other kids
tell of their losses in this past week.

And I realised that my solitude, was mine, and mine alone.
But all these other
Happy kids™,
Hid some pain that was theirs,
and theirs alone.

I know I shouldn't interrupt,
but your performance must be cut.

I'll tear you from this solemn stage,
and cast the spotlight on
The stagehands.

Who turn and manipulate in the darkness of your presentation

And the background dancers.

Whose elegant grace and exquisite contortions,
Distract
from your **** words and hideous thoughts

So that even you,
Sallow songbird on a stage scattered in shadows,
are entranced by their performance
On your own
Rotting wooden platform.

And I won't be your applauding audience member
Nor will I sit, with my perfected neutral expression,
Eating cyanide pills from popcorn buckets, watching you perform,
In silence,
As the others do

With my own torn vocal chords, I'll protest for your show to be cut short,
even after you had invited me to join this spectacle.

Because today, I can feel it,
Pulsating a glow, brighter than any memory I can recall,
And it's burning me.
This palpitation of the present,
Which I know is a temporary sensation,
But it's a fraction of temporary too long

You fall from a rusted swing, in an abandoned playground
Watch your blood merge with the soil and the peat
Your structure punctures through your skin,
a harsh disruption to your soft, infant self.

You want to scream, but you wouldn't,
would you?
The pain will cease in an appropriate ammount of time™,
Eventually

We don't talk about the permanent injuries from our seemingly  inconsequential  actions
A permanent solution to a temporary problem

People persistently parroted that platitudinous proclamation in pallid hopes of dismissal of your white palfrey

At least 3 of them, anyway.

You'd scream in that moment.
Call out for your mother,
Or some other great and unconquerable  force,
To annihilate the hurt,
and quell your cries.
Her strong lips laying kisses upon your sore, youthful cheeks,
in an attempt to paralyse your own
Trembling pair.

I'm still playing in those sandboxes filled with bones,
In those playgrounds where we played,
When we were blind.
And in your town,
I see you.
Crouched inside the same wooden framework.
Knee deep and ready to sink.

Over grown victim of your own infanticide,
Have you buried the bones of the child you used to be?

Would we have looked her in the eyes  as we prepared to dig her burial site-
Here
A foot step away from where her blood had mixed with the filth,
And her cries had stifled into sniffs.

How deep is her shallow grave?

And sometimes,
I think that maybe saying nothing would sound better,
But I dont want to witness my failure, before I even attempt to talk you off of the ledge you're standing on
Telepathic thoughts of "don't do it," won't reach you,
I know  that
But feelings are so much easier to feel, than to describe.

I think that,
Maybe,
You think that this sounds like just another  philistine sentimentalism.

I think that,
Maybe,
You know I don't know what I'm on about.

I'm not even sure of as to why
I'm so sure
I'm so sure.
That I want to save you
Is it even for you?
Or am I trying to save myself
From the guilt, of witnessing your fall,
After I had moved my own noose
From around my neck, to over my hips
A harness
Holding me above the  hangman's  stage I had performed on

Empty playgrounds are the loneliest things in the world.
More so than empty wombs,
And once empty graves.

Let's play together.
sometimes i tell people the reason i see my childhood like i've just downed a whole bottle of *****;
like a volcano has just erupted in the back of my throat,
is because when i was a child,
someone set flames to my home.
that i lost my childhood to a fire,
and if you could go back in time,
you would have believed that single match could have
swallowed the whole house.
whiskey lingered in every room,
the walls were drunk,
every day felt like my family was playing a game of jenga,
we were all waiting for someone's palms to fumble,
to make the whole house collapse.
and it was so easy because the walls were as stable as an intoxicated man walking on a tight rope.
but this whole story is a lie,
and the true story is that i swallowed the fire,
and i still have the photos scattered in my closet,
that taste like gasoline going down my throat.
Take me back to the glorious days,when the sun would always shine,
Pain was unknown, we loved playing in the rain,
Our heart knew no hate and we didn't care about fate,
Asking all the questions you had and think you had the  strongest dad,
Hunt for mobile games,ride in the shopping carts,
Wonder where babies came from and being amazed by airplanes,
Ask who made *** and wonder why stars don't fall,
If only such days never met their end.
I did not appreciate you
when I had you close
now you're everything
I can't recall.
Like, was it blue or was it turquoise?
when we hanged around the river til the sun rose.
And roses were red, yellow, and pink,
we were warned not to touch them for we might bleed.
But we didn't care covered in dust
we held the world in our palms,
and we drew on them with sticks we found
in the neighbors yard.

Childhood,
I did not appreciate you
when I had you close
now the scenery is everything
I can't afford.
Like, willow birds and fast paced steeds
grass evergreen and trees that could sing.
Hiding from the moon that was trailing us
in search for treasures,  gold and bronze
So we can trade them for twelve ships
and sail across the blue oceans...

Childhood,
Now as I am glancing back
at my fractured past history ,
I wished I captured your essences
to last as lifelong memory.
To the days of playing with pebbles and tin cans,
mud houses and sling shots...
Back then, I have been listening,
I was watching your eyes,
Blinded by a silver gleam.
You, you stood in the blessings,
With your sincerest lies,
Wounding me to my deepest seam.

And that's how childhood passed away,
With elves and villains that we thought would stay,
Maybe it was peace we had, this day.

Hello you, my unlasting best friend,
Hello you, my vision is still blurr,
Hello you, for you I can stand 'til the end,
If you don't forget who we were.

And now, you weren't listening,
You were caught in all of them,
The blind people in your heart.
You have kept on hiding,
You've been setting all the blames,
On my love from the start.

But don't take it seriously,
The time and I will pass, if you just wait you'll see,
You know that now you don't need me.
Oh love, that is how childhood passed,
With great wishes that couldn't stay or last,
And love, maybe I held you too fast.

Hello you, my feather in the ink,
Hello you, the sea in which I sink,
Hello you, I can stay with you, that's for sure,
If you don't forget who we were.
Way above our little town
Sitting high upon the hill
The place we all  called Christmas House
And I think it sits there still

We used to go there sledding
No one once chased us away
That place we all called Christmas House
I wonder if they still sled there today

To us it seemed enormous
All lit up with lights so bright
That place we all called Christmas house
I wonder if it's still lit up tonight

There was a tree in the front window
You could see it from the road
The place we all called Christmas House
It was a palace when it snowed

There were wreaths in all the windows
The arbor covered with red bows
The place we all called Christmas House
I wonder if anybody knows

It's been years since I have seen it
It gave all our hearts a lift
The place we all called Christmas House
To visit there, it was a gift

We went there every winter
We would sled, have snowball fights
The place we all called Christmas House
Was always lit so bright

One thing I remember though
In all my time upon the hill
The place we all called Christmas House
Was always quiet, empty, still

I know it's been near forty years
Since I left home, moved away
The place we all called Christmas House
Still sticks with me today

It's a memory of a better time
When  the winters were much colder
The place we all called Christmas House
Makes me forget that I got older

I have to make a point this year
To fo home, back to the start
The place we all called Christmas House
Is on a hill, and in my heart
Age
She was a kid struggling in with her
'adulthood',
And he was an adult caged in 'childhood'.
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