No One can see the tears in my eyes
For I wear dark glasses
No One knows my true demise
For I feel my life is blowing ashes

The driver behind me did not pay attention
I doubt he thought how it would forever change my life
The driver what was his intention
I doubt he considered how it would wound my wife

The headaches are pounding drums in my head
The earaches screech like fingernails on a chalk board
But maybe enough is said
I will pray to the Lord

For he will never understand
He will never see me covered in *****
For he might believe he never really had a hand
He will never see the pain as I hide in my closet

Here I am
I'll shut me down
With a head slam
I cannot frown
I can't remember what you just said
How can a concussion be so bad?

Here I am
I'll shut me down with a yes ma'am
If I'm good enough
Soon I'll be dead
How can my concussions be so bad?

Year after year
--at daylight savings--
he kept moving his clock backward,
but never forward,
until he wound-up in the wrong century.

He then slept in masks,
his dreams repeatedly
disbanding and reforming,
as if in someone else's show,
but it was his hallucinating set-list, for sure.

He lived at the call of the void,
feeding off peppermint sticks
and clusters of chokeberry,
to help ease the pressure.

One phantom summer,
he read The Joy of Euthanasia
from cover-to-cover, over and over,
until he could recite death.

He poured his heart
into his new work
as an artist of tacenda,
--yes, he kept a lid on it.

And when the pretty young bees
buzzed about underneath
their brazen parasols,
he'd smile up at the sun
for her complicit glow:
the warmest days
always drew them out to him,
like honey on the tongue.

Now naysayers may keep
him out of Canton,
but one day, like most serial killers,
they will name a school after him
and his hijinks.

Writing through water
Thinking through dirt.
Brain, getting fuzzy.
really? don’t lie.
Study? I cannot.
Make me do it!
Please, make me do it..
Me, I, seeks help.
I can’t think the same,
I’m not the same.
Homework, tall brick wall,
Sports, I can do,
Essay, felt the tear,
I want to scream,
But I feel nothing.
It’s not a thing
Yet, but hopefully
Soon, I won’t fail.
But I will fall down
And never get up.

My countenance
made love with the harsh earth
she left me
bruised
confused
and bloodied
with a couple days
plucked out of my memory
thank whoever is above
for the few buddies
that pulled me to the
corner with a flashlight
bag of cold ice
shoulder rubs
and words of advice
I got back in the ring
ready for to resume the fight
I learned that night that
you can't beat Gaia
but that you could endure
a few rounds.

Just kidding,
I was knocked out
during the first round.

The drums' pounding sounds
echo deep in my chest
rattling my rib cage
a new heart beat is found.
I surge with the crowd
dealing with the push and pull
like it was the ocean.
Well we were on Ocean Avenue
So it sort of was.
People are being held above the surging waters
like boats floating on treacherous seas.
One boat emerges from the depths behind me
One that I did not see.
The next thing I knew
the head of the boat had hit me
connecting with the back of my head.
I turned around quickly
and pushed the boat along,
but by then the damage was already done.
I sang and danced to every song
Unaware until later of my new concussion.

I think it’s happening again
I really hope that I’m wrong that I’m making it up that it’s all in my, head.
  I know where this road leads and it’s called depression
   From there, it’s my restriction with Ana
    I’m already freaking out. I don’t want to
     Go back down this road but it looks to be my only path
       I just feel like I’m f
                                         a
                                            l
                 ­                             l
                                  ­              i
                                                 ­ n
                                                     g apart.

My outlet is gone, I feel as though I am a wounded animal that lashes out at the wrong people.
I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I cling, I cling like a leaf does in the fall waiting to change. Only to be ripped away and carried by the wind to a place I know not.
Or maybe I am the tree clingy to the leaves because once I lose them I will have nothing left.
Lonely.
No more leaves. No more trees.
Just a girl. Lost. Stumbling through the confusion that is life. Perpetually tired and sick of this mess I call home.
Over and over and over again this happens. Every fall the leaves are a sight to see.
But every time they leave the tree, on to bigger and better things.