my spelling has been rather poor of late
from the words some letters were omitted
this day I shall not goof up on my slate
those grave mistakes won't be permitted
a friend did tell me to smarten my act
she said she'd observed so many errors
in my compositions this be a fact
she stated that I must stop these terrors
by employing greater concentration
on applying my pen to my lines
exact spelling is a good validation*
using this tested way I'll not get fines
to-day no letters have been forgotten
*henceforth my pages won't be so rotten

I wish I could be a book
I could send myself to you
in envelops and postcards
over a laconic lifetime
rungs of ladder climbed
waded through like the push
of legs in the water, over sand
chewing on the words you sent.

We, are a family now,
some privileged in the boundaries
of grandiloquent bags and pouches,
some forgotten in the drawers
before relocations,
versions of a person’s state of mind
over time, we make history books
capturing people in the making
of an indistinct next moment

sometimes we carry our own praises
outsourced by the wits of our writers
like love they did find not in the other
but their own selves, blind still.

Does your reader pause too?
basks in the glory of an empty wall
staring at nothing in particular?
I wish we had will and means
to write ourselves on ourselves
so that we could reach other and do that.

Instead like our creators, we are
dilapidated ruins of yellow bodies,
left to live and die on dirt and air
once they are gone, aren’t you scared
of death?

Seeking Reply
Letter A

I'll say it once and once only, because if I've said it once, I've said it too many times:

Karma is a *****.

And no, I guess I haven't suffered enough according to the rest of the universe. And I'm free game for people to line up and just hit me over and over. It would hurt less than this.

And the timing of my karma has to be the most rigged thing in my life. It's like the world has it out for me. Everybody is staring and whispering about it. They all know.

I mean, I know they don't, but I can't help but get lost in this way of thinking. It's not worth it.

I stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning just crying. Listening to the same songs and staring up at the ceiling. My physical body trying to reject itself. Like I'm imploding. My vision blurry, wanting to scream but nothing happens.

I don't want this.

There's nothing that can even be done to even attempt to save this. So I'm done.

I'm done.

The emotions run on highs and lows. But lately I feel like I'm burning below ground with the flames of hellfire scorching my backside. And with all the smoke damage, there is no room to breathe.

Any day now, I'm either gonna **** somebody, or end up dead myself.

Dramatic, I know.

And hey, maybe nobody will take me seriously when I say that.

Figures.

So far, the only people who give a **** are the people who believe I'm still a good person. And I'm not saying they're wrong, I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me if they're right.

Because I don't feel I deserve anything.

I can never focus on anything. I'm writing this because I should be doing other work right now. But when I'm not thinking about this, I'm overworking, or sleeping, or crying again, or shouting again.

I feel physically sick just being in this much pain. It's never gonna be driven out of my body until I get a **** miracle.

But those aren't really coming my way.

If karma is responsible for all of this than haven't I endured enough? Something needs to break the cycle. Or I just have to break. Act out, get expelled or suspended, consider the empty possibility of my thanatophobia finally leaving me.

I stopped caring about myself when an old enemy decided to step in and come after me. But the remarkable thing is that I handled it without attracting more trouble. That doesn't mean it didn't pain me to set myself aside to do so.

I'm not a complete pacifist. And my dangerous nature only gets stronger when left unquestioned by all. So yeah, I'm scared as hell of myself. But then again, so are other people.

Hey girl,
I know you are hurting,
But you will forget everything,trust me.

When you step into the mandap,
You will forget the boys that stepped on your heart.

As he slides the ring on to your finger,
You will forget all the slashes on your wrists.

The burning flames won't remind you of all the photos you burnt,
It will stand for love, for marriage.

As you go to work, to that beautiful restaurant you own,
You will forget those who said,
"Good she can cook, she has at least one quality of a housewife".

Your books, published everywhere,
Will once and for all,
Diminish those voices,
Asking you what your 'real'  profession is.

As you have pillow fights with your kids,
You will forget your tear stained pillows.

It won't matter that the coffee brown eyed boy didn't love you back,
That everyone who hugged you made you flinch,
And that you couldn't protest,
You couldn't raise your voice.

The accusations, the name calling,
****, *****, cheat,
It won't matter,
Nor will the license test that you failed,
Or the presentation where you fainted.

My dear girl,
You will turn into a butterfly,
The caterpillar that you were,
Won't matter.

I cannot stop crying to say my life.

It's like it's on a schedule.
Crying in school, after school, in my car, at home, to my parents, to my teachers, to no one at all. For sometimes... hours.

I have officially become so broken that I've become pathetic. So I don't know. I'm a wreck. I cannot even think about this without hating myself, and I can't talk about it without crying.

I'm a broken fricken record about this story. Saying it over and over.

Apologizing over, and over, and OVER.

I am so sick of it. I do not want this, but I can't escape it. As much as I may want to, I can't. It is so easy to write about the bad.

I can't remember one good thing last said by someone important.
But I have a million good things to say about them. I always will.

And you're the one who's sorry?
Not as sorry as I am.

I don't want to be told to "get over it" as if it was ever that easy.

And I hate this. I really do. There is nothing left here. So I guess you were right about me being nothing more than my mistakes. I hope you take pride in being right. Because I am barely hanging on.

And you decided to walk away.

That's okay.

After all, this is the real me right? I've secretly always been this monster. I'm nothing more than you say.

So tell me what I am.

Every day feels the same.

I wear the same checkered shirts, eat the same food, go to the same classes, cry at the same story.

It never changes. And it never ends.

My life continues to be a TV drama gone wrong and all I want to do is burn it all. My shoulders are too high, shaking in 3 second shockwaves. My face is losing colour and life. The energy drained from my body. Strength beaten out of my arms and back.

There is not a whole lot of me left. So don't go looking for the living among the dead. Not if the host's body is already a graveyard.

Not a lot left to lose except for my own lone life. But I'm thanatophobic so an empty threat suicide isn't really doing anything.

And no, I don't want to hear about how "good of a person I am".

It makes me sick, I'm sick of hearing about how this is going to get better. I do not care to hear how it is "so easy" to just switch back to how I used to be.

It is never that easy.

I don't care if I can make this better, because right now, it is not up to me.

What I do, does not matter.

There will be no justice...

And no forgiveness.

At least I'm still in pain. It assures me that I am feeling anything at all.

I told you so.

It doesn't really feel good to be right. Everything is *******. I haven't told anybody, but I have a feeling some people will know very soon.

This is killing me. It's Killing ME.

I'm going.
Help me **** it!

I don't want this.
I want a way out.
I want to go home.

But home isn't there anymore.
Home is not here.

And it won't be. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
So I stopped trying to fight the brokenness. Not when I already shattered across the floor.

Every day feels like a public hanging. Accusations and no defence from me. I'm not okay.

So I will not return until I'm better. When that is, I have no idea. It could just never end. I could break and rage out, calling the hypocrisy and justification of how unfair this is.

Don't I deserve to be seen at all?

But if I'm not here, then who really gives a ****?

Fine. I'll let you live your life free of my destruction on your happiness. Because after all, I bring the drama right? And I can't escape it right? Confining me to my mistakes and nothing else.

Because hey, I never meant a **** thing to you anyway. But I won't snap just to prove you right. I'll just hope to regret sets in like it is for me.

Because I never gave up on you.
Fact.
No exceptions.