I feel like dying. It would be so easy. To give up on this.
But I can't.
Something's restricting me.
I still feel like dying.
Living is like crying. Try to hold it back. I never can.
It burns.
Somebody come.
Please.
Help. Please. Help.

Nobody's coming.
The smoke doesn't fly high enough.
Nobody knows Morse.

My fingers are screaming
As I beat a rhythm into my desk's surface.
They strike in the same rhythm over and over again,
But you will never understand why.

It is mistaken for a distraction,
Or perceived to be anxiety.
And my classmates scowl and tell me to stop,
No matter how panicked I seem.

It is not a side effect of ADHD,
Or wanting pity.
It is a silent scream of pain
And fear.
It is my cry for help.

...---...

I will  · ·
Try constantly to make · – · ·
Harmonies, tapestries, poetry – – –
That praise your radiance · · · –
with ·
messages so carefully invisible – · – –
Concealing beautiful testaments – – –
To you— Encoded · · –

. . . l o a d i n g . . .

.-. .- .. -. / -.. .-. --- .--. ... /
-.. .- -. -.. . .-.. .. --- -. / .--. . - .- .-.. ... /
.- .--. .--. .-.. . / .--. .. . / --- -. / - .... . / .-- .. -. -.. --- .-- ... .. .-.. .-.. /
.-- --- .-.. ..-. / .- - . / - .... . / ..-. --- -..- / .- - . / - .... . / -.-. .... .. -.-. -.- . -. / .- - . / - .... . / .--. .. . /
-... --- -..- . ... / ... - .- -.-. -.- . -.. / --- -. / - .... . .. .-. / ... .. -.. . ... /
..-. .- -.- . / ..-. .-.. --- .-- . .-. ... / .. -. / .- / .-- .- - . .-. / ...- .- ... . /
- .... . / .-.. --- ... ... / --- ..-. / ... --- -- . --- -. . / .-- .... --- / -.-. .- -. -. --- - / -... . / .-. . .--. .-.. .- -.-. . -.. /

[ r e s e t ? ]
/ y e s <
/ n o

.i don’t know where to begin
.how it began
.how it ended
          .all i know is that i am here
          .here right now. and that is all that matters.

Fingertips tracing
     each of your ribs;
tapping out a word, perhaps,
     a tune from Chopin's early days.