It rained when she left.
I didn't even love her.
So why did it rain?

they say that there are things that you can never unsee
images forever burned into the folds of your brain
and yet I think that there are even more things that you can’t unhear
those things that you want to drown out with music you didn’t even know you had

like that song you’ve just found
and it is new to you and the words may not be that clear for now
but a part of you understands
a part of you feels the string of notes every single moment that song lasts
a part of you understands somehow

like cars passing by the street outside your house at midnight
they are mere whooshes in your dreamlike state
their lights stay for too little of a time
and you can’t help but wonder
of where they are rushing to or what place they go home to
whooshes on cement carrying stories you will never know

like the little crack of disappointment in a relative’s voice
when they learn that you want to be something other than what they want you to be
and you try to laugh it off
but it’s a sting you never thought you would feel again after all this time
and then suddenly how well you’ve been doing doesn’t seem to matter
every single time you thought your smiles could reach the sky doesn’t seem to matter
because how can achievements in a path they disapprove of be something to be proud of?
how can something you fit better into feel wrong?

like the soft ripping of a paper envelope as it’s opened
and you’ve been tense for months about this one thing
and here it is in black and white and colors you wanted to associate with a new beginning
but instead it is all of what your worrying nagged you about
it is the words of the voice in your head printed out on thin paper
here is where the world feels like it drops
the only sound is of the letter being put back into its envelope
gently willing it to disappear

like the silence of someone after you speak
and you hear everything else like a click of a pen or a shifting of positions
your mind runs over a hundred, a thousand things
maybe they didn’t hear what you said?
maybe they don’t want to talk about it?
maybe they don’t get what you’re saying?
maybe you should start a new conversation?
you understand that silence should not be regarded as something bad
but here you are
choked by the possibility of them thinking you’re annoying
and that voice tells you to shut up
however the silence makes nerves tumble out of your mouth
why can’t you stop?

like the dull tapping of your fingertips on a keyboard
it’s been a while since you’ve allowed yourself this
months of pushing down the emotions that tug at you
and all you want to do is punch the words out of you
but there is nothing in the muddle that used to serve you so well
there is nothing because the thought of doing this pulls you deeper into the abyss
how you loved doing this before the world decided to tell you you do it wrong
you may have said that this was a part of you
and it is now another part you have lost

like the short bursts of shouting that you hear every time you take out your earphones
and you are reminded yet again why you keep them in
you are so tired of the voices, so tired of the fighting
you hear the scrape of the dining room chair you’re in as you push away after a meal
and you know too well that that is the last sound you want to hear outside of the music you blast
sometimes you think about how a lot can be different if only some events did not happen
and it is cruel to think that but you do it all the same
life had been peaceful before
now ruined by something you don’t have control over anymore

like the soft music at a small gathering
and there is laughter and glasses clinking and the shuffle of everyone’s steps
you block out that thought in your head that digs its claws
but as soon as you are driving home and staring at the streetlights
everything hits you at 50 miles an hour
you wonder how long your smile stayed there
you wonder if anybody sees it falter
and you can’t even explain to anyone why this happens
because you don’t know the answer yourself

like the constant questions
about why you want to do this or why you’re like this
asking about what you’ve decided on after years of confusion and debates with yourself
and they are too curious, too questioning of how you came upon those decisions
they try to offer explanations of what they think can be better for you
and it is like they do not trust you to know what is best for yourself
they think that what you want and the way you identify yourself isn’t what should be
and all your life you’ve been told that you can’t be this and you can’t do that
so now what should you be?

like the thud thud of your tears on a pillow
and you don’t even know where it hurts anymore
all you know is that when you hold that plushie you’ve had forever
a thousand pinpricks run along your arms and your chest
breathing will never be easy and here you are
too aware of the sound of choking back your cries
because there are things that the world doesn’t have to know
and one of them is how there are days you fracture
after weeks of not even knowing what it is exactly to feel

like the goodbyes after a few hours of talking in a cramped café
you know you’ll see them again but there is an emptiness as you go home
a part of you acknowledges the fact that they aren’t that far away
another part feels the longing for another hour, another hug
you know of each other’s schedules and how it is not practical to keep meeting up
but you want to cling to something other than your pillows and your wavering sanity
and having them with you has helped in a way that you miss instantly
as you are once again plunged into the reality of it all

it is the clock ticks as you wait for something to end
it is the steadying breath you take as you reel yourself back from the hell of your thoughts
it is the song you now use as a lullaby when your system refuses sleep
it is the drum of rain against windows as you try to find yourself again

there are sounds I will never unhear
and there will be days that I can’t stand to be me
but there will be sounds that pull me back
there are days that I continue to fight the voices
and that is what I should always remember.

I crave the comfort of white noise.
When I fall asleep every night, my box fan carries me as I drift off.
Its blades spin up and its humming fills my room
Like a sweet lullaby leading me off to a silent world.
I used to play albums off of an old CD player:
Anything to block out the whispers inside of my head,
Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.
During the day, when there’s no fan to keep me safe
I turn to the comfort of music:
Pop a headphone in and my feelings melt away.
It keeps me focused, but in a way, it’s my distraction too:
The kind that fills my head with lyrics instead of questions.

Questions.
Endless questions.
They’re the white noise inside my head the rest of time.
They’re the bullies and I’m their victim
But there’s no one else around to save me from their violence:
They beat me till I’m ****** and bruised
Mind sliced raw from their attacks,
What are you doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do you even bother?
Beating into my weakened defenses
They kick me especially when I’m down.
They gang up inside my head, doubling, tripling
Until they’re a chorus of white noise echoing off the walls.
They keep me locked up
In a cell with nothing but a bed made of broken glass
And a small fan in the corner,
Humming me to sleep every night
Because my room can offer me no other comforts.
I feel the questions just outside of my cell,
And I hide from them because there’s nowhere to run:
I’m a prisoner pressed into the furthest wall
As they taunt me from the other side of the bars I’ve built.
Why can’t you be happy?
Or normal?
Why don’t you just go away for a while?
Maybe forever?
I plead with them to stop their screaming
So they laugh at me instead,
A high pitched squeal that makes my hair stand on end,
My body tenses up, my ears start to ring.
And suddenly they’re something else entirely
The faces of my friends appear cackling
Questions spilling from their mouths:
Are we just pretending?
Do we really hate you?
What makes you think we care about you?
How do you know it isn’t just an act?
Their laughter surges in my mind
Like a sickening joke that makes my stomach turn,
And the white noise grows ever louder.
Even when the fan starts to takes their place,
Masking their white noise,
One finds its way in
To plant its seed of doubt
On the edge of my subconscious
As I begin to drift to sleep:
Are you just pretending?

I feel my breathing seize
Because suddenly I wonder if any of this is true,
Or if I’ve created a false reality for attention.
The thought seeps into my mind like poison
Whispering to me that I can’t even trust myself,
Tearing down every defense I’d built
Brick by brick
Until I’m curled up in a pile of tear stained rubble,
Knees bruised purple and yellow,
Lips chewed ****** and raw,
Eyes swollen red and glistening wet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I hopeless?
Cause it feels like I’m spiraling out of control
Losing my sense of self to the endless tide of worry
And I’m not sure how to stop it.
So I begin to ask myself
What am I doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do I even bother?

Because I can’t tell what the truth is anymore
If my fan keeps the questions out,
Or if I’m so used to them;
I crave the comfort of their
White noise.

You're here.
I feel you
You're underground.
I feel you in the nature surrounding your grave

You're ashes now.
It's as if you never existed
only in memory now.

What color are your clothes now?
Are they still blue?
What do you look like?

You exist in the air around me
as I sit beside your stone
I'm the only one in the cemetery

Do you know these other people?
What's it like in that other dimension?
Are you still writing poetry?
Do you know you're dead?
Is it better?
Do you miss it?

I've written to you
I read you my letters
Talking to air that you occupy

I lean against your stones,
Feeling cradled by you
even though it's been years
since you disappeared.

You will always exist
I walk around the corner
to visit another friend.

How have you been?
I'm sorry I haven't thought about you in awhile
I cry
I don't want your memory to disappear

I slowly walk out of the graveyard
Feeling empty and whole
at the same time.

I'm not leaving you here
I'm breaking you out of this "beautiful" place
You're coming with me

Arrogant, ego, self pride
Who do you think is your guide?
Self pity, bad dream, broken heart
Are you able to pen out your art?
Addiction, low esteem, always hate
Do you swim fast or become a bait?
Love, evil, shivers of fear
When you write, do you shed a tear?
Romance, time, ready to ****
Do you possess a strong will?
Lone, clown, face of frown
Ever seen a frog wearing a crown?
Cry, try, make believe
The hand that stopped you, did you stay back or leave?
Dark, monsters, hell creatures
Why do you think we have preachers?
Angels, demons, dear God
Do you ever try to move forward?
Vengeance, anger, too much greed
Ever wandered how can you be freed?
Money, lust, enormous fame
Who between the two, is playing a game?
Sleep, dose, then awake**
Don't you wish, to run or stay for sake?

©sim

I know now, or in a sense...
I've always known, I've always known
That I don't care about real life
It's hard to care if you never were.
But if I'm not real...
Will people care for me?
Will death just accept me?
Or do I have to stay and tell my story?
Either way, I'm more than unreal, less than real.
And I'm more conscious than I've ever been...
In a sense, I'm alive.