I was feeling
down
depressed
and dark.
I put
some
rocks in my
cup
to uplift my
spirits,
to climb
out of the hole.

I want to
run on
the clouds
and
touch the sun;
go 180 around
the third turn.
Feel nothing but
the wind;
go out like
Earnhardt Sr.
in
a blaze of
glory.
Last lap
last run.

I hate you and your new car.
                                             I hope every time you go to the gas station, it's three dollars per gallon. I hope you make so many enemies that there's a line to sugar your gas tank, I hope your engine knocks and your head gasket blows and your timing belt snaps and your rims warp and your tires pop every time you pass my street. I could still beat you in a race, even with your ugly sport package and plasti-dipped grill, I could still beat you in a race because I am angrier than you. I am angrier than you, and I always will be.
                                                             ­                                   I hate you,
                                                            ­                       And I hate your new car.

There’s a storm
In my brain
But the rain
Is clear

Why can’t I go to sleep?
When I do it just repeats.
“I don’t care if you don’t like this beat
It’s what I think, it’s me, it’s me,”
She said to herself in her bed.
I’m fighting against myself
The battle turned into a war,
And I’m not afraid, I’m just worried
Worried about being a warrior.  
I fight all day, my soul is tired
But I don’t let myself rest when the time is best or when it expires
The night falls but my heartbeat rises,
Racing thoughts run circles in my head.
My head, my bed.
My brain is inside of my head.
My head is part of me.
Aren’t we all just a brain in a cage?
Tonight the cage is electric,
Nothing soothes the rage or stops the sizzling pain.
I’m numb to the zap of the cold, hard metal.
I want to lay in a field of sage,
Lay me among the wildflowers.
I’ve never seen blue sky or blinding light,
At least not in the night.
The moon shines, but not enough for me!
This perfect creation isn’t bright enough for me!
At least not in the night...
I will lay my head when all this passes
I’ll wander off to sleep
And the next time I come to bed,
It will just repeat.

Thoughts racing,
trying to fill another page of this book with my story,
sewing in new sheets of paper to build some space.
Space between me and the page saying
The End.

Turning the pages, looking back at some from many years ago.
I read about a little girl, happily exploring the world.
She doesn't know about pain or despair.
Just look at her glowing eyes.

Progressing in the story, a few years later.
I watch a little girl, crying, covered by the blanket.
She doesn't want others to see, 'cause they'll just laugh anyway.
In her home, she has no room.
The whole house is filled with her father yelling.
The whole house is filled with her mother crying.
The only place for her sorrow is deep inside herself.
Just look at her puffy eyes.

Skipping a few chapters, years of searching and hoping.
I hear a little girl, laughing loud.
Nobody heard her screams when she needed them.
At least, when she's being loud, they notice her.
Being lost and out of control she hurts others.
When they scold her, they look at her.
Just look at her pleading eyes.

Going through pages of her trying to understand what she's done.
I hear a little girl swearing she'll never hurt anybody else.
She'd rather hurt herself to cope with the severe cold of this world.
So she builds a wall to keep everyone out,
to trap the wrath inside.
But she forgot the fear was already there.
Just look at her empty eyes.

Flipping the pages to read the ones from a few weeks ago.
I see a little girl drowning in tears and self doubt.
Apparently the wall she built long time ago is still standing strong.
A lot of 'Wanted' posters are hung on it from both sides,
but neither can reach through.
Just look at her anxious eyes.

I'm sitting here crying,
hoping my tears will wash away the letters on these pages.
But they won't.

So I'll keep on sewing pages.
Hoping one day I'll read the one about a girl who's come home.
About a girl who tore down the wall,
about a girl who built a place in a house to live in.
Until then I hope to have enough strength to put
space between me and the page saying
The End.

Symptoms?
Heart is racing!
Chest is aching!
Pits are sweating!
Hands are shaking!
Breath is heaving!
World is swaying!

Diagnosis?
Love.

Speed is cold.
Speed is cruel.
Speed is merciless.

Speed is a smile, at speed.
Blink and it's gone.