It registers as soon as I open the door,
a keen foreboding feeling.
An unfamiliarity never felt before
sends my senses reeling.

This is my home, my haven sweet;
yet today it does not belong to me.
I exhale and follow my tentative feet
while I repress the urge to flee.

I feign bravado by humming as I
go check every room casually.
I get more comfortable by and by –
the eeriness wanes thankfully.

i feel like my eyes are puncturing through the tombstones of a life not lived to its fullest. something of the sum of my worth, two holes in my skull that are chock full of air seeping to the brim with thickness and agony, weighs me down in shackles. i am not alone in this place, no, but i am empty, cold and vulnerable and weak, thin and haggard, scraping the surface of living. this—no. this is not living. this is surviving—this is the tightrope wire between surviving and dying—this is, essentially, dying. my mouth is filled with spiderwebs—i speak to no one but myself, hands dry and lips drier, throat raw with a voice i’ve only used to scream.
i cannot scream any more.

September 3, 2013:
I really need to stop drinking because I always say and do things that I don’t really mean. I don’t really mean to do the things that I do, do I? Sometimes I don’t even know who I am.

September 5, 2013:
I saw a man today, he was wearing a grey suit with a red tie. He gave me pills, he said that they would help. I don’t know what they’re supposed to help with but I guess I’ll give them a try.

September 10, 2013:
These pills give me headaches. I don’t like them. They make thoughts really fuzzy. I’m going to see the man in the grey suit tomorrow. He said he wanted to check in with me. I hope he can fix this.

September 11, 2013:
The man in the grey suit told me the headaches are normal and that they should subside in a few days. I hope he’s right.

September 20, 2013:
I think the pills are working. I haven’t had a headache in a week, I don’t even feel fuzzy anymore. I think taking these were the right thing to do.

October 1, 2013:
I saw the man in the grey suit today, only today he was wearing a blue suit. A blue suit with a white tie. I finally asked him what his name was. He said that his name is Steven. He said that he wants to discontinue the pills. He thinks that they’re not right for me.
Steven is a nice name.

October 6, 2013:
I woke up covered in a sticky, red liquid. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t remember anything that happened last night. I think I need to visit Steven.

October 6, 2013:
Steven didn’t answer. I’ll try again tomorrow. I should clean up.

October 9, 2013:
I finally was able to talk to Steven. He asked me if I was drinking again. I haven’t had a drink in weeks. Now that I think about it... I never told him about that problem...

October 13, 2013:
I woke up with covered in a sticky, red liquid. There was a girl sitting at my kitchen table wearing a white dress and a trail of sticky, red liquid that lead from the girl to my front door. What a pretty girl. How did she get into my house?

October 21, 2013:
I haven’t been able to ahold of Steven for two weeks. I keep having dreams about the girl sitting at my kitchen table. She won’t stop screaming at me. She’s such a pretty girl.

October 25, 2013:
I need to stop drinking because I always say and do things that I don’t really mean.

October 30, 2013:
I woke up in a room today. A room with white walls and a white bed. I’m in clothes I’ve never seen before. I spoke to a man in a grey suit with a red tie. His name wasn’t Steven. He won’t tell me why I’m here. He told me that I should stop writing for a while.

my head is attached by a sliver-string--
swinging, like the tires in spring,
it scrapes the floor beneath heaven harshly--
leaving bruises and marks drawn darkly,
and like Dumpty, the doctors tried to cling
head to body, but it never wished to be a whole thing,
so it dangles below knee ever so tiredly--
collecting scars as if lying beside a howling harpy;
inside me, i can feel the dirt begin to sing,
somber melodies of an ancient and rotting king;
he stands beneath me seeking a heart-beat--
whispering of dreams now sunken and obsolete

for now he wears worms for rings,
and I'm forever cursed with this sliver-string.

Mary Worth, Mary Worth, Mary Worth... they've called to you.

Through the looking glass as the shadows grew.
With the candles lit, young people they stare.
In a fit they call to you, but you're never there.

Or are you... Mary Worth, sitting behind the glass, brushing your locks as the church calls to mass. They call to you... three times it's said, yet you never appear, at least not before bed.

You sit and you stare, with your hateful eyes, if only they saw you and how you despise; each of the children, the girls and the boys, who call out your name, in a dark room, with their toys...  You're ready for them, You could get them tonight but instead you just wait until the moment is right.

But I know the secret and I have the charm, You can't get to me Mary, You waited to long!

A hair from the devil, who's a long tailed fellow.
A ribbon on a bone from a wicked old crone.
Add a pinch of dust from a vampires bust.

I have it all in my little silver box and it's shut up tight with three shiny locks.

Now I am protected. I know the way, but watch out children or you'll be spirited away! Make sure you take heed of the galloping steed for it's death herself coming for you with a spider's stealth.

She'll wrap you up in a blanket so cold.

You'll never wake up...

You'll never grow old.