Some people are born
With crystals in their eyes
And hope in their skies
Of blue and green watercolour dreams.

No such shimmering exists
In here. The glimmer
Of past wonder has long since
Been destroyed by fear of existing.

As much as I hate to say:
Beautiful People
End Up
With Beautiful People.
Which means,
I'm out of luck.

The clock strikes ten.
I have two hours to finish this story.
*Done!

This isn't a story
about how I overcame a past demon
or how I beat the bully with the power of friendship,
because you and I both know
that didn't happen.  
I don't want this to be another sad teenaged story
about how my boyfriend broke up with me
or how my best friend kissed my crush.
This is a story about how
I was born an unlucky kid
who I was blessed with
tears instead of smiles,
who has more love for other
than for herself,
who is more willing to die
than to live.
I'm just an unlucky kid
who debates whether to live life
or to end it.

I remember when I looked
into your blue green eyes
and saw you staring into his:
sky blue.
I used to imagine us gazing at
the pale blue of the sky
as it turned from amber,
to orange,
to red,
to purple,
to black,
and then watching the stars together.
Counting out I love yous in the constellations.

Then I looked up and saw you;

And I realized the only sky you'd ever see
was trapped in his eyes.
(And ******* were they pretty.
But ******* did it hurt.)

I'd hate to be. The unlucky one. I spew all over. A whole rainbow of letters. Roy G Biv, baby. Get it?  Because I've held back for. Too long. Held in. Too much. There will be nothing left. I'll tear you down. Drag you to Hades with me. It won't be peaches and cream. Like Persephone. It'll be ugly. Disgusting. Unclean. Mean. I've bit my tongue for too long. Tasted too much blood. Nursed too many scars. When the day comes. No one will be okay. All souls disconnected. Minds altered. And if you stick around. For some more...God rest your soul

Lucky are those who have found love
and been loved.

Lucky are those who bear the gift of face.
   Easy is for them to find an easy case
            for their own taste
     - a goal for their own base.

Lucky are those who has an outstanding confidence.
For by it, they don’t live with a doubtful fence.
Freely as they get any wants in their existence.

I give away smiles, pieces of my lies,
        pretending not having rainy skies.
Hiding my Breathless sighs.

Sometimes I am like a rock
   too dull to feel, a surface too rough.
A sense I lost, an unreachable core,
I don’t know how to love anymore.



*© 2014 Pax