With each step I take,
I slip further into Earth,
A trench of regrets.

This place is my post,
My never ending routine,
A prison of thoughts.

Cresting waves of guilt,
An endless stream of questions,
A sea of troubles.

Towering mistrust,
Lost amidst my constant worries,
A forest of doubt.

Longing
Sorrow
Forgiveness
Memories
Regret
Renewal
Momentum
Joy
C­alm
Peace

My dad's old friends came round to our apartment sometimes,
would come round for some beer
and a guilty look at my mother’s ***.

Today, as usual, she let them track mud through our little house, cackling like hyenas
and pretending to admire the art on our walls.
She let 'em do it but then we all went out on the porch and they started to tell me, as mama looked on with pursed, painted lips,
bout the time my daddy’d -
well i never ever did find out what my daddy'd done
*** that's when she slammed down the case of beer
on the patio table.

All three of them paused to look at her.
It was like she’d turned them all off, with a button that she kept hidden in her *****.
for a second they realized how sad she must've been,
they realized he probably shot himself right upstairs
and then they looked at me
like I was a dead little boy
wearing my daddy's eyes.

I missed their merry smiles and table slaps punctuating each joke
wiping the sweat off their foreheads with their wrists and
leaning back in their chairs, flicking their lighters against their cigarettes and
savoring mouthfuls of chewing gum and dip,
'*** now they were still.

“Now don’t go tellin’ tales to John,” she said, and doled out a few drip-cold beers to shut them up.

They washed the stories down with her drink and just forgot about it,
or more likely,
they'd started thinking about that button
burrowed between my mother’s *******.

my head emptied
as though bathwater down a drain, and i became simpler:
than the children kicking and screaming and skinning their knees on mulch,
than the cars coming and going and crashing and catching dead bugs in their killer windshields.

suddenly, ripples were spreading gently through the sky
like it was a body of water, being stirred to life by the clouds
like they were the fluffy fingers of a kid poking at his fish bowl,
and i started wondering what a sky even was
and if it could be the ground
if i sought to somehow stand on it.

i sat in the grass, plucked out its longest blades
like i was a brush tearing hair from the scalp of the earth,
started weaving little green bracelets, like I'd done as a boy,
and i did it until the sun had started to go down,
unable to connect the sky’s slow setting
to a passing of time.

I am Emperor. I am Death.

All ye who challenge my reign over kingdom and kin
know not the true consequence of thy sins.
In flesh, I come bearing bountiful wealth and crown;
alas, in decay, I may claim nothing as my own.
Upon white steed I ride, demanding thy reverence,
for no mortal plea may earn my benevolence.
My castle is made of shattered coffins and bone.
The lives I take are etched upon my throne.
I am balance, bringer of law and order supreme,
yet my presence is sought only in screams.

"Our true end hath come!" my countrymen thunder,
"God, please save us! Death shall tear us asunder!"

Wherefore doth thou cry for a holy savior?
Wherefore doth I warrant such behavior?
I was thy maker, thy just and wise king,
I asked for no riches or engraved rings.

I am Emperor, I am Death, and in the very end,
the only true kingdom is made of dead men.

Welcome to the Brookwood bathroom,
A place of sorrow, a place of gloom.
What happened here will happen again,
Which is why I pen this silent refrain.

Here come the girls who use the mirror,
Which was designed to help you see you clearer.
But with every stroke they distort their faces
'Til all that's left is nameless traces.

And here comes the child who cries herself to sleep,
Though during class her sanity she keeps.
But once her class ends, she rushes to the stall.
The monsters in her head begin their free-for-all.

And here comes the girl with her body a mess.
She tears it up at the slightest sign of stress.
She comes into here to slice up her arm.
One more victim in this war on self-harm.

Here comes the boy who stays after each day.
He thinks by hiding here he can get away.
He knows his parents are fighting at home,
And he's scared his dad won't leave him alone.

And here comes the child who binds their ******* in here.
They live their life cowering in fear.
Feeling like neither a woman nor a man
And lately they've been asking themselves if they can.

And here comes the teacher who's stressed to the max
She feels as though she's bound to collapse.
She chose this job in order to make a difference
But all she's met with is loathing and bitterness.

Now it's time to say goodbye
The transition bell is looming nigh.
Leave behind the wanness and sorrow
And leave me to cope with it all again tomorrow.

in her whisper i hear fire
in her screams i hear storms

Hours of labor, and minutes of rest
Only to be taken away from the breast.
Months of pain, hardship, and fear,
But, in the end my decision is clear.

I am not ready to bear a child on my own
My partner has left me; I am all alone.
My baby will do well in the hands of another,
Anyone but me could be a better mother.

So I hand off my child into the arms of a nurse,
Knowing for the rest of my life I'll be cursed.
She cradles her gently, and holds her with care,
While I lay there and wallow in self-hate and despair.

She brings back my daughter all squeaky and clean
Her new parents follow with eyes all agleam.
They name her Grace, meaning "gift from God,"
I smile and laugh, feeling like a fraud.

I hand her over, my baby no more,
As she leaves my hands, I feel a jolt in my core.
I'll never see her again, but I know this is right,
They're taking my darkness to turn it to their light.

I drive away from the hospital, with a wave and a smile
Knowing I'm leaving behind my child
...