Strike the match!
Light the candles!
Conspirators gather 'round!
For we have come to eradicate,
the world of the old,
the useless,
the weary,
and the crowned.

Watch the wax!
Drip down so fast!
Let this drop seal our order,
the world of the chaotic,
the frantic,
the paranoid,
and the crying soldier.

See the flames!
Light the faces!
Of all who gathered today,
the world of the noble,
the sinner,
the suspicious,
and the people stuck in dismay.

The wax stops!
It drips, no more!
The infamous clock strikes twelve,
the world of the lights,
the candles,
the flames,
and watch as they drip the other way.

Look, those candles!
They melt in reverse!
All that work was sent backward,
the world of destruction,
the pain,
the confusion,
and the candles never burn downward.

The candle has melted!
It's just wax!
It had cooled on the table,
the world of the conspirators,
the liars,
the cheaters,
but the flames were always stable.

Just put your head down,
just keep moving forwards.
Ignore everything
except yourself.
Remember who you are.
Fight it.

The restraints are there,
like this is some sick game.
You beat yourself up,
you strap yourself down,
unable to move
Fight it.

That blank wall isn't very nice looking,
I don't know why you continue to stare.
I mean I do the same thing,
when I become...
Oh. I get it.
Fight it.

Eyes glazed over.
Lips sown shut.
Limbs tied down.
Mind locked up.
The dark is so inviting.
Fight it.

But I'm not too sure I want to leave.
Oh, how easy it would be,
to stay in these waters
and fall asleep.
Just stay asleep
Fight it.

Don't forget me anymore.
Such a sad plea that comes from me.
Myself where did you go?
Who are you anymore?
I'm losing my mind.
Fight it.

What is there to fight?
I'm drowning in the tidal waves
of my own emotions.
There isn't a clear enemy.
Who could it be?
...
Oh, I think I see.
The enemy is me.
Fight it.
But I can't.
Fight it.
I.
Fight it.
Can't.
Fight it.

Yes you can.
*Fight it.

It's one of those day
when I look in the mirror
and I question if it's even myself anymore
on the other side.

Night comes too quickly now,
the darkness smothers the homes
that are sleeping soundly on the ground,
and everyone is hiding in shadows,
no one made a sound.

The world in this moment is frozen,
but not by it's own choice
it's being held back by shadow hands,
they refuse to relinquish their hold,
they are indestructible, rubber bands.

Everytime a change is made,
it just snaps back into place
constantly in a gloomy depression,
where people are growing older,
but yet their lives are in a recession.

Note the changes young child,
because something is bound to happen
and those rubber bands will snap,
those shadow hands will fade,
and it will be your turn to adapt.

But those shadow hands will come back,
little child I understand your fear
but you have to fight them and survive,
that is the only way,
that you're town will become alive.

Shadow hands please let go of us,
you need to go
please stay away forever,
I will not allow this child,
to fight in a hopeless endeavor.

You're just torturing me,
I could be laying on my bed at night
and you will be there,
dancing above my head,
and all my tired eyes can do is stare.

Fight off your demons,
they spin wickedly
and they don't stop hovering,
I hear whimpering,
and I can't tell if it's me or the child they are smothering.

There are monsters everywhere,
in a town that sleeps so soundly
I can not allow this little child to fight,
in a place that is so dark,
bring me the light!

When the light finally comes,
I learn very quickly
that the child had an interesting identity,
my tired eyes finally understood,
that the whimpering, scared child, was me.

*Shadow hands please let go of me!

I have never been afraid of the dark woods.
But I have been afraid of the dark.
Funny, isn't it?

But there is something comforting about those trees,
they are just so familiar to me.

It's a void that I can't quite quit,
as I hang onto the dry, rough bark,
and I try to reignite my spark.

Sometimes my depression is the black water.
The water that keep you down under.
Where it suffocates you.

But I always prefer to see those dark trees,
they are just so familiar to me.

When i'm in the trees, I know I can pull through,
but I could make a huge blunder,
and I will be lost and doomed to wonder.

But at least in the water, one can see the light.
It sits at the surface just waiting for you.
But in the woods, there is no sky.

But I still like the trees,
they are familiar to me.

You may be wondering why,
i'm not bothered by the lack of blue,
well in the woods, I can take my time to become new.

I have two types of fears,
the scary, dark waters full of questions,
and the long lasting, sad, dark woods.

But I will always want those trees,
they give a sense of security.

The water tries to end me for good,
it makes my mind part of these dark obsessions,
but in the trees, I'm able to make these confessions.

Sitting on an island
that was much too small.
It was covered in little gray pebbles,
I tried to sit tall.

The wind blew strong,
I huddled in my shawl.
I'm sorry my head ducked low,
it's just been too much this fall.

Leaves were swirling in the river before me,
and I uncurled from my ball.
The wind made waves in the water,
and I started to crawl.

The image was distorted,
I couldn't see it all.
The water keeps on rippling,
and I started to call.

Splashing at the water,
the face makes me bawl.
I look around at everything dying,
every time the leaves drop in Fall.

Many years ago,
you met the love of your life.
You didn't ever think,
that your lives would come to strife.
When you both had a child,
the tension could be cut with a knife.
But you told yourself several times,
that things would be alright.

What do you love most about your love right before you?
Are they your comfort
when everything falls apart?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

Still many years ago,
you had a very best friend.
Together, you guys had everything
and you thought it would never end.
You said your friendship was unbreakable,
it would never bend.
When high school finally ended,
you spoke of the letters you will send.

What do you love most about the happy person before you?
Will you miss them terribly
when you both leave?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

An empty glass is placed
on the table with a clink.
The person who was drinking
is too drunk to reach the sink.
It's been going on like this
for much longer than you think.
Do you see the color of their cheeks?
You would almost say they're pink.

What do you love most about this drunkard right before you?
Are they some sort of anchor
that you can hold on to?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

The next morning they wake up,
and the doorbell makes a loud ding.
They yell at you to answer it,
and you're too choked up to sing.
You get your child ready,
you don't want them to feel the sting.
As you pass by the drunkard on the couch,
you decide to take off your ring.

What do you love most about their spiteful yelling before you?
Do you find it endearing
that they always pick on you?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

A friend you haven't seen,
since they walked out the high school doors.
Has their head held high,
and they look down at you on the floor.
You say hello to them,
and their look shakes your very core.
You both were once good friends,
but do they even know you anymore?

What do you love most about the arrogant expression before you?
Are they still your happiness
even though they don't know you?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

A little hand comes from behind you,
and it grips you so tightly.
It squeezes you for comfort,
and you smile slightly.
For your sending off your small child,
whose eyes shine brightly.
You let go of their hand,
and they danced on tiptoes, so lightly.

What do you love most about the dancing child before you?
Does it make you laugh
when they shyly hold your hand too?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

When the long day is over,
and you and your child arrive at home.
You discover they are not there,
there's another ring sitting on a small dome.
You no longer wish to see,
where your friend and drunkard went to roam.
You're just so happy that once upon a time,
they were friends you welcomed in your zone.

What did you love most about those people no longer before you?
Were they once happy
when they were with you?
What did you love most,
about the people that you knew?

The bell rang
a hopeful tone to all the students
for it means their torture is over.
But not for the boy.
For he'll get followed,
and teased.
Horrible words flung at him
as he exits the cold halls.
He puts his head down
and keeps on moving,
ignoring the cruel jibes.
He has to ignore them,
because those words
do not define him.

He's outside now
and he falls down.
No one tripped him this time.
Everyone was laughing
surrounding him
in a cruel circle.
He felt like a circus freak,
the clown that made everyone laugh
at his own expense.
I'll do it.

"Everyone back off!
The boy heard a voice break through.
"What's you're problem!
"Leave him be!"
The crowd dispersed,
and the boy sat there quietly.
Preparing to face his new attacker.
But this kid didn't attack him.

I reached out my hand
The boy looked up slowly,
he saw the hand
outstretched toward him.
I saw him breathe deeply,
Then he reached for my hand.
There was an instant connection,
an understanding between them.
The boy looked up at the kid
his grateful smile
made the kid happy.
I'm glad I intervened

The boy was helped up,
and escorted by the kid,
out of his Hell.
I think this will work.
I think I can help him,
and he can help himself.
He just needed a hand,
to pick him up,
when he's knocked down.

I'm scared,
I might get bullied too
"You don't have to help me."
The boy whispered quietly.
I froze at those words.
He sounded so alone,
so helpless.
I was like that once.
"I do, and I will"
The kid whispered back.

It's hard to fight this all alone,
....but the start of the solution needs that helping hand.

I was like him once.
Constantly bullied.
I watched him during my class,
And the memories flooded back.

I was falling again,
My face smashing into the ground,
For my arms were full of books,
so I couldn't break my fall.
Kids were laughing,
my nose was bleeding,
God there was so much blood.
But it got worse.
There was more blood to come.

The boy sat in class,
not really focusing on the lesson.
His head was throbbing,
and his wrist was swollen.
He didn't want to go home today,
he would have to hide it.
His parents couldn't know,
because then they would move,
and he would never fix this
on his own.
But it was becoming too much.
He turned his head
he made eye contact
with another kid.

I had to move
when I was beaten too many times
there was so much blood...
Wait,
Is he looking at me?
He is,
Oh God,
I didn't mean to stare.
Can I even help him?

That kid looked away,
and the boy sighed deeply.
It hurt to breathe,
It hurt to just even exist.

What horrible things to live through.
...But it's the start of the memories that spark the solution.

I wanted to write a poem.
About something very important.
Something that should have never happened.
Something that we can't just ignore.
But for a solid hour I couldn't remember,
what I was writing for.

Was it for the people we lost that day?
The people who lost someone?
The pride we once felt,
gone as a nation crumbled,
our unity was threatened,
and our fear was amplified.

How can I even be breathing right now?
I expect the tears to fall.
I feel them,
but they just won't come out.
All I see when I close my eyes,
are images of that day.

I was to young to remember it clearly,
but I saw enough pictures,
too many pictures.
The day we realized we weren't invincible,
was the day the Twin Towers fell.
That day is today.
That day was Hell.

I just wanted to write a poem,
one that would't be inflicted
with sadness and with rage.
Maybe it will be one about love,
maybe I can make that change?

This one will have a happy ending,
everything I write is too bitter sweet.
But I knew what day today was,
and I decided to write while knowing
what this day will do to me.

I walked into school this morning
and I looked around.
I spoke to people before class started.
Not one of them mentioned this day,
most of them didn't even know what day it was.
That saddens me,
and angers me.

These are the same people
who will say they care,
but never actually do anything in person.
I cried last night,
I cried today.
I said the Pledge of Allegiance
with so much conviction.
The rest of my class didn't say it at all.
They never do.

It's disrespectful
to forget what day today is.
As if people don't have the time
to take just a moment,
one moment out of their day,
and remember.

I wanted to write a poem,
something that was happy.
But today is not a happy day.
The only comfort I have in today,
is that the towers are back,
our pride is back,
our nation is back,
our hope is back.

Let's just hope that everyone's memory comes back too,
because this day does not deserve
to be forgotten,
so carelessly.


I just wanted to write this poem,
for all who remember,
that today is,
September 11.
Better known as,
9/11.

The boy gets tripped the next day.
I watched him fall again.
The fall disorients him.
It's terrifying to see him so still.

He gets up quickly this time.
He's shaken and scared, isn't he?
The boy glares at his attackers slightly swaying.
He doesn't show his pain.

The other kids start to speak.
Oh God, why would they say that?
The boy stiffens.
I can't watch this anymore.
The boy's eyes are hurt and he never responds.
I'm going now.
I'm gone.

The boy tries to pick up his books,
but they keep escaping his grasp.
The books are being kicked,
and ripped apart.
He loved those books.
He loved his work.
But they were being destroyed,
piece by piece.

He manages to pick them up
and leave this mess.
But the words follow him,
down the halls
and into his classroom.
Everything is being destroyed,
himself included.
He sits in his seat,
in pain.

I saw him pass me in the halls,
I couldn't help it,
I followed him.
He walked into my classroom,
I didn't even know we shared this class.
I saw him sit in his seat,
I walked by him to get to my own.
I saw his eyes,
and it pained me to see,
that he is just as haunted
as I used to be

**** he's in pain
*...But it's the start of someone else's pain all over again.

It all started with a trip.
A simple act of a foot stuck out
in the middle of a busy hallway
but it leads to this boy's downfall.

His arms are full of books and papers,
they scatter as he falls.
Everything moves so slowly,
he can feel their eyes on him,
as he watches the ground come closer,
and closer.

Then he hits the ground,
his face smashing the tile
that makes up the school's floors.
Nothing breaks his fall.

He doesn't want to move.
People are laughing,
poking him,
and nudging him with their feet.
Calling him names.
But no one helps him.

How long he has been laying there,
he doesn't know.
But whoever tripped him,
has started a war against him,
and he'll be ****** if he loses.

Through his refusal to move,
he didn't see the one person watching him.
This shy kid,
so very shy.
This kid didn't know what to do.
Watching,
but never helping,
The bell rang and the kid fearfully ran to class.
Looking back at the other boy's shaking form.

But he didn't see this kid.

The boy picked himself back up,
removing himself from the cold floor,
only then realizing that he's bleeding.
Gathering up his now ****** books
and crumpled papers,
he makes his way to the nurses office
through a now empty hallway.
So he can stitch up
his first battle wound.

In his new conflict.
*...Yet he doesn't realize it's someone else's conflict too

It's interesting to have freedom,
something that one desires fervently,
but now one fears it
as if it were a deadly drug.
And in a way,
it can be.

There is something frightening about freedom.
One realizes that they must take control
of their one short life.
They must decide what their goals are.
Do they serve
a higher purpose?

This fear of responsibility
can weigh one down,
make them feel insecure,
uncertain of what will happen next.
One is in control of their future,
yet terrified of what is to come.

One may want to hide,
and pretend that this wasn't happening.
The pressure may just be too much,
and one may want to end it all,
with a rope,
or a bullet.

But there is so much more life has to offer,
so why end it?
Life will try to beat you down,
so keep getting back up.
Take hold of your freedom,
and love it.

Have the courage to exist

And in the end,
you will be happy.

When you look to the sky
on one of the darkest nights
what are your thoughts?
How do you feel on the inside?

You can't even imagine the destruction that's around you.

Houses are destroyed,
by strong winds that never stop,
by rain that continued to pour,
all through the day,
and all through the night.
Thunder had crashed,
and lightning struck the earth,
burning it on contact
and setting fire to the trees.

It was a whirlwind of devastation,
and it tore everything apart.
Now you're separated from everyone.
You're laying on a tree
that is burnt black,
and is decaying on the ground.

You only want to look at the sky,
the only thing that appears untouched.
It's beautiful,
it's at peace.
And you find yourself wanting to speak.

At first it is soft,
an isolated sound of innocence
in the corrupted world around you.
We

Then it becomes louder
filled with pain and experience,
the evidence surrounds you.
Live

Then you scream it to the sky,
full of rage,
pain,
and regret.
The emotions you feel have drowned you.
Here!

And then once more
you're voice quiets down.
The storm has passed on
and you will as well.
You take a breath as the world goes dark.
*We lived here

Two little horses
one the color of chestnuts,
and the other was as white as snow
saw a lifetime of change.

They saw an escape from their country
in order to achieve freedom,
the freedom that they so desperately desired.

A chance to run free
and feel their legs move ,
and no longer be stiff and unmovable.
They wanted to feel the wind,
breathe the air,
eat the lush green grass.
But they couldn't,
for they were only figurines.

They sat above a fireplace
in foreign lands
during a time of war.
They saw the bombings that broke their legs
and their hearts.
But they were glued back together constantly,
by the love of a girl.

She was only sixteen,
just reaching her prime,
but sounds of gunshots filled the air,
and riddled her with strife.
Her only happiness were the two horses,
and if those were broken,
she would be too.

She clung to them for many years,
too many to count,
and now the little girl is old.
Her hair was no longer blonde
but it was now the color of ash,
her skin lost it's healthy hue
and was replaced with the pale whiteness of the moon.

The two horses watched her grow up,
they played with her
they made her feel safe
and in return she loved them.
She made them feel as if they were alive.
But the sand in the hourglass was always falling
and nothing was changing that.

The horses watched the old woman,
the war no longer troubled her,
it was the illness that controlled her humble life.
Sickness overtakes
the ones who savored every moment.
Disease pities no one,
it just destroys the good.

She has numbered days,
and only God knows when it is time.
But we're all left waiting,
unsure of when the clock will strike the hour of death.
Uncertain of when the hour glass runs out.
The little pieces of sand seem to fall faster
and the clock is so loud.

The two horses can't bear to see it.
She loved them,
and she's fading,
and they are left behind.
If they broke,
then she suffered.
But if she disappears,
then the horses will fade away as well.

The two little figurines sat above the fireplace,
staring at an empty house.
She had left them with only a few words.
"You'll love her, and she'll love you. Just like I did."
and she walked out the door and closed it behind her,
for the last time.

The two horses waited
but she never returned.
The door opened one day,
and the horses were excited,
as the light from the outside world
illuminated the rooms.
Bringing a sense of hope to their dismal existence.
But it wasn't her.

Some other woman came and scooped up the horses.
They were shocked.
They were leaving their home,
they were waiting for the old woman to come back,
but she wasn't,
and they were forced to leave.

Jostled around in a small box,
they feared where they were going.
She left them alone,
and she won't come back for them.
They felt betrayed,
forgotten,
unloved.

The box opened and the light shown through again.
But it did not bring the same hope,
their hope was crushed by the blinding light.
The two horses were taken out,
and placed into the hands
of a seventeen year old girl.

She was gentle and careful,
she held the horses lovingly,
and regarded them with respect.
She murmured to them as she walked up the stairs
and she placed them on their own special shelf.

She whispered to them lovingly,
"I'll do my best to care for you two and love you two,
as much as my Grandmother did.
I promise."

Then the two horses hoped,
that maybe their hearts would be glued back together,
with the new love,
that was the same
as the little girl that they first knew.

I wander the trodden path
As little flowers push through the earth
The sun beats down without any wrath
It settles around me like a warm bath.

There is a slight mist
That clogs my vision
But i'm sure it won't persist
If I keep moving and resist.

The grass here is much thicker
And taller, it has grown
And now I am left to bicker
With how I can't move any quicker.

I think I might have lost my way
Because I am no longer on the path
Fighting through this grassy fray
Where I am now, I can not say.

But i'm sure i'll find the trodden trail
That so many have walked before
But creating a new path could not fail
For I don't have a place to sail.

The grass isn't rough
It is soft and warm
I can relax and remove my bluff
Of one who always looks so tough.

I have never felt such tranquility
In being in an unfamiliar place
It's as if all I needed was some stability
To clear up the misty visibility.

So now I lay down and I close one eye
Thinking about how tomorrow will be
I hum briefly a little lullaby
As I wonder to myself, where am I?

The pendulum swings
echoing inside the clock.
The muffled sound repeats,
tick, tock, tick, tock.

The noise echos hollowly
as if it is too empty to speak.
The rhythm is so off beat,
tick... tock... tick....... creek.

The clock's hands are failing
to point to the numbers on time.
The sound is now unnatural,
tick.. tock... tick...... chime.

The pendulum swings
slowly it falls apart like a thread.
The sound starts to echo,
tick..... tock.. tick....... dead.

The glory days are over,
nothing lasts.
There is no such thing as forever,
look at the hour glass.

This was going to be metaphorical,
something that would make an impact.
But my life is too confrontational,
to even make a solid pact.

I know what some people would say,
that i'm sixteen, and have not faced real problems.
But do you know what problems are in my way,
that block the garden that no longer blossoms.

Everyday I wake up,
I look into traumatized eyes.
These poor children who are seen as a hiccup,
a mistake, that has been made by the unwise.

I do not think they are a mistake,
but I sometimes wish they weren't born.
Abusive homes that made them ache,
echo in their souls that are torn.

How do you fix something so broken?
When you are still trying to find yourself.
How do you get chosen,
to watch shells of children beg for themselves?

Am I a kid?
I can't be one in this situation.
I put on a lid,
and shut out my childish temptations.

Too much too soon,
it suffocates me.
I love them so much that I swoon,
when they cry from the pain that won't leave them be.

I try, God knows I do,
to help them live.
We helped one before and he has become new,
but the others, I fear, can not understand what we give.

How do you teach a child creativity?
Or teach them that hitting, is not love.
How do you teach them to act independently?
When they act as one to not get smacked from above.

When does this madness end?
Can it all become normal?
Forever, changes and bends,
I should have known it all would crumble.

One of them is afraid of the dark,
another is afraid of closed doors.
The monster in the dark is real and it sparks,
the other to be locked in rooms alone, fearing the war.

The security blanket was burned long ago,
it must be knit back.
Patch by patch we sow,
and hope to God they don't enter the black.

The glory days are over,
they have been for a long time now.
I hope I can help these children find a four leaf clover,
they need the luck, i'll help them, I won't bow.

Little lights,
that are far above my weary head.
They shine so bright that I can't see,
because I am blinded.

Dense treetops,
cover the sky above me.
Those lights have vanished,
I shiver as a cool breeze encompasses me.

Branches snap,
the sound echoes through the forest
Like a loud bell reverberates over the land.
Heavy snow falls from the trees above.

Icy paths,
test my center of gravity.
Can I stay on my feet? I must leave.
I can't move any faster or I will fall.

Darkest sky,
where are those little lights?
Black clouds cover the horizon,
and there is no telling where I am going.

Moving clouds,
separate to let me see,
the little lights that shine brightly,
and lead me through this night.

Little lights,
if I die
do me a favor,
and burn down this forest.

Chariots,
please just carry me
the rest of this distance,
because I can't walk anymore.

Sleepy mind,
don't black out now.
The chariot is right there,
just keep going.

Cold metal,
burns as I touch it.
But I drag myself onto it.
I need to make it out.

Closing eyes,
life flickering off.
The feel of cold snow blanketing my body.
There is no chariot to save me.

Little lights,
start to become fuzzy.
This forest must burn now.
For I will never exit.

The clock is ticking
and chimes loudly,
the sound echoes through the walls.
Thoughts are racing
and move swiftly,
through the mind and halls.

The day is approaching

Feet are running
and losing speed quickly,
harsh breaths fill the air with shock.
Wheels are turning
in the head so rapidly,
a door makes a sound due to a loud knock.

The day is approaching

Eyes are closing
and the body is trying desperately,
to control the apprehension that it feels.
Fights are increasing
morals decrease dramatically,
and even a good person steals.

The day is approaching

Emotions are battling
and the war had begun so quickly,
that the group did not know their cause.
Lies are encompassing
and people sit securely,
as if it'll all be over when there's an applause.

The day is approaching

We are losing
and no longer carefully,
choose the paths that have been taken before.
A fight worth fighting
and charging into battle skillfully,
is still something we can't just ignore.

The day is approaching

Place the flowers with meaning
and just stand and reminisce calmly,
try not to remember why they are in that grave.
A partner in crime dying
and their friend screaming crazily,
because it was the one life that they couldn't save.

The day is approaching

Just keep constantly trying
and one day they'll go there soothingly,
to seek the comfort and advice of someone they knew.
That friend will still be crying
and letting go of them will never go easily,
no one ever knew that they were due.

The day is approaching

Come out of hiding
time is moving so slowly,
there is nothing to truly fear.
See the world is moving
everything happens so vividly,
your mind is the only reason that you're stuck here.

The day is approaching

The clock is ticking
and chimes loudly,
the sound echoes through the walls.
Thoughts are racing
and move swiftly,
through the mind and halls

Just don't leave until the day comes
and this all ends

Staring out the window,
at the deep snow so white,
I feel pulled to the snow,
and the woods that are not bright.

I exit through the door,
and slam it behind me.
That statement shook the floor,
i'll go where no one will be.

My fingers are numbing,
as I trudge through the snow.
Beneath my black hood, my head is throbbing,
I'm not sure where to go.

Snowflakes falling,
slowing my steps.
Can I make it without failing?
I have to get what I once kept.

Moving away from the warm house,
back to the darkening woods.
As small as a mouse,
I feel, and hide under my hood

Long black hooded cloak,
to blend into the background.
Vanishing like smoke,
I am not bound.

Hood falling over my eyes,
but yet I can still see.
This is not my demise,
don't worry, it can't be.

I am the main character,
that has now reached the edge.
That wooded area is darker,
but it's better than looking out over the window ledge.

Now I enter the black,
I am swallowed by the shadows.
Fear is what I lack,
i'm not watching life through the windows.

"Welcome Home."
...
Now just imagine what those words could mean.
Can you picture yourself as a returning war Veteran,
stepping into your house that you haven't seen in years.
Picture it.
The overwhelming sense of home
makes you want to break down and cry
cause you knew you missed home,
but once you got there you realized just how much you missed it.
...
Now picture this instead.
You're a runaway teenager
about 17 years old.
Could you imagine that you were gone for a year.
You left because you felt misunderstood,
and throughout your travels
you realized just how much you needed your home,
because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.
Sitting on your front steps crying
not being able to knock on the door
not thinking you'll be welcomed
and then your parents open the door
and all they say is
"Welcome Home"
...
Can you feel the emotions behind those words,
and not just the speaker's emotions,
but who is being spoken too.
Could you think of their story?
If they were wearing a nice suit,
and taking a long deep breath.
Would you think that person has been distant for some time due to their job,
and is trying to make up for it?
Or, if it was a teenager whose clothes were in tatters
and they seemed to be in bad shape
just sitting on the steps crying.
Could you imagine his story?
Would you think about him being a runaway,
and not thinking he would be accepted home again.
Now imagine that,
the pain of being shut out of your home,
how you could be so close,
or you could live in a house,
and it's just not a home.
What makes a home a home anyways?
...
What makes a home,
are the people who will always say
"Welcome home,"
no matter how long you were away,
no matter what you have done.
...
*Welcome Home.

You're moving ,
mocking my very existence.
The lights are your tools
to blind me.
And it's working.

But I will not bow,
this is not my final exit.
The battle has just begun,
and you, my reflection, can not hurt me,
I dare you to bow.

This ****** mirrored room is my mind.
But you can not be me.
...
*I'm the only me there is.

Suffocation,
hands gripped tight around a convulsing throat.
Body twitching, trying to free itself,
air flow stopping.

"Listen to me..."

Pale white hands,
forced away the ones on the throat.
Fists pounded into the stomach,
and rattled against the skull.

"Don't leave me..."

Bodies hitting the floor,
with weightless thumps.
Two gleaming knives,
stuck in two different backs.

"I did it..."

Darkness filled the room,
a dark cloaked figure floated in.
The figured bowed its head,
death himself was forcing tears back.

"To protect you..."

Footsteps echoed in the metal halls,
a mournful cry.
By a devastated boy,
crouched before the man.

"My son... understand..."

Hushed conversation,
between the two.
A story to be finished,
a story to be told.

"This was no accident..."

The body on the floor,
said one more thing too hushed, too melancholy to hear.
One last faint breath,
sorrowful death swooped in and took him away.

*"My son, this was all meant to be..."

Thousands of mirrors,
you're everywhere.
Or is it that i'm everywhere?
Who are you?
Who am I?

The mirrors are shimmering,
nothing could be prettier.
Except that I know it's all a lie.
I dare you to reveal,
you're true self.

The mirrors lost their glow.
Now there are shadows everywhere.
...
*My reflection, the end is coming, you'll see

You're spinning so rapidly,
my reflection, you're trying to deceive me.
Well I have recovered from my shock,
and it will be to your dismay.
I dare you to deceive.

I want to break these mirrors,
no more of this.
I want my reflection to go.
This insecurity, this lie,
that's not me.

These mirrors are rotating with my moving reflection.
And i'm standing still.
...
*If someone could only see this room

The music has started,
I dare you to move.
The lights flash and spin.
your mind has hit a wall now,
hasn't it?

I saw you walk into the room,
and I swore I knew you.
You're frozen looking at me.
It was me in the mirror, not you,
my mind is spiraling with the lights.

I'm stuck in this mirrored room with my reflection.
Then you moved.
...
*But I didn't