The devil lives inside your head and
causes tidal waves of evil destruction
that crash and burn into flames.

The devil creeps into your sleep,
disturbs the tortured mind,
and makes himself smile with delight.

They are certainly no sorts of a dream,
but they still manifest
in forms of painful mental images
during the seemingly muted
hours of sleep
that excruciatingly exceed
the pain of any nightmare.

One night...

I arrived in a mansion.
It had a big, dark dining room
and upstairs were the white
walls and halls.
In the corner was
my cousin, stabbed and
her tiny three-year body
hidden under a blue blanket.

they also came after me but
before I could break away,
I was shot.
and I died.
and I walked around
like a lonely ghost,
floating and
nothing hurt.

One night...

I got to the airport
and boarded the plane.
Something was wrong.
I said goodbye to
everyone and watched
the others' planes take off.

Abruptly,
they were consumed by
fire and shattered,
plunging to the ground.
Somehow, I stayed on my plane.

We took off and
the last things I saw
were your classic royal blue
sweatshirt with a
burning face above it
and the beautiful, blue sky
ahead of me.

One night...

I appeared in huge house
of crazy paths in the
middle of nowhere.
I tried so hard to leave,
but I would have been
slaughtered by the landlord.

I slowly walked around
in circles for what felt like
forever.
I couldn't get out.
Despair hungrily attacked and took over
so the only effort I chose to make
was the effort to drown myself.

One night...

We were in your bedroom, waiting.
Where were you?
Your drunk mother sat on the
ottoman in the living room,
giving us a disgusted look.

We fled to the basement
and found you playing
video games.
Your aunt sat in a chair
off to the side holding her
untended broken wrist and
abused by her sister.
You had red marks down your arms.

Then your mother
came downstairs in a rage
and your aunt flew out
the sliding door
along with all of us.


The devil makes his hushed exit
And says goodnight

Until the next time.

i let your hand go, softly,

and

we parted our
separate ways.

the tracing in the sand
was washed away by
the foamy edges
of the gentle waves.

the driftwood
was swept out by
the misty tide
and off the shore

away from the
salty coast,
into the eternal,
pristine sea.

the violin solo was
carried by the breeze
and the tubas dove
deeper into their octave

the final breath of your name
touched my tongue,
and it was our
final goodbye.

i am sitting on a cobalt blue stool
in your placid, dull kitchen
with my head in my hands.
you're gone.

there is a hazy
veil of grey
that covers the late
afternoon sky
and a stagnant silence
stretching to the ceiling.

everything is still;
the empty glass
in front of the
vacant violet vase
and
your ill-fitting
jean jacket
that is lying on the
dark wood.

my stomach crawls around.
my eyes are almost shut.
my legs are numb.
you are not here.

only the clock ticks,

and tocks.

I hate how you yell at me.
You call me
rude,
disrespectful,
ungrateful,
and so very rude.
I really am trying my best,
I just can't live up to
your level of expectations.

I don't want to
talk to you two,
or be around you
when you're with him,
or tell you
I am afraid.

Your potent opinions
seep into each other's
and make loud noises
that ring in my ears
like a stone-cold
thunderstorm.

You care, you don't.
You're strict, you're not.
You yell quietly, you loudly speak.
Stop doing this to me,
I can't handle any more of it.

I squeeze my eyes shut,
I cover my ears,
I take deep breaths,
because I don't want to hear.
I try to shut my mind down
because I don't want to know
what is going on outside of me.