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That's what the gavel screams
Echoing on the steel bracelets
Bolted to my wrist
Convicted of 32 counts of ******
403 counts of manslaughter and torture
Unanimous vote by the laughing jury
Eyes struck cold with the fear
A mass murderer before their eyes
Solitary confinement for me
*******, bolted, and chained
To four walls playing ghost in my ears
Whispering the verdict
****** weapons found in my hands
Set fire to the bodies
So they couldn't laugh anymore
Played cat and mouse with their tongues
My scars aren't a joke
Yet I still hear the laughter
Driven mad enough to hear
32 kids, 68 adults, 303 other voices
I had to silence
I couldn't take it
The laughter, paralyzing glares
Smiles embedded in ruby eyes
Not finished.
I never suspected I had OCD
Until I replayed your voicemail
On the answering machine
A total of twelve times
Every evening
Just to hear your voice again
Or until I opened your dresser drawer
Thirty times
Before I went to bed
Just so I could smell
Your leftover scent
Wafting into the air
Or until I rearranged my shoes
In the closet four times
Before I left the house
Because you hated tripping over them
On your way out
But I knew I didn't have OCD
When I finally locked the door
And turned off the light
And made the bed on your side
For the very last time.
Inspired by the OCD poem performed by Neil Hilborn.
How am I suppose to be everything they expect me to be when I feel so alone?
Thinking of your cold fingers  tracing my spin and making circles on my neglected skin,  makes the air I breathe thin.  Your eyelashes flutter with embarrassment as you try to to steal a kiss from the nape of my neck that was yours all along. Shivers wrap around me like a cloak though all I feel is your body's warmth.

Come home faster my dear.
I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I can hear your ghost in the kitchen
washing the same dish 6 times because
you won’t be able to sleep with ketchup
staining your second favorite dish in the

You told me that if you were a tree you
would want to be a maple, because in
Autumn they leave red finger prints on
sidewalks like ****** clues left behind
at the scene of the crime.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I see your ghost sitting on top of
the cushioned window seat so you can
count the rain droplets running across
the glass outside, one finger tracing a
path or water and one finger twisting
your hair again and again.

I told you that if I was a tree I would be
a willow, my arms reaching down to the
ground you stood on, roots reaching out
for the sidewalks you walked on, trunk
reaching up to the clouds you loved
more than you loved me.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I am a willow constantly weeping.
Do you see me, little child,
hiding underneath your bed?
My skin decaying, pulsing green,
my eyes scraped out, my lips bright red.

The light will not push me away,
as you dream of horror.
The blood and intestines of my prey,
mix in with other gore.

Rest your head on your soft white pillow,
now dripping red with death.
Your legs falling down from your bed
are warm with my hot breath.

Mommy comes in late at night,
for she had heard you cry.
But did she know, little one,
that she was the next to die?

Your bed is my holding place,
full of guts and bones.
The sound that lures to your sleep,
is my victims' screams and moans.

My hands have turned to bony claws
that run down your innocent face.
I will make your ****** sweet,
and I will not leave a trace.

I'll chain you up, and lock you up
in a cage just for you,
as you sleep and dream of me,
and the horrible things I'll do.

So go to sleep, my little child,
and of pleasant things you'll dream,
for that's the last thing you will do,
before you give your final scream.
If I died tomorrow
I'd not only leave behind notebooks and pens,
Pastels and chalky handprints on walls,
But entire worlds and emotions stronger
Than the winds that make skyscrapers dance.
I'd leave behind scribbled screams and
Sacred secrets blurred together with
Reds and pinks that passionately slur into
Truths that have never been told.
I'd leave behind dragons that exhale purrs of wisdom that can be harmlessly crafted
Into beautiful cat eye shaped diamonds,
Which would decorate the neck of
Each breathing creature.
And children born with a thousand unshrivable
Hearts that beat for every being,
And hold nothing but compassion
That burns smile shaped scars into every mind.
If I died tomorrow,
I wouldn't leave behind anything special,
Just the worlds I'd hope to greet with
Arms held high and a happiness that will
Prance across fields of sunflowers.
There's a stream,
splashing and gurgling,
sending up in the air a single bead of water,
sun beams giving a lightbulb's twinkle
  and inside lying fragments of it's history,
 I wonder if it has a tomorrow
As I daydream about it's mysteries;

The path down the stream,
taken within the flow
with other waters,
in and out of the gills of a baby minnow,
over and through smoothed rocks,
Seeping from a canal
racing through locks,
drifting down straights with no bends
Left from the **** of a stag weekend,
And before that a can of cider,
and before that a tube in a mechanical assembly line,
from a water tap,
that came from a reservoir,
Which fell from clouds above it's perimeter,
and before that splashed from ocean froth,
lifted up in a collision of waves like a table cloth
after being taken on the hull of a speed boat
carrying ******* from a river,
where it had once briefly been on a paddle
from a man fishing to make his living.
And further up the river where it divides into streams and then nothing,
and then famine,
moist ground from tears,
It had been someone suffering.

A million lives
entwined in a drop of water,
each one a coincidence,
coinciding just by chance
the spectrum of it's experience of us is wide,
and with each and every drop the water empathised,

Tears at a wedding,
At a funeral,
Christmas spirit in mulled wine,
A plume of sea water from the belly of a jellyfish,
Pushed forward through it's life,

A trillion drops of water helping to make gravity decide
How high or low to go to make the tide,
Unified in direction
helped by the sun's and the moon's light,
Does it take the love of one direction (not the band)
to be unified?
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