i cannot wait for the day
i look at you
or say your name
or even see your picture
and feel absolutely
n o t h i n g

Pretty Girl, Nice Girl
(she hides behind the smile)
Beautiful Girl, Smart Girl
(the night she spends alone)
Popular Girl, Smiling Girl
(she screams without a voice)
Quite Girl, Shy Girl
(what she wants is out)
Simple Girl, Normal Girl
(heart hidden behind a wall)
That Girl,  This Girl
(she starts to lose her grip)
Pretty Girl, Nice Girl
(she is gone without a trace)

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

An ear to ear smile
A status that says I'm fine
And the world believes

i want to be pretty
I want to be kind

i want to be loveable

i want to be wanted

instead

i got this ugly face
ugly personality
this ugly body
that makes everyone go away

I want to love myself
but i hate myself

i want to die die die
no i just want to be perfect

I want what she has
i know i never will

what do you see in her
that you cant find in me

you like because
you love despite

and you say you love me
but never despite

you like her because
she is all this and that
i cant be any of those and im sorry

why cant you just love me

well i do hate myself
a lot
so who doesnt give you the right
to hate me too?


its hard to stay sober
from self-hate

its the strongest drug
i’ll ever take

hooked on its bitter taste
hanging by its threads

tangled in its promises
that nothing will be good

for me atleast.

End.

I wonder how the dark makes mirrors of windows.
It's sad.
That when i look out, past my existence, into the darkness, all i see is a reflection of myself.
Why do the nights not allow us to see others?
Where does the dark hide goodwill and love, that it so fiercely doesn't let us find them?
And i wonder about windows and mirrors.
for is glass ever so transparent that all you will ever see is through?
Or can transparency be tainted by transient plays of light and dark and sun and moon and stars. By ourselves and our perceptions that we limit with the games of lights and shadows that our minds play.
and i think that if darkness makes mirrors of windows, empathy makes way for clarity and understanding.
For i was staring at my reflection in the night dressed window when my light went out.
within was now as dark as it was out.
And in the darkness i was able to see what i couldn't in the light.
the fickleness of glass, and the lies that mirrors tell us.
To make us think that we are alone in a darkness when we venture to look out.
To blind us of everything by reflecting only our selves.
inevitably its the imbalances; of light and dark, of inside and outside, of myself and others, that blind us.