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Jemimah May 2019
Why do I keep on crying?
I do not know what for
Why do I keep on crying?
It's happening more and more

Why do I keep on crying?
It's not that I'm upset
Why do I keep on crying?
My eyes keep getting wet

Why do I keep on crying?
It's nothing I have done
Why do I keep on crying?
I've just been having fun

Why do I keep on crying?
It's happening everyday
Why do I keep on crying?
I hope it's not here to stay.

Why do I keep on crying?
I just can't seem to stop
Why do I keep on crying?
My head is going to pop

Why do I keep on crying?
Think something's wrong with me
Why do I keep on crying?
Don't let anybody see

Why do I keep on crying?
I feel I'm starting to moan
Why do I keep on crying?
Just want to be left alone

Why do I keep on crying?
Don't really want to talk
Why do I keep on crying?
Think I'll just go for a walk.
Whitney B Feb 2012
On my knees
crying
crying,
crying for all the pain
Every single thing that's hurt me
crying for yesterday
Crying for all those lost memories
Never to be seen again
Crying for all the things Iv'e lost
Crying, because it's the end
I'm crying
Crying
Crying hard
Crying like I never knew
Crying for my family
Crying tears for you
Luca Molnar Oct 2011
I am crying, because I can't find my place in this world.
I am crying, because nobody can find their place in this world.

I am crying, because that twenty-year- old girl is condemned to death, because cancer is unstoppably spreading in her body. I am crying, because not only her body and her face will disappear from Earth, but her spirit as well, as it will have no home here anymore.
I am crying, because that paralysed truck driver will never be able to drive anymore, and he will never be able to have a son. I am crying, because this has always been his biggest wish, but it will never come true.
I am crying, because I am unable to help them.

I am crying, because time flies too fast, because what is born will die too, because  those who stay miss so much those who leave. I am crying, because there will always be something that casts a shadow on our happiness. I am crying, because we are all unsatisfied, but we know we shouldn't be, for we could be more.

I am crying, because fading in the blur shouldn't be the aim of life. I am crying, because I am scared of the future, because I don't know what eternity is like. I am crying because I am so alone.

I am crying, because something aches so much.
Am crying, crying, crying in the rain...

Waiting a long wait that never seems to end
am living a lie which spawns over and over again
fighting the unease in the middle of my friends
Nowhere to go, I am crying, crying in the rain

Holding out my hand for her to hold it again
making up for the cold nibbling here and everywhere
to see the feeble flame leap at the wind to remain
my eyes find faith and start crying in the rain

The sunsets and the sunrise, how do they suffer
This dying every day for a chance to live again
Me and her every night, we break our chains
only to go our ways leaving me crying, crying in the rain

I wreck myself everytime our paths cross
She too shall be hurt, I know this in my pain
Our fences are down and trouble's coming like a train
My mind is want and aches, my heart is also slain

I am crying, crying, crying in the rain...
We look for love and envy people who have found theirs. What happens when you find the right person at the wrong time? When you meet only to part ways. To live and to die every day for a shot at life again!
Deadwood Jawn Jul 2019
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?
Don't you care that he's crying?

I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..
I'll look after you dear..

G̭ͮͮ̄͗ͬ̿ͧȉ̠͓͉͉̹̭͈͕̏͛͊̉v̩̦̹̲̮͖̭̼ͦ̂̒ͩͫ̓ͨ̊ͯe̱̯̙̓̈ͩ͛̾ͦͫͧ̒ ̳ͤ̇̃ͩ̌̎ͯ̊h̼̯̱̯͙̹̣̩͉ͮͮ͌ĕ̮͈̠r̬̲͗ ̘̟̈ͮ̔ͨ̌b̠͙̝̮̣̥͌͑ͧ́̃ͮ͛̽a̯͕̗͚̽̉̀c̻͙͍ͫͩ͑̽ͪͯ̄k̼̰̮̤͇͍̉̚!̯̰̱̪̈́




G̾ͥ­͓̟͈͓͉͚̉̏̾i̩̦̠̗̺̯͚ͪͭ̓̅͗͒ͭͨṿ͓̰̙̤̬̭͍̳̖̺̻̗̊̽̄̓ͮͯ͛ê͂̎͌̈̅̑̂ͩͨͣ̊͆͑͌ͥͨ̚­͈͍̦̬͚̗̫̩̳̘̙̗̖̳͇̪̖ͅ ̻̙̪̬͕͇̯̲͎̺̦̘̒͂̿̂̈ͅh̬̟͔̻̰̣͔̣͎͎͗̑ͧͩ͛͆́ͪ̑̈ͭ́̄̇̒ͩ̍ͯ̚e͆̋̃̇̍ͬͭ͆͆̊̃̽̑̈́̇̚­͙͉̗̲̦̋̈́r̲̮͉̞̜̟͙̹̤̞̦̰̥̗͎̲̟̝̐ͫ̐ͮ͛͆ͮ͒̅ͧ̂̈̊ ͇̺̲͇̣̱̫̜̬̳̇̈͑ͯͫ̄̋̔͒͑ͯ̔ͦ͌ͯb̻̣͍̻̜̘͚̭̳̬́͊ͬͪ̑̏̈́̅͒ͅä̲̻̲͈͍̘͈̙̱̜̩̹̱͕́̓̆ͅ­̻ċ̫͔͚̬̦̙̝͔̹̮̀̊͋̀͊̓k̹̻̩̤̐ͪͦͩ͋̅̈ͬ̒ ͙̬͖̭̤̱̖͚̣̍͊́͂ͦt̲̟̘͈̻̻̺̖͎͎̟̗̘̽ͯ̇͂̌͗̉̾͒̅ͬ̉ͯ̽̉͑ͭͅo̖̝̲̿ͨͤ̈̒̏̋͊͐ͨ ̰̺̫̩͙̜͇̲̱͇͍͚̜̯̳̪̟͎ͪ͗͒̈́ͮ͑̽ͧͮ͑̊ͨ̊̇ͦͣḿ̻̺̰̥̮͚̹͔̥͈̙ͮ̃̈ͯ̾̂̓̂̌̾͛̐ͪͮe͐̚­̠̱̳͙̠̱͓̙̻̼͎̹͔̻̦̠̐ͣ͆̄ͫ̍ͅ!̳̻͔̙͔͚̫̭̥̰͖ͪͤ̎͐̈́ͮ͂̄̏̍͐̈ͫ̈́̓̂




__
There. Something to do with that . There are none to look after him.
Kartikeya Jain Mar 2018
Do you see
the generation today,
my generation struggling
emotionally
having jarred into their heads
that it's not okay to cry
that it's not good to cry
that it's going to be alright
if you would just stop crying
if you would just wipe the tears off
that crying is for the weak (oh my son is not weak)
that crying wouldn't help
that crying is for the enemies
my generation
was served a lie on the platter
and we gulped it down
our throats without a thought
so that if we ever choke with tears
we'd gulp the lie over and over again
but mothers and fathers
look yourselves in the eye
and tell me if shedding a few tears
didn't turn down your grief
and tell me if shedding a few tears
made you any less a man
made you any less a woman
made you any less a human
Mothers and fathers
look your children in the eye
and tell them
crying is just another emotion
that has the ability
to sit down with your heart
in moments of grief
and be the friend
it needs the most.
tell them
crying is for the strong
crying is for those who feel
crying is for everyone
tell them
crying is okay.
crying is good.
Alexandra Meelan Feb 2019
I was crying
because it hurt
I was crying
because it hurt my feelings
I was crying
because I have feelings
I was crying
because no one cared
I was crying
because no one would help

I stopped crying
because it hurt less
I stopped crying
because I caused myself pain
I stopped crying
because I gave myself
something different to cry about
I stopped crying
because I was strong enough
to handle a different pain
I stopped crying
because I hurt myself.
TheTeacher Oct 2012
Let the tears flow and let the guns go.
  
If men start crying, we'll stop dying
and the killings in the hood would cease.
The prisons would be empty of angry men.....because they've finally found a release.

If men start crying we'll stop dying
and take our rightful place as the head.  No more negative views, news or obituaries to be read.

If men start crying we'll stop dying
and now I'm on my knees.....praying for my life, but not from a gang of thieves.

If men start crying, we'll stop dying
because we're no longer afraid......about the misconceptions about men that have been made.

If men start crying, we'll stop dying
and hiding behind this wall of pride......so much hurt inside .....I need a life preserver to prepare me for this ride.

If men start crying, we'll stop dying
A canoe full of emotions traveling to and fro, but I've held them in so long that I'm about to blow.

If men start crying, we'll stop dying
Do you know what I've been through?  It wasn't a pleasant ride...but God knew what to do.
Jesus loved the world and he cried for it too.  The Perfect one showing me exactly what to do.

If men start crying, we'll stop dying
and become the leaders that God has called us to be.  We'll be the voice of reason instead of the negative images often displayed on TV.

IF MEN START CRYING,  WE'LL STOP DYING.


John 11:35 Jesus wept.
i Apr 2014
i am crying again,
because of him,
because he looks so
perfect in every picture he
takes and in every sunlight
that shines over him.
i am crying again,
because i know he will
never be mine,
and i want him so badly.
i am crying again,
because i promised myself
that i will not fall for him
again. i guess,
i broke my promise.
i am crying again,
because it takes every cell
and fiber in my body,
not to go to the ***** bathroom,
cry it all out and make new scars,
because i am going to the doctor's
in the morning,
and i cannot afford my mom‘s
stupid lectures.
i am crying again,
because i love him too much,
and because i know he will
find the perfect girl someday,
but she won't ever love him
the way that i do.
i am crying again,
because i will never be
yours, g.
and i want to,
so much.
i am crying again,
laying in bed,
looking at your pictures
in my phone,
and i am crying again,
because i will never
feel your lips on mine,
ever.
One foggy morning i woke up to find my father crying in the living room.
I asked him what was happening, but not a word he said.
I walked out the door and ran into my friend at the gate.
he was crying.
I asked him what was happening.
not a word he said.

I kept walking and i saw 2 women in the park crying.
One of them was sobbing so hard that her body shivered.
Then came another woman, crying, she sat between the two other women and hid her face with her jumper.

As i kept walking I saw a man passing me by in a rush,talking on his phone, crying.
A little boy in his ***** school uniform,crying while his mother, who was crying as well walking them both towards the other side of the busy street.

Then i saw it....
Everybody was crying...
A man driving by in his red car...
4 men pulling a canoe to the river...
A woman in black dress carrying a sheet of paper fluttering in the wind.
2 old men playing chess in front of the department store...
All crying....
While doing their regular daily activities...

I thought to myself....
What is happening????

The answer came unexpectedly from myself...
I was crying as well...
Tears running down my face like sweat.

I was standing in front of my Father's graveyard....
With those gravestones around me....
It was just another cold foggy day in Kilkenny.
Those gravestones looked so sad and old.
I thought to myself....
''These people who died a long time ago.
Forgotten and abandoned...
I used to know these people...
When they were still alive and full of hopes for their lives''

'' Now all dead and sad...
Before me....''

I felt the cold wind blowing the dead leaves away...
The fog hanging heavily in the air....
Not a word i said....
Bob B Nov 2018
"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Tears stain your fearful face."
"The country where I was born and raised
Is now a frightening, deadly place."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Tell me why your tears don't cease."
"The journey north is hard, yet we
Yearn to live in a land of peace."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Have you lost faith in your caravan?"
"The president says that we are a threat;
He says that we're the bogeyman."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Because you’re hungry and have no shoes?"
"We've come seeking asylum, yet we
Are now hearing discouraging news."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
What is it that gives you pause?"
"We would like to be heard, but now
The president is changing the laws."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Do you fear the guard, or sentry?"
"They won't let us plead our case;
They're even blocking the ports of entry."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
Why the chaos? Why the disorder?"
"Authorities see our desperation;
They've shot tear gas over the border."

"Why are you crying, mother of two?
You are running and out of breath."
"My future may be uncertain here,
But one thing I know: home means death."

-by Bob B (11-27-18)
Kyra Embers Sep 21
My body shudders
as my hands shake.
I'm crying I'm crying.
I'm crying again.

My senses are flooding
as my eyes sting.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
I'm crying again.

My heart is screaming
limbs stay frozen.
I'm crying, I'm crying.
I'm crying again.

Set me on fire,
burn me down.
Do me a favour,
I want out.

I'm crying I'm crying.

I'm tired of crying again.
It really do be like that now.
Alexander  Khamala Opicho
(Eldoret Kenya ;aopicho@yahoo.com)

you big headed ikhongo murui, why are you ever crying?
i were born found you crying, i am aged you are still crying
can't  you find a solution to your problem ?
who wronged you and your are the stone
or are you a harbinger of doom to my people
my  brother in laws  of isukha and idakho,
we are tired of your ugly  grievous tears
the ugly crying face that cites no reason for its grief
you stay near the kakamega provincial police station
why cann't you report those who offended you to the station
are you  a messenger of doom?
because whenever you cry
fate befalls your neighbours
as you cry  a mother miscarries
as you cry road carnage happens
as you cry suicide happens
as you cry husbands desert wives for prostitutes
at Lurambi commercial *** dens
why can't stop crying  for the sake of peace
you malicious crying stone of kakamega forest.
A man took his life
Just the other day
Left behind his wife
Then she blew herself away

A gang of racists came
Beat a man until he was dead
That poor man was not to blame
It was the prejudice eyes instead

I see this world around me now
And I am crying tears of blood
I wish it could be changed somehow
So I am no longer crying tears of blood

Addict asleep there in the road
Getting off on his highs
To the Devil, his soul is sold
You see death in his eyes

Young girl all on her own
Left home just to live in Hell
Now she feels so very alone
On a street corner, her body to sell

I see this world around me now
And I am crying tears of blood
I wish it could be changed somehow
So I am no longer crying tears of blood

Politician, corruption he always gives
Always going on holiday, somewhere sunny
In his life of luxury he always lives
He is getting rich on the public money

A soldier died in the line of duty yesterday
The ****** that shot him was never seen
His body now lies in a land so far away
His life was ended and he was only eighteen

I see this world around me now
And I am crying tears of blood
I wish it could be changed somehow
So I am no longer crying tears of blood
copyright Chris Smith 2010
Beatrice Prior Jan 2015
Bless me with your grace,
Beloved,
Give me intentions,
Give me promises,
Give me vows,

Support the signs of my prayer,
Give shelter to my heart,
Give me new excuses,
Give me rains of dreams,
A measure of seasons,

Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Destinations are angry,
Because paths have been lost,
Come and take me away,
That's all I wish for,

This is my path to freedom,
You belong to me. Yes,
Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Even time has stopped,
How and why has this happened?
Wish you come this way,
Just like some blessing,

You are solace to mu soul,
You are my prayer,
Bless me with your grace,
Do your gracious deeds,
Sometimes take a look here too,

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Are you listening?
I am crying,
Are you listening to me?
Why am I crying?

Beloved...
Crying because I loved you
Crying because I hate you
Crying because I believed you
Crying because I was with you
Crying because I still need you
Crying because I still want you
Crying because I’m stupid
Because I still love you
Sometimes you can’t stop it
ShowYouLove Feb 2018
My God my God do you hear me crying out?
I am in this pit of darkness and sin
My hands and feet are bound
From my lips there comes no sound
This guilt and shame it crushes me
Do you hear me? Do my pleas reach your ears
For I am mourning and weeping in this valley of tears
Save me Lord in your endless mercy
Let me drink deep, for I am thirsty

My Lord my Lord do you hear me crying out?
Do you still hear me even when I doubt?
I know your love for me is more than I deserve
But it is my desire to take this opportunity to serve
You have freed me of my chains washed me white as snow
Help me take these moments and begin to grow
Do you hear me Lord crying out in thanksgiving
For I am once more back among the living

My Jesus my Jesus do you hear me crying out?
Do you hear the praise and wonder as I come to shout?
How can we keep from crying out
To share what God has done
How can we keep from crying out
And not wanting to tell everyone
How can we keep silent
When we know just what it cost
How can we keep silent
When we find the one that was lost
How can we keep still
When we have the legs to dance
How can we keep still
When we have this great romance
How can we hold back
When we have been given everything
How can we hold back
When the very rocks cry out and sing
How can we not feel another way
When we take the time to sit and pray
Benji James May 2017
Once in a lifetime
You'll meet that one in a million
And you can't help but drown
In such divine beauty and grace
Lost for words
with every move that she makes
Feels like I was falling deeper
This girl she was a keeper
Never thought I'd ever mistreat her

Oh honey can't stop
Crying over you
Straight from my heart
I'm breaking in two
Still, can't bear that I lost you
And memories of you
Are playing on repeat
All these thoughts
I can hardly sleep
Oh honey
Still crying over you

Everything fell,
went stone cold sour
Go through this situation
In my head for hours upon hours
How did we grow so close
Just to be torn apart
Words I should have left unspoken
We're put out in the open
And that's when we slid
into a constant fight
I'll never forget that night
Because I was so wrong,
And you were so right.

Oh honey can't stop
Crying over you
Straight from my heart
I'm breaking in two
Still, can't bear that I lost you
And memories of you
Are playing on repeat
All these thoughts
I can hardly sleep
Oh honey
Still crying over you

And it's here and now
I realise just how
much I messed up
If I could do it all again
You know I would
Let my insecurities
Get the better of me
Resulting in the hurtful words
I put you through
And I'll never forgive myself
for the hurt
I've caused inside of you
So much heartache
In watching your heartbreak

Oh honey can't stop
Crying over you
Straight from my heart
I'm breaking in two
Still, can't bear that I lost you
And memories of you
Are playing on repeat
All these thoughts
I can hardly sleep
Oh honey
Still crying over you

©2017 Written By Benji James
valencia May 2019
September

from dust and broken glass, from silver and stone, an army arises from their shallow graves. and to this day, no one can remember that this is how it all began.

demons run when a good man goes to war.
that’s what they have always told me. there haven’t been any good men here for a while then, because I can still see demons lurking around corners like shadows.


there have always been things in my life I have learned not to question. you do not doubt the stars in the sky, the ground beneath your feet, or the strength of the northernland. we do not question the northernland.

i like to ask myself questions-
after the sky fell, who gathered it all up and put it back in the sky?
they won’t tell us in school.
when the sky fell, what did the stars taste like?
i think it would taste like fire and pain and sugar, like drinking lighting hot lemonade in the summer.
we don’t ask in school.

thursday



there has never been enough. money, food, water. in school, they teach us about the war. the war has no name, it is just the war. maybe it will someday. no one dares to name it. you do not name the devil.

we bow to the throne of the northernland, unaware that is was born of lies. the cameras are our leader now. they are all we have ever known.

on Sundays we go to church and pray. the crosses will never hang right and are always turning upside down and the priest is always looking pale. we all look pale, now. the cloud of dust from northernland blocks out the sun most days.


friday
I went to Lou's house today. she has a red front gate and ivy growing in her garden. we kicked a deflated kickball around for a bit, but she kept looking over her shoulder. she pretended to drop the ball behind her but couldn't bend down to grab it because her arm is broken, so I went over. tears were hiding beneath her eyes, but she did not say anything. then her dad came out and watched us play. i didn’t like his smile, it was too wide.




when i wanted to go home, he offered to walk me home. i said i could do it by myself. wouldn’t want you to get into trouble he said, somehow smiling wider. lou made herself laugh and smiled too, but it wasn’t a real smile. as we walked home, he didn’t turn his head away from me, even to cross the street. i looked deep into his pupils, which were so wide they covered the colored part. i swore i could see someone behind them, watching. i didn’t say anything. after i went into my house,
he stood out front for a long time, watching. then i heard. shout from the basement but the door was locked as always so i got scared about that instead and when i looked out front again he was gone.

saturday

today in school i fell and skinned my knuckles. the blood that came was strange, reddish-orange. teacher grabbed my hand and bandaged it right away before i could get a good look at it. she said you mustn’t tell your mother.


teacher doesn’t know that mother went to go live in the White Building, a place for people who hear voices and don’t like the government and have to be restrained so they don’t hurt people. i don’t say any of this, i just nod my head ok.

sometimes i worry, about alistair. he’s a gravedigger and everyday when he comes home he looks so empty. he won’t tell me why he’s so sad but once i heard him tell canary that the graves just get bigger everyday and then after a long time he said but there are always to many bodies

i tried to listen more but he found me behind the wall and when i asked him why there were so many bodies he said there’s a sickness, that’s all
then after that teacher made us all wear cottons masks that are itchy and make it hard to breathe.


sunday

on the telly today the man in the suit announcer we had another victory but i don’t understand how we can have victories without winning the war. the man in the suit tried to show a picture but all we saw was a blurry mess because alistair said sometimes things can’t be shown on the telly but i don’t know why. i doesn’t make sense why they would restrict anything anymore. we now what it looks like. a flat landscape paved with bodiesaccented with blood.
we aren’t supposed to know about that though.

in school, teacher tells us there have been no casualties of the war. but only when principal is watching. when he’s not she’s stuffs our coats beneath the crack and the door and tunes the telly to a different station- one that’s fuzzy that she has to hold a hanger to in order for us to see anything. and she’ll flip back and forth between leader of the northernland and say this is propagandam  and then turn the **** back to the man in the suit, and then say this is the truth

i don’t know why teacher tells us these things.

monday

listen- do you hear it? i can hear planes buzzing overhead. teacher says to ignore it. teacher says we aren’t supposed to hear.
alistair never lets me go in the basement. he keys the key round his neck, even when he’s sleeping. he says it’s dangerous down there. but i’ve always been too curious- that’s what principal says. he looks at me with those stern different colored eyes and says curiosity killed the cat every time ms. hoth brings me to his office for doodling. i still have no idea what a cat is. cardeully, he erases my drawings and put the paper neatly into his desk. we waste nothing here. go home is all he says. but i know what he means. walk home in silence and do not ask questions, do not look behind curtains and do not wander off.

today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her.

later, mari pulled me beneath her bed. i tried to say something but she covered my mouth with her hand. they’ll take me for telling you
was all she said.
but i have to tell someone.

i knew the feeling.
after a long time she took her hand off of my mouth and said mums in the garden








while she opened her presents, the mandatory ones from the northernland that are no fun, i tried to look out the window to see her mum. the only thing i could see in the garden was a pile of freshly turned earth. lou caught me looking and grabbed my wrist. she said you mustn’t look.


tuesday
when i come home there is a woman sitting at the kitchen table, and with her there are four ravens. she is royal, i can feel it in the way she sits and breathes and just exists. she looks at her hands and then at me. but this lady is not a guardian angel, like the kind canary says is always looking out for us. i am not an angel. she says. she is not from the northernland, but not from here either. i know is all i say, because i am not alarmed that she is here and that there are cameras and that she does not belong. i know she is not real. and she says i am a godess. i do not doubt her. she sits up, and puts the ravens about her in her hair and on her shoulders and the like. this is an omen. i nod, because why else would a goddess be at my kitchen table? and then she is gone because she was never really there, and i wash my face and make sure i am no longer seeing people that are not there, because i don’t want to go live in the White Building like mum.


wednesday

they are always watching us at recess- we mustn’t stand or walk anymore. we have never been allowed to run. there are cameras everywhere now, too. they see everything like a great waking monster that never sleeps. i thought i would feel safe with the cameras, but the back of my neck feels prickly like there’s somebody standing behind me and when i spin around and look the mushroom is empty except for me.

the only place there aren’t cameras is under alistair bed. i go and hide there sometimes, just to forget the feeling of being watched. that’s where i read the stories that alistair’s written. in them, he talks about a sky as blue as the ocean.
i have never been to the ocean. i remember the sky used to be blue, but never really. now it is a sickly grey.
canary caught me looking at the sky once and pushed my head down. she said don’t let them catch you looking or they’ll put cameras in your eyes.
i believe her.

wednesday

today we went to mandatory meeting, where they passed out rations. there is always less and less then there was last time. while we were there they made us watch a video where the leader of the northernland talked about how well we were doing in the war and how this would almost be over soon. he also reminded us that if we were past curfew there would be serious punishments.
for rations we got a red powder called kool-aid that you mix with water to make juice. we also got a loaf of white bread, a browned banana, circular crackers and a warm jacket. alistair took the jacket and left for work.

canary always looks worried. ever since mom went bonkers i haven’t seen her not wearing her worry lines. i can’t believe she’s only six years older than me. to alistair that doesn’t seem like a long time. to me, six years is an eternity. as long as a war.

canary watched alistair go at the window for a long time, long after he disappeared into the fog. then, all of a sudden, she turned around and said i’ll help you with your homework. i didn’t tell her that i knew how to multiply fractions. mom always used to say that if you were busy you weren’t worried. canary made me a cup of red juice and her hands shook so much she dropped the glass.
pity, that was our last one. it seemed to shatter in slow motion, and i could see every piece break slower and slower.

the day seemed to go by slowly, the cold sleeping into my bones and making me sleepy. i wa so thirsty, so thirsty. i wasn’t allowed anymore water till friday though. if you drink to much of it at once you get sick. i begged canary to let me drink from the stream in the garden but she wouldn’t. it’s black and thick, and smells like nail polish.

the last time i punted my nails was for dads funeral. i remember canary used her last bottle of nail polish to paint my fingers black, so as not to have anybody see the dirt under my fingernails. it didn’t matter, in the end. we were the only ones who attended.

canary is flying together the pieces of the glass with tacky glue. i can’t bear to tell her that all the glue in the world would never be enough. the shards are too small. she’s fills it back up with red juice and fora moment all is well, but then the glass can’t take it anymore and collapses with force into her hands. kool-aid runs down her fingers like blood. intermixed is real blood, from the cuts the glass left. she looked at it for a long time, letting the blood run down her fingers like that.

then she said what a waste

november

alistair is sick. principal gave us ibuprofen but all it does it make him feel empty. he begs us not to give him more but it’s the only things that will take his fever down. he thrashes in bed and screams ****** ****** and i worry he is going to be like mom, always seeing things and hearing things. maybe he can go live with mom in the White Building. mom would like that, if she could remember alistair.

i have been sleeping at school, because canary doesn’t want me to get sick. the dorms are cold and empty and heavily sanitized. i miss canary and i miss alistair but canary won’t let me come home. i don’t know what she would do if i was sick. so i stay. and every night, i say to myself i hate the northernland i hate the northernland i hate
but i say it in my head,  because i am worried they will come for me.
sometimes i worry about canary getting sick. she says promise i wont, sunshine but i know she never worries about herself. teacher gave me flowers to send to alistair. the card says “get well soon” it has been a long time since i have seen real flowers. most are fake, like the ones teacher sent alistair. i don’t mind. it’s the sentiment that is important.





sunday

today at church preacher said and let us pray for our sick
they have stopped re adjusting the crosses. the remain upside down and no one looks. except me. i was looking, while we were supposed to be praying, but canary pushed my head down and said  pretend you can’t see them.
that’s  when i knew she sees things too.

saturday
i remember when i came home from school and found mum. there was paper all over the house, because she’s been doing her drawings. it was on the walls and floor and crinkled up under the boxes, all pictures of the northernland and the pastor and everything. and she said there is no god. there is no god. there is no god. alistair covered her mouth but it was too late, the northernland men were already here. she drew here pictures more violently scribbling and slashing with my art pencils. she drew alistair and canary and father, but not me or her. there was lump in my throat. she picked a new piece of paper and drew god, above us all, but she kept saying there are no gods there are no gods there are no gods, and she slashed and scribbled at the paper, and the northernland men were knocking, watching us through the cameras, and mum pulled me down next to her. i could see blood beneath my skin she held me so tight, and she had. a thousand stars in her eyes that were all spinning, saliva dripped down her chin and  she did not look my my mum anymore. she looked lost. she said the gods have abandoned us.


after the northernland men took her to live in the White Building, her drawings were left on the floor. alistair gathered them all up and threw them in the basement and locked the door. then he put the key around his neck. at least, i think that’s what’s in the basement. i have never told alistair, but i took the last drawing she did, of me and her and a boy. i stuck it with glue to the very back of my dresser drawer, so no one will ever find it. in the picture, my lips looks like there are sewn together with greenish yarn. this has always scared me. mums mouth is open and she is screaming, but there is no tounge inside her mouth. the boy looks normal, and he is holding my hand. this boy is not alistair. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. it’s only a picture.



monday

i keep finding myself in that moment-
when canary broke the glass and cut her hands, spilling red juice and blood like lines on her hands. she sat there for a long time, just looking. maybe it’s stuck with me because she was just looking, when we’re never supposed to look.

the clocks tick slower and slower everyday.


tuesday

teacher wasn’t at school today. instead we have a woman with blinding hair and an accent from the northernland. nobody asked where teacher went.
we don’t want to know. the hanger and the telly were gone, too.

when i got home i was feeling really sick with tears. i told alistair they’ve taken teacher. his eyes widened and he ****** his head toward the camera. canary dig her fingernails into my arm. of course they haven’t was all he said. that’s silly.

then he looked off into nothing for a long time. i just looked straight into the camera.


wednesday

at recess the northernland woman was acting real strange. she sat with us on the pavement and when the camera tune we it’s invasive x-ray eyes away she whispered your teacher has been taken by the northernland.

nobody said anything. nobody says anything, anymore. i think if we even spoke to many of us would cry. and then the cameras would look at us. so we just stared into space.
in our hearts, we already knew. but i still wanted to scream.


thursday

today was idyllic. sun came through the smoke and lit the sidewalk up orange. the woman from the northernland asked us what we would want if we could have any powers. almost everyone said healing. i said flying. maybe it’s because i’m selfish, all i want to do is fly away. but maybe it’s because i’m honest. i’m getting tired of not hearing the truth.

just to see if i could do it i ran all the way home. my feet seemed to leave the ground, its was as if i was actually flying every time i took a step. but then i landed and took off again.
i hadn’t run in a long time.
my chest seemed to hurt with a good  pain, if pain can be good.
i wanted to tell alistair but canary wouldn’t let me see him. i just need to you to get warm was all she said. over and over. but i’m boiling he said. it was quiet for a long time. it’s going to be alright. she said it again. twice. three times.

you know that feeling when you feel sick to your stomach, not because of disease but of fear. and mixed up in that sickness are tears and realization and you feel weak and helpless.  that’s how i felt when they took mum. that’s how i feel now.

i don’t know why, but a sudden hatred for the northernland boils up in my stomach. i think i am going to be sick. i turn around and run, run as fast as i can until i am at a strange gravel alleyway hidden behind some trees. i rest there for a long time, looking into the darkness after the cliff face. i know where i am. i am in the abyss, a place forbidden so long ago by alistair i had never thought to come here. i don’t break rules, i just ask questions. but i am here. at the abyss. where nobody should ever be.

friday
death is a sense. just like touch or smell, death is a feeling. i could feel it in my heart. in my bones and in my veins. it crowded about our house like fog in the summer. and all i wanted in the world was for it to go away.

teacher today told us about the northernland, how it was kind and safe and loved it’s people. the lie seemed to cuddle in her throat. nobody has ever gotten kindness from the northernland. the northernland started the war and has starved and survieled us to no avail. i know there was a time before, but i do not understand how that could have been. but i still haven’t  made peace with the cameras.


the abyss is where people go to go crazy. your screams bounce off the walls of the hole, but you cannot see them because it does not have edges. you cannot see the bottom or the sides of anything, just darkness. then the northernland men in the gas masks come in their yellow trolley and take you away. the abyss is where the devil lives, in a bottomless hole to the middle of the world.







saturday

i met a boy who lives in the abyss. he is made of sunshine and glitter, and plastic and paint and peace and everything that is beautiful.

but he is not really there. instead, he is almost see through. sometimes he is there and sometimes he is not. i know he isn’t real, just an imaginary friend. i am not like mum, who saw imaginary people and thought they were becoming real.

i did not say much to enyo, instead i said the only thing i was thinking. saying it made me feel sick.

i think alistair is going to die.













as i said it, it echoed off the walls of the cliff.
suddenly it was all too much. i was all too much. my heart started beating fast and my mouth felt dry and i stood up. i didn’t mean to cry but i did, big wet tears the dried my skin. i don’t want him to die. i said over and over.
my words echoed against the cliffs, i didn’t  sound like me.
HE CANT DIE
i shouted. HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE  CANT


i woke up a long time later next to enyo. i looked into the void that filled the space between the cliffs and the beyond. i wonder of that’s where heaven is i said. i pointed into the nothingness that felt all consuming. enyo said nothing. he looked as empty as i felt.
a long silence later i said he’s not going to die is he? enyo looked me in the eyes for the first time and i realized his were a beautiful black, layer upon layer of black and brown. he said what do you fear more, the echo or the answer

but enyo was not there at all. he is only imaginary.




sunday

preacher came again to the house and said that alistair is better. that his fever had broken. i didn’t know fevers could break. i asked him about what being sick feels like, and he took me outside to the garden and we sat on the piles of rubble that used to be the neighbors. he said that your brain gets confused, and everything seems fuzzy and mixed up. i can’t help but think that must be awful for alistair, he was always orderly.

monday
today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her. i know who was watching her.


tuesday

i go down to the cliffs, but enyo isn’t there. schools closed for sanitization, so i have nothing to do.  i swing my legs off the edge for a long time. i don’t dare say anything, i hate how it echoes back. i look deep into the bottom but i can see nothing.  it is only darkness. something at the bottom feels like is calling to me, tugging at me to come. i turn my back.
was this before or after the preacher came? i am trying to remeber in order, tell you this story radially like teacher says.

i go home and canary’s there waiting at the window. she says here i’ll help you with your homework. no, no, no NO NO NO NO NO NO. that did not happen after, that happened before.

i can hear the ticking of the clock in my ears, slowing down.
maybe i’m going crazy.


wednesday
i’m sitting on a bench, but i cannot remember where. enyo is beside me and he is talking. in my chest i feel something strange, like it is moving and jumping. i feel queasy but it also feels nice.
i look over and he’s bleeding, golden blood from his eyes and mouth running down his chest. i want to scream but it stops in my throat. enyo puts a finger to my lips and the scream goes away.

he isn’t bleeding anymore. we’re holding hands. are we holding hands? teacher tells us not too, it will make us sick. but enyo is different. enyo doesn’t go to school. i feel as if my hands are sweating but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t say anything.





i wake up cold. it felt so real, it all felt so real. my arms feel heavy.
i’m alone on a bench by the abyss. smoke fills the air and makes it hard to breathe.

friday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. but that was days ago. i am sorry, it’s just so hard to tell the story in the proper order. my head hurts.

tuesday
i’m sorry if i cross out bits, it’s just that as i understand more i change the words. doctor says to stop doing this, but i want you to know the truth. the clocks are going slower and slower lately. alistair can’t work anymore, the preacher said so. i was going to tell him about enyo, how he is real now, not imaginary, but i didn’t know how. there aren’t words to describe him. looking at him makes crows beat their wings beneath my ribs, but i don’t know why. I sit with alistair after class but i can’t think of much to say. he doesn’t seem like my brother anymore, just a body lying on the floor.



thursday
doctor says i am defamilirazing myself, telling the story like it did not happen to me. telling it in all the wrong bits. i will try and tell it in the right order, but my head hurts. my head hurts so much. doctor won’t tell me why i need to explain, what the tape recorders are for or the make i have to wear the mask or why i’m here, what happened to my family. he won’t tell me why every time i say it like it was in the past and not happening right now he checks me for a fever. all he tells me is to start at the begging.

friday
the blonde woman from the northernland has a ring in her nose, but i do not know why. when i ask her she doesn’t seem to understand. she doesn’t talk anymore, either. just points at things on the board. i dreamt that she had her tounge cut off, but that was just a dream. the northernland would never do that to someone.

saturday
alistair is dead.
preacher says the disease took him, but i do not know which. the real sickness or the brain washing of the northernland. i think it was both, because the sickness made his brain weak so the mind-poisoners could break in. it’s okay, he wasn’t my brother anymore. doctor says that i never loved him.

sunday
church has ended and we are walking home, just arrived when our door opens. i wonder who would w at to come to this house, where the walls smell like death. the northernland woman is at our door, standing in the place the cameras cannot see her. she is smart. canary opens it and the northernland woman opens her mouth. there is no tounge or teeth, and the sides of her throat are black. i scream, so loud and shrill that i cannot believe that i am making this noise. my heart is in the center of the earth, fear running through my brain and i am screaming. canary covers my mouth. it doesn’t matter, the cameras were already looking.

canary pushed me to the floor and dragged me under the bed. i could feel the cameras following us the entire way. when she sat up, her pupils looked strange, the ways moms did when she ways seeing the people in the walls. anger seemed to hide in her voice, she was trying not to be loud but to me it felt like she was screaming, she had never thrown words that hit me like knives before. she told me never to scream or else the men behind the spying eyes of the camera would come for me. what would i do without you she yelled, but it wasn’t yelling it was crying. she help me close to her chest and i could feel her breathing and her heart beating, sparratic and short. she cried into my hair, until it was soaking wet with tears. this was when i knew canary was lost.

tuesday
enyo is in the void, just there. he is very pale today, and he doesn’t say anything for a long time. we have gotten to holding hands now. i have never held hands with anyone, and my fingers feel strange and clumsy. tecaher used to say that touching was against the rules, but i am so sick of rules that i am now glad to break them.
all at once, it occurs to me that there could be cameras here. there are cameras everywhere. i don’t know why this has never occurred to me before. suddenly i dont care, i want them to see. i stand up and scream as loud as i can.


thursday
after i screamed, no one came for me. even when i go back, i don’t feel safe anymore. i ruined the only place i felt safe.


saturday
enyo is gone. i go everyday and yell for him, but he left when i screamed. he is still missing. i’m worried for him, but at least i know the northernland has not taken him. a sick feeling in my stomach asks me if enyo was ever real. i know he was. but it is still there, pulling at my head. of course he was. i felt his skin, rough and broken. imagination can’t conjure up real people.
but then i think of mom. how her fever got so high she started to see people that weren’t there. my head hurts so much, like someone is trying to break out of jail in my skull. i am angry, for the first time in my life. enyo was my only friend, the only one who could see through the blanket of the northernland skies. i scream for him ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO, but i am not mad, i am crying and crying so much and loud that someone puts their hand over my mouth, but there is no one there. i am suffocating. i turn around and i can’t breathe, my vision is tunneling into the abyss.
i am sick.



someone is holding my body, but their skin is cold. i open my eyes but i can only see shapes. i am on the gravel and the sun is orange, just like always. i am alone. but can feel someone’s tears, touching my cheeks. i sit up as fast as i can, and i am seeing stars but i just need to look. we are never supposed to look but i am going to see.


the northernland is punishing me.
enyo is making me sick.


enyo is there beside me, crying. i have never seen him cry and something rises inside me, and all i want to do is put my arms around him, so i do. slowly he gets warmer and feels more solid. let the cameras watch, let them see.


sunday
im running, running by the tips of my feet and pushing me off the ground, i’m flying. i have to get home.  i think of the first time i ran, letvthe cameras watch, talked to enyo. all the times i’ve broken the rules. i has always hated the northernland, but i had witnessed something better. i had talked to enyo, heard stories of what it was like before. a hatred so strong curcdled beneath my ribs and made me want to punch someone. i ran and ran and ran and ran, shouting HE CANT DIE
i shouted. HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE  CANT.     he is going to die.






monday
i saw a raven in the wire pole today. it was big against the grey sky and he watched me as i walked into the house. i hadn’t seen a raven in a long time, so i turn to enyo to tell him he looks like a raven. he smiles, but he is. if there. enyo was never there.

wednesday
alistair has gone back to work, though i think he shouldn’t have. he tells me the symptoms of the disease when he gets home. headache,seeing things, bleeding from your insides. i play with the ring on my finger, trying not to ask if that’s what happened to mom. i open my mouth but a rock lives there, and i cannot move it without crying.


sunday
doctor tells me to get off the floor, that i can stand now. i stand up and he puts me on the table. he is old and pale, with shiny grayish eyes. tell me what happened to alistair he says. i do not understand. what happened to alistair?

friday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. i go home alone, and cold. i feel like there is a little green man in my lungs running a garden hose. i think back to the time when i ran, the first time i broke the rules. nobody came for me.
i can’t run anymore, my arms feel heavy and when i cough thick red bloods comes out of my mouth. it must be the smoke. I go home, and canary is at the window. she is crying in reckless abandon, shamshing on the door with her fists. two men from the northernland are holding her back, and one hits over the head with a black stick. alistair is being carried out on a stretcher.
look what the northernland has done to my family. all for the sake of this stupid war. i can’t remember who we’re fighting and yet my sister and my brother have died for the cause.
enyo says they are not dead. but enyo is not there, he was never there.

wednesday
i screamed again. i know canary told me not to, that cameras would look into my eyes and into my head. but i saw the northernland man coming up the street in his yellow trolley, straight for lou’s house. when the door opens she is wheeled out on a stretcher. so i screamed, because lou is dead and the war with no name had killed her. the devil had killed her.

canary grabbed me as the camera looked at me, as every camera in the house was trained on me. there was a disturbance in her eyes i had never seen before, like she was not all there. she grabs my arms and is much stinger than she should be. she opens the basement door and i scream again, because now i know what’s in the basement.








more northernland men than i have ever seen are in the basement, and when the door opens they look up. somebody take sme from canary and i scream and writhe and kick, but they pull at my body until my skin tears.





when i wake up, i am holding very still, and i cannot move if i want too. doctor says this is called  paralysis. there is a very bright light and a searing pain, it’s hurts so much my body is burning. cascades of blood come down into my mouth, and someone is sticking my lips with pins. this hurts more than anything that  has ever happened to me. it hurts in a deep ache, not just on the surface, and my entire body wants to shudder. my lungs are filling up with blood, because it hurts to much to breathe.





saturday
when i wake up i am in my bed, in my house. more relief than i have ever felt washed over me, because it was just a nightmare.

i used to have nightmares where there was a man in my room, saying numbers out of order. but then preacher says that if i talk to god before bed and make sure my blood is pure of doubt for the northernland, then i will not have nightmares. this is why i have had this nightmare, because i was disbelief the northernland. i do not care, because it was only a dream. i will never hail the northernland.


my lips hurt, and i wonder if in the night i bit my lips because of the dream. that happens sometimes. i dress and get ready for school, and catch myself in the mirror before i go. i turn fully toward it to make sure i am not hallucinating. in the great horror of it all, i try to scream, but it stays in my throat. i cannot scream, or make any sound at all.

my lips are sewn shut with green thread.


friday
everyone at school is quiet. anna covers her mouth and big wet tears fall on the ground. mrs. hoth takes her to the office, and the cameras follow them all the way there. we say our pledge and do our arithmetic, but i cannot say anything. i hate the northernland.
i hate it, i hate it. and i realize this is why they have silenced me.
the northernland woman is gone, and a man in a yellow coat teaches us arthimatic.
the clock on the wall is barley ticking now.
lou sits at the desk in front of me, her hair greasy and skin pale blue. she turns round, just like the old days, but isstead of telling me what the answer is or who’s the cutest or any of the normal things, all she says is run. her mouth makes an o and she closes her eyes and rests her head on the desk.

when i blink, she is not there. i am alone in the classroom.


sunday
i go to church by myself, because i havent seen canary since she sewed my mouth shut. she is not my sister anymore, and i pretend i don’t care what happens to her in that basement.

when i get there preacher is not there, there is nobody there except the northernland woman. she comes and sits next to me and runs her fingers across the stitches. we pray together, even though we can’t say anything and there is no sermon. when we walk outside there is an officers car, and she is handcuffed an put in the back. the man who has taken her gives me a sticker, with a little white cloud on it. it says trust in the northernland. i do not trust the northernland. i do not trust anyone.
i run away as fast as i can and throw the sticker into the ground, but it still seems to follow me inside my head. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland.



monday
enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family.


saturday
doctor says that when telling a story i need to define who is the antagonist and the protagonist. the antagonist is someone who antagonizes people. doctor says this means evil. this is hard for me to understand, because everyone is evil. this is not a story, and it does not have characters. the peoples i have met in my life are all complex and strange, evil and good and unpredictable. doctor says ok and that we will try again tomarrow.

thursday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.

friday

enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family. doctor says to be thankful of the northernland, that they did not use me. i turn away from enyo because even though i love him, i am loyal to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
all hail, all hail.






love alistair
fire element
exposing government secrets
cult
enyo gets more real as he is dying.
preacher dies.
alistair goes crazy, then dies.
something in basement.
Very low IQ but the only one smart enough to see
enyo is a ghost
canary goes crazy and sews our mouth shut.
fall in love with enyo.
not told radially
told in sgememgs like cross cross
deep symboling
A H J Aug 2018
I’ve been crying a lot lately.



Swirling thoughts, as if they try to crush my existence. An endless staircase that leads me to nowhere but despair, despair, and another despair that greets me over and over. An unfathomable, non explainable feelings that I fail to express to others; and they only came out as faint scars. Countless voices screaming into my  imaginary ears that I yearn to stop, and I deafened myself from those voices by running away to even louder voices. Something inside of me that carves the walls of my skin with a gushing, sharpened knife, but I can’t grasp the reality of that knife so I just stand there and ignore it.

The cycle of me trying to fight my painful, unexplainable misery. Even so, I couldn’t cry.

I couldn’t express all of my predicament, so I couldn’t cry.

That’s why it became a cycle. Again, again, again! I suffer, to the point I want to cut my own throat and die.

“Don’t cry. Crying means you're weak,”

those were the words that were said to me ages ago. Why do I always remember that? I think the person who said that to me already forget about it.



Then, when I thought all of my miseries flooded inside me, they spilled. I cry, ugly face in front of the mirror. Oh boy, when was the last time I saw those eyes, that were usually red below the pupils, wet? When was the last time I sobbed that hard?

That was the first time I sat on the public toilet,

crying.



“What’s wrong with crying?”

A person said that to me. A person said that people who don’t cry are the weird ones; do they not blessed with these beautiful, miraculous thing called emotions? Cry, cry, cry, because tears are ...



So, the cycle came back to me. Gushing thoughts hitting me madly, along with staircases that still lead me to land of despair. But now, I cry when I think of them.

I cried.

And cried.

And cried and cried and cried.



I’ve been crying a lot lately.
is crying a good thing?
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
A WOMAN IS CRYING

In the next room
a woman is crying

a moon
perches upon an hotel sign

unmoved

as a new millennium
dawns

as bright as neon

the woman
still crying

her unknown
despair

shifting silently
from one century to another

human grief
unchanged

from age
to age.

A woman is crying.
Danny Valdez Dec 2011
There were many times
When I came close to leaving my wife.
I would take some clothes
and my favorite movies with me
to my parent’s house,
dead set on not going back.
But then she would come over
And talk me out of it.
When it finally happened though
this is how it went down:
It was the Fourth of July
and I was driving home
from my job at a group home for the developmentally disabled,
Fireworks bursting all around me
up in the Arizona sky.
I was caught up in a full-blown panic attack
from the thought of my twelve-hour shift
the next day with no pain pills or any relief
whatsoever.
I have a severe back injury from a car wreck
and that day I had hurt it worse
moving someone from their wheelchair into the shower.
It felt like a railroad spike
had been rammed into the center of my spine.
Driving home
then walking up the stairs to our apartment
I couldn’t stop crying.
I had lost all control.
Walking in the front door,
my wife was cooking and my son crawled on the floor.
I went straight to the bathroom,
Needed to calm down and compose myself,
but I just couldn’t stop crying.
Hell I couldn’t even catch my breath.
My wife walked in.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I hurt my back really bad today at work … and I have a twelve-hour shift tomorrow
and no pain pills, no nothing. It just hurts so bad …”
She rolled her big blue eyes and scoffed at me.
“Ugh. That’s no reason to be ******* crying. Quit being a baby.”
Out the door she went with a slam.
THAT was my wife? My true love?
The thought drove me insane.
Growing old with her hateful eyes
always glaring at me.
I ate dinner in silence,
put the baby to bed
and smoked so much ****
I felt nothing
neither physical nor mental.
I couldn’t smoke **** before or at work, however,
I did have morals.
Those people in the group home were my responsibility.
The baby woke up crying around five a.m.
I had to start my shift at eight a.m.
It was the wife’s day off.
“Hey … hey … wake up. Can you get him? Please?”
“Arrgg. No. Just get up with him.” She groaned and rolled back over.
“Please? I gotta be up in two hours.”
“Ugh. NO. It’s my day off.”
“Exactly. You can take a nap with him later. I gotta work twelve hours today.”
“I said NO. I didn’t want a baby in the first place. Remember?”
She said that all the time. It made my blood ******’ boil.
“Then maybe you should’ve kept your ******* legs closed.”
I said
turning away from her, on my side
The baby kept crying,
screaming, now a blood-curdling sound.
The next thing I saw were
flashes
of red, black, and white
as her small, but bony,
rock hard fist
hit the side of my temple.
“YOU ******’ ****,” I screamed
jumping up and out of bed.
Picking the baby up,
he rested his little head on my shoulder,
and finally stopped crying.
I walked the floor,
pacing back and forth,
my back aching,
my head throbbing & pulsating
as the goose-egg lump
swelled.
She sat upright in bed.
Her arms crossed, her icy glare
burning a hole through my head.
She didn’t look the same anymore.
When we met
her eyes were full of good
burning churches
love.
Replaced now with
little saggy *******,
wiry, stringy, mess of hair—
like a Barbie doll left outside too long.
And that face
held so much hate.
My God, that face of hers.
She despised me.
Everything I did and said
just ****** her off.
From the bedroom window
I stood watching the cars
move along down the street,
thinking of it all.
The fights,
all the shiners, lumps, goose-eggs, cuts, and bruises
she had left on me over the past nine months.
When she used to look at me with those
big blue eyes,
there was love, lust, and a future.
Now it was hate, hate, hate
I thought of all this
watching those cars drive down the street
when it suddenly became clear to me,
I could be in one of those cars too.
Driving somewhere, anywhere, far from her.
My son, was my son
I'd always be there for him
and have my time with him.
But her time?
Our time?
It was up.
The switch in my mind was flipped. And broken off.
I kissed my son, put him on the bed and
went into the closet.
Getting my ****.
“No, no, no, no. You can’t leave. You CAN’T.”
She started to panic.
“Watch me. This is it, you hateful *****. Get out of my way.”
She ran behind me,
followed me down the stairs, all the way to the car,
shrieking, screaming continuously,
and slobbering and gasping for air,
throwing herself in my path.
Tears flowed
From her over sized eyes,
now filled with tiny red veins.
“We can go to counseling, we can work it out.”
“I don’t WANT to work it out. I don’t love you anymore.
Now would you get back upstairs? You left the baby all by himself up there.”
She didn’t hear me.
Just kept on trying to convince me.
I managed to get my clothes in the car,
but then she wouldn’t let me
close my door.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you. You’re just leaving your child?”
“No. I’m leaving YOU. Now get back upstairs and be a mother.
You’re done being a wife.”
I had to pry her claws off the driver’s side door to leave.
Looking in the rear view
I saw her skinny body running up the stairs
back to our apartment
and the baby.

My first meal as a free man
was an egg & cheese biscuit.
I sat in my parked car
in the parking lot of a park
listening to my iPod
on shuffle.
“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” by Bob Dylan
suddenly came on.
I took it as a sign
Louis Brown Jun 2013
“You have to love your neighbor”
He told to every throng
But one by one they turned away
He had to die alone
His was a  voice
Crying in the wilderness

“I have a dream”, the dark man said,
“Of peace on earth someday”
But hatred reigned in other hearts
And Martin was their prey
His was a voice
Crying in the wilderness

The man born in Hawaii
He struggles for the poor
Healthcare plans are his own cross
Where all can find a cure
Is his a  voice
Crying in the wilderness

Pray all good men will recognize
When hope is pushed aside
To rise against the chaos
Where love has been denied
When truth is lost
Crying in the wilderness
Benji James Sep 2018
Memories bombard my eyes
All the wrongs caused in past times
Failures on parade
Wrong choices made
Too late
(Can't change them)
Why do I stop and reminisce
When all these things
Leave me feeling like this?

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

Shots left me with a wounded heart
Just like a broken vase
Put together again
It's not the same
Thoughts of death plague my mind
Runs through my head too much of the time
Try to fix it with a rhyme, a line
Tried praying for a sign
All I see is empty skies
And this is why
I'd like to know

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

Silhouettes dancing through these streets
Dark shadow stalking me
The man in the mirror
That I see
Is not the best version of me
I know it
Not trying to hide it
I'm an open book
Read each line
And you'll get a small glimpse
into my life
Through silver screens
You'll see all these feelings eating at me
Tell me

What has this life become?
When you're all alone
Crying in a parking lot...

©2018 Written By Benji James
I wanted to keep this as simple as I could
Had a bit of a tear up in the car in a parking lot
And thought it sounded cool for a set of lyrics. :)
P.s. May end up adding more lines later.
September Roses May 2018
I run myself a bath, I put fluffy bubbles and soothing soaps in it, I light candles and turn down the lights, and make sure it's the perfect temperature
To cry in it

I drag myself out of bed, brush my teeth and get dressed, I tediousely organize my room, alphabetical, by colour, I get out my books, I dust the smooth pages
To cry on them

I pick out a fresh shirt, pants, shoes. I tie my hair and dry my face. I put on a nice jacket
Just to soak it with tears

Just to cry

It's seems most of my time these days, is spent on things that stray to sobs
Stray to crying
Michala Jun 2013
The baby cries as it comes into the world
People cry when others leave the world
They cry at weddings
And at funerals
At love and heartbreak
Crying is life
Crying is death
It's needed and hated
It's considered weak
And also strong
Crying is a double standard
Within it's self
It encompasses our world
Full of such emotion
Yet can be so empty
Crying is everything
Just think about it.
Frank Ruland May 2014
It's a crying shame when a dog is abused
Through thick and thin, it would always love you
Despite this, neglecting the thing is all you do
Well, the road you've chosen will end soon.

It's a crying shame you make your dog fight
What you're doing just isn't right
You may run from the cops all you like,
but there is no escaping karma's might.

It's a crying shame you lock your dog away
It whimpers alone in the closet, racked with pain
No food, no water, and deprived of the love it craves
If only you could see the error of your ways.

It's a crying shame your dog's become a beast
Not once did your brutal ways ever cease
You reap what you sow, this you will see
The hand which feeds will become a piece of meat.

You created something and lost control
No you're in the floor, begging for no more
Feel what it's like to be shredded and torn
All of those teeth, sinking into your bones
It's a crying shame you dropped your phone.
naxiai Feb 2017
Little girl, I am crying for you. You should be living a life full of love - a life protected by good hearts.

Big girl, I am crying for you. You should not be crying alone in bed at night - someone should be there to hold you when you are sad.

Mom, I am crying for you. Your heart should not be breaking for me - I want to be with you always. I am with you always, but we are also too far apart.

Sister, I am crying for you. I haven't done the best that I could and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please take my apology in the darkness.
I will try to bring the light back to you.
storm siren Nov 2017
"Why are you burning
Precious childhood memories?"

You get a sudden rush of cold late Winter air.
The world smells like it's never going to stop raining.
Your brother and you are sitting outside the garage.
You can't stop crying,
But he's still trying his damndest to comfort you.
You were five.
For three years after, you will still think it is your fault
For coming inside covered in rain water.

"Why are you burning
Precious childhood memories?"

Your eyes stung with tears.
Your chest felt heavy.
But you couldn't tell what hurt worse,
The literal smack across the face,
Or the sting of betrayal when your mother agrees with your father,
That you are, in fact, no good.

"Why are you burning
Precious childhood memories?"

You're sitting out in the living room of the apartment.
The room is dark,
Except for a fading lamp.
It is 9:30 at night.
The sun is only beginning to fall behind the horizon.
Your father finally speaks,
After clearing his throat,
A slight cough to clear the residual cold from the ice of his drink-- tonight was scotch, thank god.
He says "Y'know, it's okay if you're a lesbian. Just make sure your girlfriend is hot. Oh, and blonde." He laughs bitterly between sips.
You can smell the alcohol from where you're sitting.
You can feel the dread in the pit of your stomach.
You feel hot anger piercing and burning your palms.
You hold your fists tighter.
You clench your jaw until your head hurts.
You mumble something.
"What?" He snaps, half apathetic, have with a dangerous edge.

"I don't like blondes." You say through gritted teeth. It's only a half-truth. You don't actually like anybody, blonde or otherwise.

He laughs, but you know it's forced.
"Trust me when I say this, you definitely can't afford to be that picky."

Your eyes meet his. Shadow against shadow. Midnight against midnight. You don't speak. He laughs, and goes on to tell you how he's the only one in this family that even likes you, so you better start being nicer to him.

"Why are you burning
Precious childhood memories?"

You don't remember hurting yourself,
So when she asks, you tell her
That you don't know where the cuts came from.
She calls you a coward for not having already taken your own life.

"Why are you burning
Precious childhood memories?"

You were up all night,
Wishing you wouldn't wake up.
You go to walk out the door to the bus,
You stop in the kitchen to grab something quick for breakfast.
As soon as your hand reaches the cupboard handle, you can feel her gaze on your back.
You decide you don't want breakfast that morning.

"Why are you--"

She's in the hospital again.
You just wanted to celebrate your brother
Having made it another year in this hell hole.
But that's not what she wanted.
You both spend his birthday sitting silently in the hotel room,
Staring out the window,
Wishing that Spring would bring a change along with all the warmth it promises.

"-- burning precious childhood memories?"

Your little brother his crying.
The other is asleep.
But this brother has a cold.
The other is still asleep.
This brother cries
Because he doesn't feel good.
He's barely four months old
So he can't use his words.

He's crying very loudly.

She screams in his face.
Tells him to stop crying.
Tells him to just shut up already.
You jump off the couch
And yell at her as loud as your eight year old self can manage to be.
"DON'T YELL AT HIM. HE'S ONLY A BABY!"

She glares at you,
A wicked snarl,
And tells you that she'll do whatever the hell she wants,
You're her children.

He's still crying.
Now they're both awake,
And they're both crying.

"Why are you--"

"W-why are y-you"

*"Why are you burning--"
Caitlin Carey Oct 2011
Why are you crying? I haven't gone that far.
I'm the leaves blowing down the road, as you're driving in the car.
Why are you crying? It may feel bad. 
But feel the rays of the sun, and you won't feel so sad.
Why are you crying? I'm with you where ever you go.
You may not see me but I'm the sparkles on the snow.
So why are you crying, when I'm still here?
I might not be able to hold your hand now or wipe every tear.
But there's no need to worry, though were apart.
Why are you crying? I'm right there, always, inside your heart.
Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some
said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To
the men she was simply a *** machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not.
And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it
came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.
Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass
had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when
people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them.
Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous
of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't
make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called
handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on
their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no
insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some
call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the
girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had
been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and
Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending
herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar
rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End
Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of
the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the
ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"
I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was
simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No
pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of
age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each
time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She
was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had
ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your
looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."
Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She
came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through
her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me
and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled
the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the
bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:
"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, *******, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."
She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her
nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It
was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She
gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of
wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man,
something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and
after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.
In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She
laughed.
"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."
Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long
black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her
body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.
"Come on, lover man."
I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to
make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.
I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but
she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and
read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.
"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."
She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.
"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."
Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she
seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights
she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.
"These sons of *******," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see
beyond your body."
I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but
we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i
figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when
she walked in and sat down next to me.
"Well, *******, I see you've come back."
I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had
never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass
heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into
her face.
"******* you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But
you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."
Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.
"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with
it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for
something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating
face."
"Thanks."
We had another drink.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's
wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."
We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful
woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of
wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would
listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed
to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh-
only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and
moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that
Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.
"******* you, woman," I said from the bed, "******* you, what have you
done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still
beautiful?"
I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some
men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very
funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, *****, I love you...stop
destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."
We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black
hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and
wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and
happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over
and shook me,
"Up, *******! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the
feast!"
I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were
splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on
stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old
ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left
behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all,
there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say
much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and
drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an
hour. It was somehow better than *******. There was flowing together without tension.
When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested
to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly
said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I
found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to
working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End
Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender
said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."
"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?
"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."
I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most
beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have
insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her
had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too
unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up
and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town
was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "******* YOU, YOU *******
,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.
cait-cait Jun 2018
im there when you want to
rip out your
hair and scream ,

knees on the floor, your face is
in my hands  .
                          .

there seems to be glass everywhere
you look
and
you're crying ,

you can see it.

i dont know who told you i was dangerous --
but

i can only be so kind .
who has ever thought about how i feel?

when i was little my mom had this vanity that was covered in mirrors and then draped with a cloth, and i have memories of trying to pull the cloth off to see the full thing, and also memories of being on her bed and being able to see myself where there were slits.

— The End —