Thinking I gave the goat away and showed the spirit the door until it's late and knowing that I've had some wholesome weeks. She is chanting again, reminding me what is so wrong and mocking my attempts for peace of my own mind.  I think she is lying. I think she is honest.

I am alone but alone with them.
I am alone but alone with them.
I AM ALONE BUT ALONE WITH THEM.

They chant louder.

Depression is the demon.
Sadness is the ghost.
and Anxiety is the monster they hold against me.

The Moon is another reminder that you made it through the rough. You can't hate her, can you? Time is fake, man-made to control the seconds but it keeps us tracked to when to pray and when to party.

The Moon is another symbol that we made it and it was not our last. Presences of relief, reinsurance that you will be okay for the sun to tell you to get up.

To get up and survive again.

Hate is a very loose truth to admit when you are talking about someone who can't love you back. Just say your love is poisoned and the venom isn't real.

The freedom you want to feel is in a pair of dull kitchen scissors.
Cut the dead ends, or  maybe a few inches to prove a point.
Sweep the evidence under the rug, it’s only 4 am this time.
It’s okay, it was just one more thing for you to hide behind.

Bleach it out of your way, paint with colors that will stain your bathroom sink.
Like everything, the stain will fade for a new one to reappear.
Wash it out and stop crying for a minute because the mirror doesn’t lie today.

Everything is fine now.
And that’s the beauty of the most painless thing to change.
Your hair.

You asked me for a place at my table.
You asked me for the welcome spoons even when all I had were dull knives and plastic forks.
You brought your own place mat and gave me your homemade invitation that listed reasons why you deserve to be at this dinner party I never wanted to have.

But as soon as I pulled the chair out for you, you were no longer hungry.
And you left my dining room.