Inside I

Through my window
sits the world;
how heavy and how bare.
Fires came
and fires went
but they forgot me here.

Out II

If I'd said, "Burnt everything
but me" you'd just see pride.
But since I told you they forgot
you hear me much more right.

Hate

Not a friend
and not a foe
among the crowds I shudder.
Not a voice
and not a thought
behind the gates I stutter.
But what's it like
deep in your heart,
with all the fate and love?
From way back here
the clothes all itch,
and in my heart,
there's none.

Huntress

Barred behind
your guards aren't trying
what is this,
a game?
Twist my bones and
break my wrist
and
I am going home.

Captivity at Night

His voice spins
past the blindfold.
Around the room the walls are spinning
Square
So fast the walls become a wall
One singular sphere that I am stuck inside
with him
and him alone.

John's Shadows

I sit uncomfy on the on the chance
that something's going wrong.
I say I'm fine I float away
so what about my John?
I didn't say when I was bed
because who really cares?
But he can't speak and yes I know
being eaten by your fears.
So lad John, my darling boy
if something's not quite right...
my body's yours to hold so close;
to hold forever tight.

Bleeding ink.

Just

Instant pang

of SHOUTING in my head

I can't breathe.

I need I need

pressure on my skin and head

to think at any rate I am

alive

am I alive.

This part hurts like hell

You're right. I want to cut everything off and be the bones under my skin. Your words are perfect for me to crawl inside of, but you keep pulling me back out as soon as I've found safety. The next best thing is half a world away. Do you want me to cross the snow-covered fields and go hungry like an animal?
Well what did you expect?

Second letter sent

"I don't know what to say because it's hardly really anything at all, but...
I think everything here is used up and I should leave because my family is a dead-end and I haven't even been back to school and the ...
Well I'm not sure what to call it, but the thing my doctor contacted about my quote "issues" is going to take at least two months for the waiting list, and everything is just ridiculous. 
I want to move away and be someone else, who didn't fall in love with her (straight) best friend and a boy who...didn't wait around, to say the least. 
I want to be someone who isn't afraid to go to school, who isn't afraid to talk to people, or leave the house even.
I want to be someone completely different, who doesn't think the way I do, or the thoughts I do, and someone who isn't me at all. 

This house is crumbling and dead, my parents don't even love each other anymore. I don't see why they're still together other than "for us kids", but we hate them being together because all they do is yell and it makes everything tense and uncomfortable. 
I was clean, cutting wise, for months. Not even a single cut since before school started. Since that week I spent round Meeka's in the summer. But things have gone for a turn towards terror, and it really fucking blows. I found way better ways to hurt myself because I had to make my thoughts stop screaming. 
I'm tired...so sick and tired of this whole, entire life now. I feel like at 14, I'm already used up and wrinkled. Time folded my skin over and over with scars, with experience in all the wrong things. 
This isn't okay anymore and neither am I. 

I think I want to move away or die now."

Letters sent

"Sometimes I'm a terrible person. 
My head is really done in. And I feel really bad for anyone who gets stuck with me, because I'm just...I'm really almost out of a control. Like I'm holding on but I'm not, really.

I'm holding on to my sanity but sometimes I step on it's fingers, and sometimes it's holding onto me. Sometimes it's barely got a grip on me and I slide it's fingers off the edge, and I watch myself do it from inside my head, and I know I shouldn't. But I do. I have another drink, another puff. I ditch another day of school. I cut one another line. I write another word.
Sometimes it's like, even when I'm just sitting on the subway train or something, from behind my glasses, I feel someting click and it's like a door's opened...and in walks everything I don't want to think about, and I just lose touch with sanity and logic and common sense, and I lose touch with gravity that's holding me down, and it's like I'm up in the sky, and...I'm afraid of falling.

I'm ranting now.
But darling...I always fall, and it's like I die. And then I have trouble believing I'm alive, and trouble seeing why i should live."


"Because at least if I'm living for someone else, at least that's a reason. A solid reason, and reasons are like anchors. And without them ...well, something's got to hold me down, so obviously the boat needs to go under the water so I don't float away, and then..well I sort of drown."

Awake or is it dreaming

How awake are we that our eyes burn.
55, 56, 57... Monsters crawl across our toes,
we're laughing with our friend, the ghost
and sleep escapes our dreary grasp yet again.
"Closer, my dear," calls Death.
We shut off the lights, and look at the regrets that found.
No, you horrible nightmare, you. 
I forbid you to enter my bedroom.
Flip the hourglass upside right over
a thousand times so much we forgot which side is up.
Our world is topsy turvy,
this dream a copy of the last.
I've seen this all before, we think.
We wonder how much time has passed.

I'll avoid you all for as long as possible.

We ran

Brick by falling brick we cry

stack them over up the sky

Sticks and stones and dirtied nails

tie our rope around the sails. 

Wave by roaring wave we scream

the storm is loud, the storm is keen

On our heels and on our backs

knives in tow we pull the slack.

Boat by crashing boat we pass

to the harbour from our past

Grab the sailors grab the dock

tie the boat and calm the flock. 

Face by ashen face we walk

holding close our hearts in shock

The city's ghost is by our side

creeping up our backs, we hide.

Save the children save our lambs

lock the door, can you still stand?

Faded hands are banging loud

this door shakes before the crowd. 

Fear and icy chills are we

hiding under dusty streets

How are we to sleep tonight?

How are we...to stay alive?

Hell's front road, KEEP GOING.

"Weclome," the sign reads in thick, black lettering. Your mother always said hell would welcome you brightly, but perhaps, you think, she meant bold.

Alone on the frosted bench, 

in the middle of winter's cold.

"I wonder when the end will come?

-what time is it, Mr.Wolf?"

Exhaust the system, smoke out the demons.

Love

Buy a little love,
little love,
little love.
Buy a little love
that's what it's worth.

To age is to live

We age and,
with age comes knowledge.
And with knowledge comes
certainty.
But with certainty,
you find questions.
And with questions comes
fear, with which comes
panic and anxiety and
eventually
exhaustion.
Once exhaustion ends
you realize the panic wasn't worth
anything, and the anxiety was simply
the moment suspended
from here to there.
And the fear was silly because
your questions didn't need answers,
the un-knowable will always exist.
You realize
the questions you had
were found when you knew everything
you thought there was to know.
And as such,
as you age, you realize every moment farther old,
just how little you know, and just how little
you are.

Fuck it

When you say "fuck everything", claiming to be independent, remember that in your words, independence is nothing if not solitude. It's pushing everyone else away, laughing at emotions and love. It's that moment when you're drunk on the curb, sat down because you can't stand anymore. When someone who cares about you tries to take you home, and you tell them just how much you care about them. They say, "You can't just hate everything. At some point, life will find you. You know, those people who are actually living? Feeling and smiling and shit?" They leave. You laugh. Say to the wind, "Life is for the living, you said that. I'm just waiting for death. He'll find me, until then I don't really care what happens. I'd rather sleep through it, but for some fucking reason, I wake every fucking morning."
Not even. Upset, the wrong words fell, you lean against the metal poll and let the coolness calm your fever.
Independence is loneliness, but you actually don't mind. It's not that you'll take care of yourself; you don't need care. You're not breakable; there's nothing to break. When they tell you they'll break your heart, you smirk and wonder, "What heart?"
People live their lives with such competence and dedication. You couldn't give a single fuck. You float right through and laugh when shit happens, because what matter is it to you?
Fuck everything. Honestly.

Update

Could it be a...

Thoughts captivated by that which scares you the most.

Explore

How can you not wonder?

There's everything out there, waiting. Everything and more. 

Um...stable.

These words aren't solid enough.
Unstable realities send us spiralling down,
and that'll be it if we're not careful.

Little littles

You plan to lead an average life, but we plan to stop you.

Happiness and education and jobs and your every everything? We laugh.

You just wait. We're ready when you are, dear.

When the gun sounds, you better run. We'll be on your heals when the gun sounds, love.

Creatures I

Step back and breathe
you're drowning it
the creature you are
the creature you've been
Dry your hands
it's finally gone.
You can walk away
you're finally free.

Friends

When you can sit on top of a wooden fort in your back yard with someone and talk about everything. That's nice, when it's cold and you're freezing and you can talk about those things you just wouldn't say... You can say them, and it's okay, and you just...you just smile, because for once, you're not even really scared.
Thanks, Ellie.

They always fit

There are people you're supposed to meet, and I've met a great deal of them.
They always know.

Green means go

And isn't it such a clichéd moment when you wake up one day and realize you've made friends-
real friends-
and smile?
Isn't it such a clichéd moment when you realize you're happy because you let everything go for a moment?

Friends that you can count on, and when you don't think you deserve them, or even need them, really
well, they're still there. They're offering help when you didn't even realize you needed it.
The only problem is...in order to return the favour, you probably need to be sane.
It's most likely things will go smoother if you're actually functioning on a human ledge. But is it possible you fell too far?

I am a naturally curious person, and for years I've been hoping it'll kill me. But how do you climb back up when you're not sure where that is?
Damn society's values, and damn what is right. There's boundaries to be crossed.

In daylight.

Valentine

I find that sort of unfair. As loving a gesture as it is, I think it's incredibly unfair of you to just go and do that when you know I used to have feelings for you. I mean, so what if they didn't last? Nothing does. But what if they came back?
I feel like you're taunting me. Like you're doing everything you can to confuse me. Mess around with my head, just because you can. And you can.

All those notes, those little notes you wrote? I still have them in that box, you know. They're just waiting there because I'm really not sure what to do with them. They are lies, but, cute lies, and ...I can't bring myself to throw them out, especially seeing as you'd ask about them later.

There need to be rules.
We need to have rules that we will both follow.

I'm the one in the wrong, and yet, I'm playing it off perfectly well. I'm trying to do everything in my power to make it go away, and look. It's fucking gone.
So it's your turn to step up now.
I know you don't feel things that way. So step up and ...well, step down.

See, it's so...you're right. Maybe I wouldn't want to do it. Considering we'd say what we already know? I'd say those words again, and you'd say yours. The same script as ever.
And it'll hurt just the same, but not really, because I don't have a heart to break.

It'll go away.

Let it go.

Provemewrong

No, I've never even heard your voice. I've never even held your hand.

I can imagine you're lovely all I like, but you're not technically real. 

Costume change

You can't write this stuff, you know.
You can't write it because you're too drunk to remember but you have the sense that
no, something turned out right when you swore,
-yes, swore-
you'd never be that person.
Something turned out right, perfectly wrong when you said
this isn't me anymore.

Change is great,
maybe you'll like yourself this time.

There's always another chance for those of you whose hearts still beat.

No you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't no you don't you were lying you don't
you really don't.

Converse

Rock your bones you're
empty.

Help

Because, fuck. Something might actually be wrong.

Do you see that person over there? No? Oh, me neither.

No, but that would be deceitful to say, but what else am I?

Out of my head

You pulled me out of my head
and into the world.
I clung tight but
when you let go I forgot
to pull the string and soar.

The breeze tore my skin apart
and I fell under the sea
until I was in over my head.

Now I'm drowning and
I'm trying to get inside my head
and to a
happier place
to die.

A thought

I expect you realize that quitting decision lasted a total of one day. Everything was going so well, too.
It's fine. I'm content to say- or actually, no. I'm not really. But I will say, everything that's final in my life changes.
"Go to school" and they've accepted I slept through an entire week at home.
"Stopped cutting" and that's the moment I slice through.
"Stopped smoking" and I picked then to see how fast I could smoke a cigarette and how many.
"You'll never be as thin as me" and I stopped eating for a week, followed by similar long periods of time.

It just--nothing sticks. If you tell me I'm stupid I'm generally going to prove you wrong. If you tell me to stay, I'll leave.
Like your words dig in as deep as they can get but I poison them and twist them.
"Go to school" becomes a challenge.
"Oh, really? It's mandatory, is it? We'll see."
If you tell me I shouldn't be doing something I'm most likely to start doing it.
"Don't smoke"
"Don't drink"
"Don't chew gum in school" even. Although that's hardly a challenge because I've never not chewed gum in school.
Maybe it's bad.
Maybe it's good, actually. Who am I to judge?

I'm just oddly annoyed, because if someone tells me to smoke in order to make me stop, I'll know. So I'll smoke more and more to the point where my lungs are dying. I'll cut further, I'll skip more, I'll stay out later and come home less frequently and sleep less and eat much less and...
It's bad. I've decided.
Tell me someone's going to hurt me and I'll laugh.
If you tell me something's going to happen, you can bet your sorry ass it won't.
"You're going to cry", or even "You may cry".
No. No, I'm not going to cry, and would you like to know why? Because you're anticipating that I will. You're so sure that tears will make their escape, but no. No, because I'm going to prove you wrong and you're going to feel like shit.

But something else.
I'll prove myself wrong too.
"This is great, I'm doing so well. I'm going to make it a full straight month without skipping school" becomes "Fucking cunts, why in the nine hells did I decide to ride the subway all day instead?"
Not even.
I'm happy, so I go and think to myself (somewhere in the back of my skull) "Oh, I'm happy, am I?" And then it's like, "Oh, I'll change that!"
Just fucking twisted, a bit.

Me too

"But I'm thinking of what Sarah said."

Letter

Meeka, there's something going on in my head. I only feel safe telling you.
It's not really every-day life anymore. There's voices in my head and they're starting to make decisions for me.
I'm not stopping them. I'm curious to see where they go. But I think they've made a mistake.

I've quit hurting myself for you, but that's only physically that I have control. I don't think you know what's happening inside my head right now. I don't think I can explain it.
Just...I'm letting you know something's wrong.
I quit smoking for you. To give you hope, maybe? So maybe you'll quit.

I quit cutting.
I ...I worked really hard, but inside it's working against me and I think I've really fucked it over.
I don't have hope anymore.
I don't mind.

I want to leave something good behind.

There's no escape

I may just have made
the biggest mistake

If you really knew me...

Events.

We are not events, 

We are

Words.

We are not words,

We are

Thoughts.

We are not thoughts,

We are 

Thoughts

On

Events

On

Words,

We are what's left when someone leaves,

We are

what's inside.

Help I'm alive

I wake up to
cardboard, we're FLAT, we're FLAT but
if I eat a single thing
I'll lose it.

There's no room for failure
there's no room for food.

Fixed

The sad solidity is that our expectations are crap.
We're hoping for happiness, but the pursuit of such is damaging to our mental health. And as it is, that reverses and turns over all of our work like a pot full of rain water. More closely, though, a toy dump-truck abandoned in the backyard, muddy from the dirt clinging to it's wet plastic.
Pathetic.
And we're told to think more clearly, more normally. But what is normalcy, if we think about it?
Our heads are empty. Shake, shake, shake, but nothing comes out. We can feel the water sloshing around from the pool...smell the chlorine burning through our skull, but... Nothing. There's absolutely nothing left.
We let rules and regulations eat us apart until we were normal. 
Until we were happy, we were sad.
The sad solidity is that we expect to be happy, to search for happiness. But, in Mr.Reality's world...we're meant to finish our empty lives alone, shuddering.
Tremble, tremble, and you choke and fall.
And no one bats and eye because that's the circle of life.

Lacy

She keeps sm-smiling-
walking up behind me, "Boo!"-
and taking her time to say-
more like laugh, really-
everything.

She keeps looking over-
eyes from her work to mine-
and making a face-
just a face-
so I'll know she's still around.

It's a connection-
but I mean, not really.
It's a connection,
but not really at all. 

Not beautiful at all

Hugs from strangers and
meeting people who say
"You're beautiful"
a million times over
but that's inside
and that's where we lie.

Walking up along-side
on bikes and cars and calling
out, "Hot damn, Ow, OW!"
I don't look because they're
just not talking to me,
I'm ugly
on the inside.

Let's meet someone tonight
let's break hearts tonight.
Let's meet everyone
the music's up
let's meet everyone
and break some hearts because
we're ugly on the inside.

Nuit Blanche

Tonight
We'll explore the city
we'll see everything
there is
to see.

Dying

What do you mean everything is falling? I'm sliding. It's a downward motion. But nothing's falling; this is how it's supposed to be. Life is either the process of dying or living, and it's a matter of choice, of perception.
So while you live, I die.
And that's my choice.

I can't afford to lose this life, tonight

I feel like you want me to kill myself.
I will, for you.
If you want that, I will.

Last night

Last night I remember sicking on the beach, telling people I loved them, not being afraid, drinking, lots of drinking, kissing someone I didn't mean to kiss, tangled up in the sand with them, helping up Sam after he hit his head on a tree and knocked himself down, making friends with the other drunks, hugging, lots of hugging, falling over and not being able to get up, crying, having her fix my make-up after it ran, walking along the barely lit streets, going to the school yard, meeting up with people on E, hugging them, offering them my drink, falling off the seat sideways, walking through an empty parking lot somewhere, being utterly confused when there was another tongue in my mouth, not understanding, not being able to see, taking something out of my shirt, peeing on a tree, trying to swim, falling on the beach, asking those people for cigarettes, telling them I loved them as we walked off, smoking, lots of smoking, feeling sick, feeling frozen to the bone, acquiring a third jumper, ...finding another world. 

Last night I remember bits and pieces. 

I don't remember calling everyone in my phone contacts, picking up to my father, telling him about the children running around when we were in an abandoned parking lot, going home, getting into bed, walking through the ravine, buying orange juice, thinking.

I don't remember getting bruises everywhere. 

I don't remember having Sam written on my hand.

I don't remember huge gaps, and it freaks me out that they even happened. There's no logic.

But mostly

I remember finding another world, and I can't ignore it now. 

Escaping

"Don't eat anything at all today, so it'll hit you harder," she said.
Not even a problem, darling.

Utter fear, utter fear, utter fear.

Wake up

There's someone I wish I could call my own,

mine,

and only mine. 

They're someone I'm really attracted to,

but I just

can't say anything. 

Fuck me. 

NIghttime

Sitting in my bedroom alone, thinking about This Guy, I consider pounding my fists into the wall until either object breaks. It's too loud, though, too bad. I crave the monotonous pain, almost. Something solid, something real, something safe.
An anchor, for now.

Wouldn't I?

Everything everything everything aches
and we say a big fat
isn't it?
to the world today.

No. Fucking. Way, am I going out there again.
Just not happening, son.
Simply not happening; I'd rather die.

Sunshine Worry Fear

Sunshine  Worry  Fear
When you can't look in the mirror
When pain is your career,
Sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
Take's time to get nearer.
See crime, see things clearer,
Sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
You're binded, hurry, dear.
You'll find things blurry here,
sunshine worry fear.

Sunshine worry fear.
What's mine is yours, dear.
Let's walk blind through the skies clear..
Sunshine worry fear.

A smile for every each

The nicest thing I can think of
is getting a letter in the mail
With personalized hand-writing
and pictures, and a tale.
The sweetest words I can remember
are those that aren't sweet at all
It's those that make you cry because
there's just so normal; you bawl.
The longest warmth I know
is that one time on the beach
There's only picture smiles now
but there's a smile for every each.
The saddest thought I consider
is those last words you said to me.
They're completely normal, just a "bye"
but you're gone, and it's not nice to leave.

Check, mate.

Prescott laughs easily though into his coffee, a shine in his eyes that's barely visible to the untrained eye.

We're pretending to be normal together, pretending to do the things that everyone else does.

I watch his chest move up and down with his lungs, then catch his eye and smile, too.

"Are you ready?" he asks, standing up to get my chair for me. I nod.

"And a bottle 'a rum, kid. Let's get out of here." We leave, slipping out the door unnoticed and heading into the brisk September air. 

He takes my hand and I curl my fingers around his. "Beach?" he asks.  

"Beach." My voice sounds small and quiet, and Prescott catches on. 

"Something up?" There's a lapse in the air and everything ripples over, like a bird's feathers on a cold day. I watch the breeze settle. 

"Nah, it's cool. I, uh...just disappointed school had to start." 

He nods for a moment, understanding. "Sure's a shocker, but what can you do?" 

We walk in silence across the hardening sand, kicking at rocks and beach glass as we go. Neither one of us is defined as right, so we're wrong together for however long we feel like and that's fine.

"Prescott?" I ask, slipping my hand up into his sleeve for warmth. 

"Hm?" He looks over at me.

And instead of spilling everything there is behind my lies, I just smile at him, and he smiles back, and we walk in the silence that we've set out before ourselves. But this time, we're not alone. 

And fear fear fear

Grey skies when all you want is
a little sun to warm your
silly little toothpick legs and
I'm telling you now to hurry on up and find
shelter
Before the storm comes in and
blows your world
apart.

Oh tell me now

For a second I consider spilling
all that's sitting deep in the bottom of the glass,
leaving it's contents in a dirty mess
on the kitchen table.
Instead I scowl and
leave the room,
knowing I'm not the type who spills things.

I'm best at keeping everything deep,
deep in the bottom
of those glassy walls,
so deep
that no one even sees
anything.

Just clean surfaces and
clear water,
it's clear sailing from here
If you can keep your boat afloat.

Standing on the grey concrete, watching the lights flash around the city roads, I hear my name from behind me.
It's Melanie, her little-girl voice just loud enough to make me turn and look.
She's standing with a guy (any guy, just to make her feel wanted and safe), as she does. She's wearing her yellow sweater.
I watch her eyes shine for a second as we chat, then we shuffle onto the transit quietly, searching for a seat to rest on for the duration of the ride. I move to the back with the rest of the crowd, and turn back momentarily to see Melanie looking in my direction. Our eyes meet, we smile, but I see the worry.
Her worry, as she always has with her. She carries it carefully on her shoulders, shifting it around every-so-often so no one notices.

But I see it, and I sigh.

Everyone has something.
Something that's wrong, and we can't always make it better.

But Melanie's just as scared as I am, and I can't help but feel a little safer for the rest of the ride. Sickly safe, though. I'm finding composure in Melanie's breakdown.

As I leave the train, I drag my fingers along a green railing stationed just outside the designated stop. I look up at the windows carefully, looking for her. But she's gone.

Some other shining street lined with walking addictions and seated ghosts.
Melanie can't handle it any better than I can, so she's destroying herself just the same as me. Only she's doing it one boy, one puff, one pill at a time.
And me?
One word, one cut, one match.
One burn, but it doesn't hurt, I swear.

One sentence.

Screams from the cars going
over the edge and
the world is falling apart.

Seeing stars

Star-ship, star-ship,

in the night sky.

Light me up as you drive by.

Leave me star-dust to help me dream,

I promise, promise not to scream.

Breaking down

She breaks down, falling back against the wall and
covering her face where the tears slide down.
Controls her breathing for a mere second, then
through gritted teeth says, "I just hate this entire family."
Her mother seems unfazed, but somewhere deep inside the girl watches her crumble.
Satisfied, she continues.
"You're shit parents, I'm a shit person, they're shit people, and we're all dysfunctional and falling apart and...well, look at us. Look at this house. Look at the way we avoid each other, and when we don't, the way we yell. And don't tell me you think you're fair, because that's a lie. That is a fucking lie, because you're just as selfish as the rest of us. No, you haven't always been here for us, and NO, you are NOT available to talk to. Even if you were, I wouldn't want to; no on would. You undermine everything that makes us okay. When I turn sixteen, I'm either moving out with your permission or getting myself emancipated. And trust me, I've got the right evidence and plenty of that to get the hell outta here."
For a moment, the girl's mother seems to cry, almost. But she regains her resolves and speaks.
"Where are you going to go?" Rather than fighting the accusations, she falls for a question.
"Away," the girl huffs. "Away from here. I'll live on the streets; it really doesn't matter. As long as I'm not here."
There's silence.
Complete, and utter silence.
The mother just nods and says, "We could send you to a housing for troubles teens, and you could work things out from there..."
"Mom, I don't want therapy, or any other shit like that because I know it's not going to help. I need to get out of here. It's the only thing that'll make me happy."
Her mother shakes her head slowly. "You're the happiest one out of us all, though..."
Tear-streaked eyes from admitting the truth, she mumbles, "No, I'm just the best at pretending."

After that moment, it sinks it.
"Oh....honey..." The mother goes in for a hug, but is denied.
Ah....family.

Glass shelter

Worlds of people crowd together in a shelter, hiding from the falling rain. They're voices chorus together and erupt into a sudden rise as the sky darkens. They're scared, worried, awe-struck, and completely terror-ridden.

But the rain is just so wet, that they must all stay hidden. 

Slowly, as the night goes by, the people fall out, some braving the storm, but most drawing to the edges of the clear shelter, pacing, or collapsing completely against the smooth glass walls. 

No one's quite sure what to say anymore, and the chorus of noise has subtly fallen to short, choppy verses that grow quieter and quieter until silence covers the ceiling in a soft, spoken lullaby. 

As eyes fall shut and hands apart, the world inside the glass becomes cold and still, like that moment of first snow fall each winter. But the people do not notice one another, and break connections as eyes close and minds shut down for the night, locking up the store window's where thoughts can be bought with expensive doctors and tests upon tests. 

The granite flooring seems to freeze over, and teeth chatter in short coma-sleeps. No one will wake, but the world of glass is dreamless. Just as you and I might have a morning shower, or midnight snack, glass people tend to forget themselves and the world around them, and accept the silent, frozen world with a small, goodbye smile.

It's sad to think, however, that a few restless souls pace back and fourth all night long, not quite able to shut their eyes for the last time, to lay their body down to rest. They walk the same path for hours upon hours, unfolding into countless days and months. 

These people cannot move on.

When you die, you stop dreaming. It's sad, but every dream ends, and you must wake up.

When you say goodbye, and lay yourself down in a tolerable position on the cool, granite floor...you lose the ability to ever wake again, as your life slips out from under you and moves on. 

If you cannot move on...

Smoke sinks into the pores of my skin, stinging my eyes.

"It's peeing again," I say quietly, holding my head up to the sky to keep from tearing up. 

She looks over to me from the rock, on her back, and smiles.

"Don't waste the rest," she says, taking it from my mouth and inhaling just the right amount. She takes one more drag, then smiles.

"Blowbacks," she says. "Put your mouth near mine."

I lean forward, and after she inhales, closer, and closer in, until she breathes into my mouth.

I inhale her air, her smoke, and smile.

"There," she says. 

She fluffs my hair up so it's a little teased, and tugs at my dress. My eyes shine silver and green, black rimmed, and my tights rub against the side of the rock as I lean in closer. 

No, I think. Stop.

But I can't exactly stop myself, not really. The scene is just so right.

She's just so right. 

"Vi?" she says.

I shake my head inside out and answer, "Yes?"

She tousles my hair again and says, "Nothing."

Safe.

Themes

Lights flash, outside. Through the gritty window, I hear sirens bleeping.
Far away.
Up the yellowing walls, and out the reflective glass; but they cannot see inside.
I'm laying on the ground, my head facing up to the ceiling. I'm watching the blood drip from my wrist in the corner of my eye, as it spreads across the floor like poison.
They're calling out my name, frantic; but they cannot see inside.
It's dark, too dark, as the lights dim to a shady grey. The world seems so florescent, but far, far away.
Something in my head pounds hard, so I mumble out a name.
"Life, you fucking asshole," and then, "I've fucking quit the game."

Hurts

Pick apart my skin
with a grin, with a grin.
Pick apart my skin with a grin.
But come time to go,
you can't get up.
You've drunk too much,
too, too much gin.

So you pick apart my skin
with a grin
with your gin,
with your silky little fingers
in the wounds upon my skin.

Funny funny words
that we sing,
that we sing,
when you pick apart your skin
without your
silly little grin.

It's not what it seems

Picking at my skin
to stop the itch,
it's crawling.
Dark scars in circles
so it doesn't look too bad,
I'm not on drugs.

Just distract,
distractions.

Distract,
distractions.

City girl

Windows line the sky-creepers,
glass panels with sharp edges and dark reflections.


I watch, mesmerized,
but I dare not look inside.


Behind those eyes is a mind I'm far too scared to see.
Behind those lies, it's me. 

I kept going and kept going
and I wasn't counting
and going
and going
and so far
I'm almost gone, but then I'm not.
Somehow I'm still here.

There's this white case I have. It's filled with pills I've collected, all different sorts.
From everywhere, and I know which ones you shouldn't mix, and which ones will knock you out,
and everything.
There's alcohol, which you are not supposed to mix, blades, and pills.
And you know, there's always water to help it all go down nicely.

And that's what I want, this year for my birthday?
But I want my birthday to come early and
and I want to die.
And that'll fix everything.

Storms

I kick at the puddles lining the silver concrete,

warming my feet in the luke-warm liquid.

It's a city, and there's the fear of germs and illness,

but I trudge through the water boldly.

No, not boldly at all.

I'm scared, terrified, and soaked through.

Chills up and down my skin, everywhere.

I'm scared, scared, scared.

There's no time for that, see, 

because we have to get home.

But we're only going back to an empty house

with memories, right,

but nothing more.

Thoughts through the walls and cracked windows,

duct tape wrapped around the broken edges.

But it's not enough to dull it down,

and the memories scream, shout at me

from everywhere.

We are happiness,

hear us roar. 

I'm not buying it.

I wasn't ever happy.

Things were always twisted, see.

Even the day I met you,

I knew you were going to kill me.

Maybe not you, really.

But I died. 

And you and me and you and

Possibly may be going to see an old friend
tomorrow
Possibly maybe but it might not
happen.

There's food in the kitchen somewhere
off away
but I'm not in the kitchen
anyway.

And that's fine good over there
and I'm in here
Off away from everything
off away from myself.

Someone tell me though what makes sense
to you
to tell me what makes sense so I know I've not gone
mad.

Waste away, it really is okay

Get out of the water and hide in the wrinkles of the towel, wrapped up so tightly like armour.
No one's home to see the blood seep through the sides.
Sit down and edge yourself up to the wall, letting the tears fall.
It's sad, so sad, but no one cares.
Just cry until your head aches and you're too stuffed up to breathe, then go upstairs.
Smoke filled bedroom, try to get dressed.
Smokesmokesmoke everything smells like smoke.
Breathe in, stop... -wait, is she still breathing?

Slip an over-sized tank-top over your head,
smashed, broken in, flat gold glasses around your neck, tying the chain close like a choker,
and pull a watch with a bigbig clock on your wrist.
Rings on both fingers, ringsringsrings sounding off a sound so horrid no one hears it.
Nails nice and long so you can scratch when no one's looking,
strap a razor to your side just under your dress.

It's fine.
It's fine.
Go outside, smoke until your lungs coughbleed dry.
Until your thighs cry, cut.
Until your head cracks, scream.
Until, until, until you're dying,
exist.
But don't you fucking dare live.

Shady words

Told me to grow up.

Things weren't good enough, tinted dark. Things were fucking dark. Revenge. Planning.
We plot. Back against the walls, we looked around the corner and bolted.
Feet beating against the cracked cement flooring.
Water's dripping somewhere, we can hear it.
My thoughts take me back--
Screams after us, we're running. As fast as we can go and as far as we can get.
Into the night, the dark, dark night.
Lights flicker out one by one, by the time we're gone it's pitch black. No one's home.
Blood dripping down my lips, to my chin, to my shirt, to my pants, to the dirt. We're sitting.
You take my hand, blood merges from the both of us.
"We're out," you whisper. You cough, laugh a little.
I see the tears you're holding back and nod, barely able to keep my own head up. Barely able to keep my eyes open.
"Sleep," I whimper.
Your hand on my cheek, pat, pat. "Eyes open."
The world spinning. Around me, beating with my heart; in and out.
I can't think straight.
The night's cool, but around me everything is burning. Every time I open my mouth to speak, blood trickles in.
Metallic and salty; tears and crimson liquid.
"No no no...shit. Stay awake." You look around franticly.
There's no one but buildings and cars, and yellow light.
Florescent.
Pat, pat, pat. You tug on my earlobe, snap your fingers.
"Come on, come on..."
The world blacks out, fading to a bright light in my face.
Blinding, and my eyes shoot open.

"I don't know, I haven't, I mean...she's up!"
It's only your face surrounded by a white light. Only your face.

I open my mouth to speak and taste dried blood.
No, words won't do. Just your face.
Just you.

Nova's back too.

I saw Ellie today.
We talked about absolutely everything and sat in the lake.
We got sun-burnt, and walked to the graveyard together.
Since I took a walk and told her, she says she goes there a lot now. She's the only person I know who will take a walk through the graveyard with me, listen to me ramble about whatever's actually on my mind, and she' genuinely interested.
We spent an hour sitting on a bridge, writing. I wasn't worried.
We talked, and talked, and talked; and she told me I'm the only person who she can look into their eyes while talking to them.

She makes me feel safe.
Worried, at first, but safe.

I've found a perfect friend.
She's interesting in everything I'm interested in, and she doesn't mind walking for hours to strange places, only to end up with bug bites and cuts.
She likes cuts and scars, too.
That's important.
That's really important.

Today

We're breathing until we're not.
Brain shut down
lungs smoked out
We bleed until there's no blood left
and that's fine.

Shadow

My head's empty.
For a silent second, I stop breathing and close my eyes, in the dark of my bedroom, things are fine.
I forget my regrets, my fears, my worries. There's nothing in my head, things are absolutely still.

Darkness washes over my eyelids in a soothing motion: up, and down. Up, and down.
After four seconds (and counting), I open my eyes and breathe in, letting my lungs fill up with stuffy bedroom air that tastes like gingerbread oils and axe.
It's calm, until my brain kick-starts back into motion.
Then I remember all that's ever happened in the darkness. There's the anxiety, and the air gets too thick to fit in my lungs. My head starts feeling really heavy, really dense.
I cough.
Around me, the walls grow shadows and start moving in; closer, closer, 'til I'm surrounded.
The white faces touch my cheek, writing rubbing off and seeping into my head.
"And she was so quiet her head POPPED" the words say.
I immediately regret writing that.
POPPED, POPPED, POPPED, POPPED...

My head's too fuzzy to understand. The words start screaming. Shouting and bursting into fits of laughter in the pauses they take to breathe.
I can't stand it.
"ENOUGH!" I try to shout, but it comes out as a whimper and I almost want to cry.
This shouldn't happen. I should be asleep. I should be sleeping, and dreaming, and things should be fine.

"She was so QUIET," they shout. "So QUIET, her head POPPED!"
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and hum to myself. But the melody gets twisted and soon I've lost it.

"IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT," I shout. "I was DRUNK!"
There's silence for a frightening second, and then the room bursts with it's dark voices, sickeningly angry.
"And the other time?"
I reach along my headboard for my light, trying to find the switch.
"AND THE OTHER TIME?"
My hand is slapped back with the lick of a knife.
"Th- that wasn't my fault..." My voice wavers.
"Wasn't it?"

The door bursts open to my cat standing there, meowing loudly.
I look at him, squinting from the light of the hallway.
"Shadow," I say. "Thank-you."
He meows and jumps up onto the end of my bed, just touching my feet. Once he's found the most comfortable spot, he lays down and starts purring, to ward off any negative activity.
He sleeps, and I close my eyes, once again ready to face the night.

"My Shadow," I say. "He's always here to protect me. Everywhere I go. My little warrior."
There's silence in the room.
Silent safety.

It's perfect.

When reality shifts

The world shifted up today. I couldn't tell; maybe I shifted down.
I was sitting in the subway station on a red bench, and everything was very dim. The lights flickerflickered and the room moved up a bit, leaving me farther in the dirt than I ever was before.

I just blinked and tried to readjust.

And again and again and again.

My world rattles, shaking under the pressure of--

The walls crackcrumble, falling in on themselves.
I hold my breath.
Close my eyes.
Go Somewhere Else.

--everything.

Mundane

What's on my mind right now:

The light shining in my eyes when I'm walking along the beach. At first, there's just seagull sounds and my feet padding through the sand. But I'm interrupted when I look up to see where I'm going by a distraught-looking girl sitting on the lifeguard's post.

She's smoking, but she can't be much older than I am. 

14, 15, and she's smoking. Out in public. 

She looks angsty, upset. Off-hinged. I glare, because I can't really see her all that well. The sun's still blinding.

"Hi," I think about saying. Or maybe, "Can I bum a cigarette off you?"

Both sound stupid, especially since I've got a half-full pack in my bag, so instead I put headphones in my ears and move on, watching seagulls fight over a pizza crust as I walk.

I think about the dead seagull I saw about 7 minutes back. The circle of rocks around him. 

But there's nothing particularly productive to say.

Nothing particularly important. 

I saw a girl and a dead bird today.

I took a walk.

I listened to music.

Even the most profound accomplishments, the most interesting experiences, can be broken down into mundane, every-day things.

Diary Entry

The rain gets louder; it's screaming. (4:03 AM)

It's the same with people

You silly flashy lights, you.
Please stop. It's so distracting because it's mesmerizing.
I can't, can't, can't look away.

And that scares me, because I should have control to shut off my curiosity.

Poison

Sweet strawberries when we want to starve. 

Further down into the crypt, my friends.
Words need to be more coded now.

It hurts her, I'm scaring Her.
So silent safety and it won't hurt as much.

Bloody writing

In case you were wondering, yes.
That is my blood smeared across the page.

Alien

Alien. 

It felt wrong.

Every time.

Alien, Alien, Alienated. 

Faster, Harder. 

Hitting up against all the places she wanted to keep herself, he asked her, "For starters?

I'm going to..."

But the darkening silence in her head was much more inviting. 

And for that night only, she felt...hope?

When she realized because this was happening to her, it WAS NOT happening to someone else.

Hope, if only for the fact that all the things she was enduring would not be things someone else ever had to. 

Still, Alien, Alien left bruises in places no one else could see.

"Oh, please," she thought. "Not again. Not to me."

Smokers

Sit around and chain-smoke all day?
Yes, please.

Text me.

When no one's looking, I place my finger's to my temple in a gun-shape, and blast. 

Out go my brains, perhaps. 

When no one's looking, I move my hands up to my neck and squeeze tight. In my head, I argue, "I just want something solid to hold onto." 

Tonight, we'll write the words we want to say on paper,

and burn it. 

It's funny, because it's not a joke, but people still laugh.

It's funny, because all of it's not really a game.

Bang, bang, you're dead. 

Or is it me?

Over the hum of the motor, I whisper "Sometimes, I really want to kill myself."
No one else on the boat hears me. The motor is so loud, it drowns out everything else.
The world is just the hum of the motor, ticked back and forth, ringing in my ears.

Usually, I hum along to whatever song is stuck in my head.
Whatever song I know I can get away with singing while no one is looking.
Usually, but not now.
I have a promise to keep.

I won't leave.
It's a promise I intend to keep, anyway. Temptation can fuck itself.
I'll be here.
I will. 

This is the poem that you couldn't read. With the face I sent you in that picture from my notebook?

Remember the days of wooden
swords, and faeries and
dragons and gremlins and
more? Remember the days of
treasure maps, and pirates
and ships and castles and
cats who stole all the Lady's
best feather hats?
Those are the days that are
long since gone, those are
the days that are lost. Play
pretend because lie through
your teeth, and treasure became
the cost.

One word.

Maybe. 

Corners

Can you, yourself, say you're happy enough as you are?

If you answered no, well it doesn't actually matter anyway.
Most people probably did.

And anyway, the only sure-fire way to be happy is to be safe, isn't to be that at all.
I don't know, it doesn't really matter.
Just...hide in those corners and keep your back against the wall.
Keep safe, keep silent, okay?
Keep quiet, and you're good.

I speak, but the words echo back in my head sounding automatic and empty.

I can't even bring myself to say it

I keep having dreams, see, or maybe nightmares, and they're haunting just as bad as reality.

I could hold my head and cry, screaming, biting my cheeks, squeezing my eyes shut tight,

but I won't.
It's revolting, really. Thinking about it.

My skin itches, my head aches, noisy little chatter won't stop, see, and it's really not fun.
So I scratch the itch, but that doesn't help. Deeper. I need to put pressure on it, right?
Put some pressure on, let some pressure out.

I could cry, and hold my head, screaming, biting the inside of my cheeks, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
But I won't, because I'll just stop thinking and it might go away.

Dc.3

It would figure, wouldn't it, that the people I care about leave me eventually.

Why don't you just kill me off, then?
Tear the skin off my bones and let the blood fall out.
I wasn't going to feel anything anymore, and then there you were. And you saved me, pulled me back, and made me smile. You promised me forever, but I didn't get very long, did I?

You are Fleeting.

Oh, you sad soul, you.
Haven't you heard?

It's the fearless man who jumps.

Explorer

Be cautious, there could be snakes.
And that's good life advice, right there, if you learn to look past the words. But not past them, rather, into them.

But don't

Yeah, whatever.
Go drown yourself.

I could walk away from it all, but not really walk away from it all.
I could be just another wanderer,
and on my own, I could be happy.

Could I be happy?

I wonder

When life gives you lemons, will you be happy enough to stop writing about them?

Absolutely everything

I wonder where your house went. Your homely dark cavern where we spent years hiding out.
I wonder where our lunches went. Noodles and Soldiers, all stocked up and ready for us.
I wonder where our favourite music went, where our favourite places went.
I wonder, you know, because they're gone.

I live in the same house, with the same schools up the street, and the same beach down the street.
I live in the same city, the same country, with the same people and places as always.
The same stores line the bottom of my street, the same buildings line the top of my street.

And yet, everything I ever had is gone.

Everything's the same, but it's so the same, that it's all completely different.
Funny how only one thing has changed.
I'm just not happy anymore, and everything is a reminder why.

Not at all

I'm not happy with this.

Forgive and Forget

I'm not forgiving anyone for anything and I'm not forgetting anyone for anything.

It doesn't matter.
We're all alone.
I love the world,
but it's down to bone.
It doesn't matter.
We're all alone.
It doesn't
matter
doesn't
matter
doesn't
matter
anymore.

She looked so sad, I swear

I just remember you looked so sad, love. Tears edging at the corners of your eyes, your mouth shut tight.
So sad, so lonely, so lost. And I remember wanting to give you the biggest hug I ever possibly could right there.
Just taking your hand and leading you as far away as I could.
Getting in a car, driving into the sunset and never looking back.

I remember the way you sort of choked on your sobs for a while, trying not to cry, biting your lip.
You kept glancing behind yourself; kept checking if anyone was going to help you at all.

I know I should have helped you.
That was my job, there.
I should have helped you, love. You were just so sad.

I know I could have made you happy.

They've forgotten, haven't they?

I was thinking today, before I went to sleep, about lights.
The way darkness can seem comforting, or scary. The way sometimes having a little light shone on something makes you feel that much safer, or it makes everything glow in weird ways, casting creepy shadows around everything.

I don't know what any of this means, because it doesn't mean anything.
But I'm saying, I guess, that even if the lighting is terrifying, I'd still chase after the people I care about if they walked into darkness.

I'd be scared shitless, but I love them.
So darkness or blinding light, or anything in between, I'm there for them if they need me.
I am.
I want them to remember that.

Close proximity

The close proximity of the world is really tripping me out.
Everyone's so scarily close, cheeks brushing, shoulder's touching.

And imagine.
If someone were to fall, would everyone come tumbling down too?

See, I don't think so.
I think everyone else would just let go of that person and reform their group around their fallen form.

Simple.
The close proximity ebbs and flows. We are apart, we are together, and the outsiders don't know.

It's everyone, and everyone.
And we're all on one side.

The same sides, really. There's no line in between, no walls built up.
We can all just tell who's who, somehow.
We all just know. 

Hug drugs

I'd forgotten how much I loved physical contact. I'd forgotten how much I loved hugs, and people rubbing my shoulders, and brushing their arm against mine.
I'd forgotten what it was like not to fear the touch of their acidic hands. I'd forgotten what it was like not to fear the voice behind their words.

I'd forgotten, I'd forgotten.
But today she clung tightly to me, and I held on. For my life, I guess you could say.
So many people hugged me today.
So many people I was only waiting to reach out to me and pull me back in.

I was so far out, lost. So lonely and sad.
I was contemplating suicide today.
I graduate, I die.
And then she came downstairs and held me tight, letting her skin brush against the skin on my arms.

And so many people reached out today, to pull me in tightly and tell me they're going to miss me.

I truly didn't know this many people cared about me.
Honest words.
And I'll be just fine.

If only, if only.

When good words become Bad. 

Pretty or not

Pretty people of the world unite
we will throw a bash tonight.
Loud and thumping beat in tow
follow down the roads that glow.
Lights and beams and laser smiles
getting wet, it's been a while.
In the lake, upon the hill.
We're up too high, standing still.
And catch the bubbles
on your tongue.
They sting they bleed,
but we're having fun.
So scream out loud,
and louder yet.
Jump into the lake,
you're wet, you're wet.
With stitches here, and stitches there
you are a mistress, full of fear.
Crack your whip, draw your sword,
fight your demons without a word.
Pretty people, pretty girls
With that blood,
make rainbow swirls.
And drink some more, and drink some more.
Flying high, and tryin'ta score.

But you don't see,
the wolf just there.
Standing still,
with his nasty leer.
You're having fun
that soon will end.
He's after YOU
and her, your friend.

Keep safe tonight
Stay high, stay light.
Floating far,
floating bright.
In NYC,
the bright big home
for people who
love to groan.
And chatter chatter chit,
chatting up a storm.
Hide in gutters grey,
pretty people of the norm.

Humans, you see
are only just so smart.
We'll all fall flat on our face,
we'll all, some day, fall short.
And pretty one or not,
you're just as lost as I.
Because we are both human,
we will both die.

Roadrunner run road road runner runner run

We are liars, hiding behind our marks and furs,

so that the world will pass us by

not knowing

who we really are.

And if the world doesn't really know us,

we can get away 

with anything.

Remembering me

Yearbooks. "SIGN MINE, SIGN MINE!"

Everyone gets one, and you have to be aware that, not everyone wants you to sign theirs.
But today, 1, 2, 3 ,4, 17 people asked me to sign theirs, and even more, because I lost count, and it was nice, because I didn't realize that many people wanted to remember me.

I was ready to forget everyone.
I still am, but that's because I always am.

But it's nice to think people out there are going to be thinking about me.
I think about them sometimes. But that doesn't mean anything.

I think about Jellyfish, too.
It really doesn't mean anything.

When I talk about pain, you see...

Imagine the grass stained knees from rolling around in the jungle. Imagine the laughing that floats lazily through the air. Imagine the lemonade spilled on your dress-up shoes, into your perfect, white socks. The socks that, later, would be running through the jungle at top speed, so everyone could only see flashes of your passing body, arms racing and pulling your forward, pumping back and forth.
Imagine the people chasing you, COPS. Only not cops at all, in fact, just ghosts.
You run because it's a game, and you're playing. You put your foot in, got counted.
You
don't
back
out
now.
Imagine running to the edge of a cliff, and looking down.
But it's not a cliff, it's not a jungle. It's the edge of your apartment building, and you're bundled up in a thin cotton sweater that's slightly too big.
You clamber up to the edge of the railing, sitting on the concrete blocks. It's easier to get up, you notice, so it's easier to tell you've grown.
But you're weak.
Slowly, you pull both legs over so they're hanging off the building, and you watch the people walk below you, living a normal life.

Hours pass, your lips turn blue, but you do not move.
The cops are right behind you, in all their grey, non-existent fashion. You don't dare turn around, but you know snakes are curling up behind you, their poisonous jungle fangs out.
"Shoo, get," you say. "Go on."
The silence on their parts tells you to jump.
JUMP!
But you do not move, you do not move.

Imagine the grass stained knees, stained socks, soaking in the dirty swamp water, grey skin. Is that what you want? No?
Then imagine it dipping into fresh spring water. Sliding in, stepping in, into a river? Into the water, cold. Clambering over rocks, over bottom scum, but it's nice and fresh. Into the water, and you're breathing clean for once.
Greenery surrounds you, rare birds cawing and chirping. Echoes of dreams you never had.

Silence from the cops, from the robbers. Silence all through-out the jungle, until one of your ghost friends bumps your back, and you slip.
The ice cracks off the concrete building and falls through air with you, as if you were suspended outside someone's window. But then you fall, and fall, and you're on the ground, the ice sitting nicely on your sweater, melting through it's soft blue fabric.  Blood pools at the sides of your ribs, from your head, your ears, your skin.
Puncture wounds, holes, rips and tears.

"Ouch," you think, your last dying thought.
"Just ouch."