There is a little boy

who doesn't quite understand.

He knows he's in Room

and he is happy with that.

Everything is soft and fuzzy

in Room.

Outside the other boys

won't play with him.

Teacher says it's because he

is special.

Mommy says the same.

There is a little boy

who loves to learn.

He sits in Chair

and writes with Pencil.

He dips his finger in paint

and makes Mommy

a flower.

He kicks Ball

and laughs at Puppet.

They are his friends.

His only friends.

There is a little boy

who is very lonely.

It is only him,

Teacher and

Mommy.

Daddy left.

Mommy said Daddy

was mean and didn't

like his specialness.

It's little boy's fault.

There is a little boy

who cries himself to sleep.

He cries in Bed

and cuddles

with Blanket.

He whispers to them

and they whisper back.

Bed makes him warm

and rocks him to sleep.

Blanket says she loves him

as she dries his tears

and kisses him goodnight.

They love little boy.

If I were to write you a letter

I would like to think I would

have the courage to tell you

all about the abounding feelings

that flowed from my chest

when you were with me.

I would probably start by

telling you that your touch

laced my skin with an inferno

that not even the Atlantic

could put out.

Next, I would describe

how your scent made

my blood sing a song

more delicious than

honey trickling slowly

along your frame.

After, I would show you

how your gaze sent the

cells of my limbs into

the most heavenly hysteria,

a discourse that could

shatter me in the best way.

Finally, I would describe how

your words filled the galaxy

between my bones with

endless stars and constellations

that make the Milky Way look

like dust among a meteor shower.

I hope you realize how you

destroy me so perfectly

and put me together even

better than before.

Who could use words to describe you?

When I see you, when I think of you,

when the very idea of all that you are

seeps into my brain, my mouth ceases to work.

Everything that you consist of sits in my mind

as a series of flashes that are only connected

by the love I hold for you and when I try

to explain this love, this burning feeling

that laces every molecule within me,

these are the things I say:

You smell like morning dew after a long

night of violent storms, when I wake up

with bruises and you never went to sleep.

You sound like a clock and as each minutes passes

you edge closer to eruption, or maybe it's implosion,

but either way we both end up lacerated and a bit lonely.

You feel like a gentle breeze that I remember

from my childhood spent lakeside. A gust

that flipped and howled so suddenly I forget

to be afraid and laughed through the crying monsoon.

And your taste.

Oh, God how you taste.

Every time we kiss it's like biting into dark chocolate.

Bittersweet. Sweet to my tongue and bitter to my heart.

It's as if my body aches when our lips meet but the misery

is so addicting I refuse to contemplate letting go.

How perfect are we? Self destructive and empathetically in love.

I love this. I love you.

This is what you are.

I am watching my city burn.

People set fire to their houses and make the

night sky glow like a thousand

pyres dedicated to all the living

who are dead on the inside.

And I am blaming with a torch

in my hand, waiting for the blaze

to consume the walls of what I love.

Because we are blind to our destruction,

and like Icarus next to the sun, we feel

a fleeting glow before our descent.

So we accuse others of our fall

to justify our failure, when we

are all just arsonists burning in our own flames.

And still we are not warm.

If I have to hear that word

leave your lips again

I will most likely scream,

or faint, or maybe just

implode under your ignorance.

Maybe your mouth should be locked

so we can avoid any further injuries

that your tongue always seems to form.

Or maybe I should realize

how bad you are for me

and take it upon myself

to run away from the tragedy

that I seem to love so much.

Because I don't think I can

make it through another miserable

struggle or raging combat.

You let loose the words that

wreck my soul and I can feel

myself falling a little further

as they hit without warning,

tearing through my freckled

flesh and quivering veins.

You start with my 'broad shoulders'

'Sorry'

Then move to my 'disgusting stomach'

'Sorry'

Down to my 'hideous thighs'

'Sorry'

Back up to my 'feeble heart'

'Sorry'

That word isn't enough.

It's like putting a Band-Aid over

a bullet wound.

They bleed through the layers,

never really healing, just hiding

under fresh skin

until you decide to attack again.

1.The phone call that broke my world apart

tearing the fabric of my innocence

as I was thrust into reality too soon.

2. The lungs that collapsed from the weight

on my chest as the words crashed

into my mind piece by piece.

3. The loved ones who cry every night

because they can't help but blame themselves

for not being able to see the invisible.

4. The years we had known each other

that all seem to be a blur

of fading classrooms and familiar ghosts.

5. The people who held me

and whispered promises they couldn't keep

as the light of youth went out for good.

6. The tainted year that began my

downward spiral onto leathery couches

and empty words full of fake feelings.

7. The days it took me to realize

that my shadow was consuming me

and leading me down the loneliest path

to battle my own darkness.

8. The years that have passed by

using each waking moment

as a reminder of all that you could have been.

9. The grade that I let all my thoughts

and regrets flow through lead tips

and trembling fingers so I could feel some sort of peace.

10. The seconds it takes for me

to regain control of my own demons

when your name falls from unworthy lips.

11. The age when you decided

that life wasn't worth living and

that I wasn't enough to keep you hanging on.

Unclench your fists

and let me kiss

the crescent moon scars

your nails have left behind.

Hasn't anyone ever

told you they aren't

worth the effort?

No need to get mad

over petty words for

they are just pebbles

against the might

of a castle.

Fading stars that can't even

compare to the Moon.

Look me in the eyes

and tell me why you

should worry.

We know what we are worth.

We know what we can do.

Together we are strong

and nothing they can

say will ever make you

anything short of

breathtaking.

These hands weren't made

for these terrible deeds

that make my heart

burst in my chest.

These feet weren't made

for the miles they run

trying to escape the

nightmares that chase me.

My hands were made

to hold the sky

as I drown in stardust

among the graves of galaxies.

My feet were made

to race the wind

until I reach the place

the sunrise meets the Earth.

I was not born

for the cruel nature

of man.

I only exist to save myself.

You managed to take

the breath right from my chest.

As if you stole my desire to live.

My lungs forgot how to inflate

when you weren't there

to guide my veins and

beat out the steady rhythm

that made my life.

So this is drowning.

This is gasping for air.

This is sucking in the tiny

pieces scattered in the aftermath.

But you never really forget

how to inhale, you only wish

you could. Because the oxygen

makes me dizzy with memories.

In.

Freckles smattered on cheekbones.

Out.

A smile that wasn't for me.

In.

Hands caressing spines.

Out.

Greedy bruises along my thighs.

In.

The first words you spoke.

Out.

The silence you used to say goodbye.

It's funny how the things that keep

you alive, make you wish they didn't.