She had stardust on her shoulders and when I looked into her eyes, I saw the universe

I don't want to leave her

But I had to capture the look in her eyes for myself

Let me go free

Hold me tight

Close enough to feel you breathe

With enough space so I can look you in the eye

So I can brush the stardust from your shoulder

So I can watch you pass by

I'll catch up one day

Just you wait

I wasn't trying to be

I thought you knew I was joking

How am I supposed to feel

Knowing that you don't really know me like that

I would say that I'm sorry

But really

I'm not

Is that okay with you?

Would you mind I just stopped

Would you care if I didn't?

I'm sorry,

But I don't really mean it

I love you

But I was just joking

Don't sleep on me

I want to remind you

Even if you cry

I don't want to go

down

It can be proved with light from

Isn't this just me?

It just doesn't go away

Pull your hair and limbs

And away

It will do me

The hand on my arm

He asked me

Because they haven't done it

I don't want to worry about that

My heart is full of fear

I want to sleep

Please, and wait

Silence of fear of fear

Don't sleep on me

This is the devil's head

From going out the door

Devil is it for me to want to die,

Instead, read my bedside favorite home

Chain me to my bed

Do not set me free

Despite how much I scream and yell

I promise you I don’t want to leave

Please, chain me to my bed

This way I can pretend

It was all you and not me

I really do not want to leave

Pull out my hair and heave my limbs

I’m trying not to leave

They force me out

Hands on my arms

I begged, “Let me be”

I don’t like to pretend

I don’t want to care

My heart is heavy with dread

I want to go back to bed

So please chain me down and hold me still

With heavy silence and the feel of dread

Chain me to my bed

This must make the demons rest in my head

Cause when we venture out the door

The demons, they want me dead

They much rather prefer the view we get from laying in my bed

To organize my mind

Too many thoughts

Too many people

Too many personalities

Too many stories

They scratch at my skin and knock on my skull

Sometimes I need silence

So I have to release them upon the world

And when they are done there and I've rested my mind

They crawl back into me through my eyes and ears and nose and mouth

And I carry them around with me until I need to let them go once more

These are my kids

I try to set them free

But they always come back to me

The voice in my head is a realist

I’ve been told that I need to separate this voice from my identity

Depression is a disease

My depression is a realist

But I still don’t understand how the voice in my head is not mine

How is this depression not a part of me

How can I live without it

Will I still be alive soon with it?

At midnight she hums in prayer,

A vibration which resonates outward, forward, and away

Pushed into the darkness,

Her breath will steal you stray

It is night and she has learned best to radiate in shadow

Her hair is the blonde of snow,

A foretelling of what we already know

She lives in the deep, and shuddering, agonizing cold

Tight and thin,

Pale and abandoned,

Her skin is a coffin which keeps on rattling,

The remains inside; hollowed and expanded,

Her body, a sunken city; a valley in every corner and mountain tip across each bone

Her eyes have died,

A very dark brown,

A hazard of being in reclusion,

She wants something more

Like the people beside her,

We choose to live in delusion and memories

With kisses and very little hope

An actress,

A singer,

A desire

I have applauded them for their success,

We are what we want to be,

We are what we were meant to be,

An actress,

A singer,

A desire

There is a hushed silence among the people that reside here,

Their stories go on untold

Behind doors the walls whisper

Secrets and lies,

We deceive

And then we die

She wants to live,

But most of all,

She wants to survive

Sometimes I see the monsters approach her,

The white light she stands under is a beacon

They are moths that cannot fly

Instead they crawl toward her,

A fractured light is what guides them,

Through a dirty, ugly, muddy path,

She is the gold at the hands of their wrath

She stands under it nonetheless,

Against the back wall of a rusted gas station,

Against the cool cover of dust which has layered on a street lamp

She has seen these things before

Behind doors and in alleys,

She has been here before

They like her dress, it is far too short for this cold

She stares at the ground below

She does not have a home,

Her glamour

Does not break.

She spares no blinks,

Oh, to get on with it,

Her time is precious,

She has been here all day,

Her presence smells of gasoline

She

Is

Flammable

With a cigarette between thinned, red lips she plays dangerous games

Greasy hair is pulled behind her in a short tail,

This is territory she knows.

She covers her head with a hood, and her hands shake

I do not know if she is cold,

or scared,

or high-

I nod, because we both understand why.

Clouds of smoke rise above her,

She drags them out like carbon dioxide,

They cling in the air,

Thick and tainted,

Pure- they are blinding,

Especially on these nights,

When the skies are black and white,

When our virtues are faint

Over here, there aren’t any stars,

But I have seen many angels

We share stories in cigarette halos,

I do not believe in God,

But these are the ones I can relate to

An actress,

A singer,

A desire

We smile, and continue on,

passing each other by.

My Mind Is Split

And the Lines Which Separate and Organize Have Long Since Faded.

I Am Lost

Inside these Walls of Mine.

Caged and Chained,

I Stand a Slave of Many Masters.

My Creatures

Are running Free.

A Sign is Posted

I Won’t Ever Die.

This Is Not a Mask I Wear,

But the Reshaping of Skin,

The Moulding of Bones,

The Quick Burning and Cooling

Of Sacred Flesh

I Am Steel which

Breaks and Cracks, Bends and Relocates.

I Was God and Creator.

I Thought They Were the Same.

But Creators Must Make Things

And Gods Must Rule Them.

My Creations Are Atheist.

It Does Not Become Less Painful,

This Skin Holds the Innards of Millions of Creatures.

They Have Swallowed Me from The Inside Out,

Replaced Mine with Theirs.

This Body Is Worn with Exhaustion from The Weight It Carries Inside.

Stretched and Pulled, Tightening and Loosening.

There May Be A Few Holes;

I am Leaking, I am Spilling Out,

It Should Not have Broke

Sometimes I Am Beautiful.

I Hear a Voice,

“Merciful”

There Is No One Inside of Me.

This Is a Part of Me.

I Am God and Devil,

Sinner and Saint.

I Can No Longer Differentiate

The Parts I’ve Created

With the Remains of Me,

They Have Been Sewn Together.

What Was Before Has Taken to Form

Scar

upon

Scar

Upon

Scar.

There is no Healing.

At Heart, I have Lived 10 Thousand Lives,

It Pains Me to Know,

I Have Died 10 Million More,

And Still

I Know Not Where I Reside,

Be It Fiction or Truth.

I Must Write in My Blood-

My Words are Loose.

I Wanted to Write Words and Stories

To Be So Consumed with the Passion of My Creations,

My Mind is Gone.

I Belong in Two Worlds.

I Know This has Become Wrong.

Leave Me to My Self Devices,

A Scheme of Way-too-Personal

Self-Sacrifices.

This is Not a Game, But a War.

These Are Not Tugs, They Are True to Their Core.

So, I Write.

Write,

Write.

Where I Should Be.

I Am Where I Thought I Wanted to Be.

I Thought that from The Beginning

The

“I”

Was Me.

My paper goes on unscorched

The fire rises and my body drops with exhaustion

I am tired, but I cannot sleep

My veins are the tunnels that shield enemy warfare

There is a war inside me and it’s pouring out

My seat which was once wood has turned warm

It is metal that carries the outside fire inside, through my skin and burns

Cold and hot,

I am bleeding

I bleed in matches

They fall out of me like rain from clouds and water from icicles;

Loud and quiet,

Slow and fast

They are sparked from the air inside my room

This fire is the war inside me

I am inside myself

But still my paper goes on unscorched

It is perched; blank and white upon my wooden desk

A desk that once matched my now fiery chair

The desk burns, but does not break

My pen is waiting,

For a moment I think the ink inside bubbles

But still it does not write

My bed is alight with flames and begs me toward it

I am melted into this fiery chair and the matches inside me multiply

They weigh me down and I cannot move through the flood of them

The fire grows

But still my paper goes on unscorched

The moon is sweet

A cool breeze on my face

It sends unearthly pure light

A relief from the fire that has burnt my eyes

It does not see my paper guarded by an army of fire and surrounded by waves of matches

Still my paper goes on unscorched

It is a bright and loud night

But no words ignite my paper

So I burn in fury and letters

Branded by ideas and thoughts

There are too many which have melted together

None are left but a desk which burns, but does not break,

A pen that bubbles, but does not write

And paper that smells of smoke, but still will not catch

Lately I’ve been cold

A dampness layered atop of my bones

Lately my heart’s been aching

An exhaustion has swallowed me whole

Lately I’ve felt shallow

Like I’m not in my body, and have to be pulled

Lately I haven’t been okay

I don’t feel like this is home

Lately you’ve gone away

I don’t want to be alone

Lately I’ve tried to let you go

But here I am, windows open, door unlocked, staring down below