How did we get here? Where the fuck do we go now? Floating, looking down, looking around. There’s green and gold and raven black, so, so black. I can feel my shadow shifting towards it. I can feel… I don’t know.

I want to pick up the pieces of my fear. I’m not afraid of my demons, only my angels. Life is so slow. I feel my heart beat, my lungs keep gasping for oxygen, expelling carbon, and pieces fall apart. I fall apart.

I think I’ll make friends with my demons.

Dark, shimmering red eyes. Thank god. Something to feel something about. Staring back, an eternity, one of many, many eternities.

Walk past, turn my back. They’re only eyes. Nothing to…

No one left will feel what I feel. The ones who did had to leave and now, now they’re so far. So, so far. I can’t feel them anymore. I can’t feel anyone anymore.

They stare at me, look at me, watch me as poison passes through my lips to let me let go, as clouds stream from my mouth and nose, letting me float. Do they ever do anything? They watch, they lament, they wish they could let go as I do but the only thing holding them back are their own fears. They watch, they lament, they wish they could see life as I do - a challenge, a bother, a bore, something to master. Something to feel.

That’s the real problem, isn’t it. Trying to feel something, to mean something. No one knows what they want. They think they do, but it’s all superficial. “I wanna meet someone and fall in love.” Why. “Because I wanna be close to someone.” Why. “Because… I don’t wanna be alone?” Always a question. They don’t know why they need someone else. They don’t know why they start conversations. They don’t know why they think they need anything.

Am I any different? I don’t know. People look up to me, I look up to people. Am I more special than anyone else? Probably, and probably not. Life is ridiculously mediocre. There are so many places to feel unique and so many more to feel like nothing. Is one right? Is anything right?

I choose to believe: no. Nothing is right, everything is right. Shouldn’t where you’re looking from matter? Shouldn’t a person’s life be whatever they want it to be? Why are so many of them the same? Why are so many of them worthless, and sad, and looking and failing to find a way to matter?

I turn back and see those dark, shimmering red eyes. Eyes in the dark, eyes of hunger. Dangerous eyes, murderous eyes. I walk towards them, fearless, I know they won’t hurt me. They’re alive. You wanna bet they’re satisfied?

Eyes rise, tooth filled maw gapes open, and I’m bored. “That really your end goal? To eat one more human?”

A pause, a question, another uncertainty, and I leave. Even my demons are just another.

I think I might be dying here and now.

I think this pressure in my head might make me drown.

I think my lungs are as dead as my soul.

I think my heart has finally taken control,

And it blooms

and flowers

into beautiful rotten feelings 

as dark and alive as a disease.

Its roots take over my chest!

And I swear I won't get out of this.

It crawls its way into my brain,

and I swear I won't get over this!

Everything good has turned to dirt,

and the monsters taunt me from the light-

They beckon me from my darkest past

When I thought my sadistic demons delivered the worst pain 

I'd ever have to deal with.

So I think I might be dying here and now,

I think the pressure in my head might make me drown.

I think my lungs withered and died with my soul,

and my beating heart has finally taken control.

Its sickly rotten flowers pollute

my sickly rotten mind,

And its pulsing life is

pushing out the cold!

My demons taunt me from the light;

they scream that they conquered the fight.

And my heart conquered my soul,

anchoring me to this rotten ground,

because its rotten blooming flowers

sent their rotten, sneaking, piercing roots down

Through my mind

To my toes

I fear that I might be living here and now.

This pressure inside my head holds me down.

My lungs have transformed to breathe in this new air,

and my heart holds a tyrannic reign over my soul.

These bloody, bubbling blossoms are choking me!

But the pulsing of my heart forces me to breathe.

This dark, humid beauty is drowning me!

But my tears only water the garden of this hellish rotten life.

     "It's a girl, what's her name?" The doctor asked the23 year old mother.

     "What do you think, Eric?" she asked the young man next to her, who appeared to have a hangover.

    "I don't care-whatever the fuck you want, Ally."

     The doctor winced and held the baby tighter, but the young woman, Ally, just frowned. "Fine," she said and turned back to the doctor. "Her name's Aaron." She smiled and held her arms out to hold the little girl. The doctor hesitated a moment before handing her over. Ally took her with surprising confidence and began speaking  in soft tones to her. Eric snorted and rubbed his temple, trying to alleviate his pounding headache at the newest problem in his life, combined with his ever-present hangover. Ally ignored him and continued to expertly comfort the newborn Aaron.

     "You, um, seem to have a lot of experience," the doctor commented, a bit concerned.

     "Oh, yes, well she is my third," Ally said, not sounding terribly thrilled and glancing at Eric.

     "Well, then you two must be experienced parents," the doctor said with a small smile.

The end of the day

Brings needed relief

From the nightmare they all

Call reality

So she drifts off into the night

To visit her own reality

One of nightmares and magic

And the comforting tendrils of sleep

And she awakens there

To the end of the world

Clothed in a flowing white dress

Softer than silk

Glancing up she greets

Her flying steed

With huge vibrant wings

And soft butterfly eyes

Then the smoke turns her dress grey

And the wings begin to fade

And the flesh falls from her face

And she awakens to another day

I scream to the stars

And cry for the wind

I laugh for my heart

But it runs to the snow

And the stars never listen

And the wind never cares

And my heart splits open

After freezing all year

People love to tell other people what to do. They love thinking they're right. They love giving advice. They love it even more when that advice is followed, and will often times go to great lengths to make sure it is followed exactly as they intended it to be.

And I'm really tired of getting advice from people. I'm really tired of doing things I frankly don't give a shit about. And I'm really tired of telling people to stop giving me advice.

Because something people don't like to do is listen. Often listening will get in the way of their advice being followed, because often what they're listening to proves them wrong. And so they don't listen.

And so I'm done taking their advice. And I'm done trying to make people happy

And I'm done getting hurt by people who only think about themselves.

And now I realize that once I've stopped talking to all of those people, there's no one left to talk to.

Lucky that's what writing's for, I guess.