I'll follow you into the dark...

Oh, lovely.

My friend is going away. And with her she's taking:

-My sister

-My girlfriend

-My sister's friend

-Her friend (F)

-Her other friend (M2)

My sister is taking with her:

-Her friend (M1)

-Me

-Her other friend (E)

-However many other people follow her out of misery and confusion.

My girlfriend is taking with her:

-Me

-Someone else I don't know

My sister's friend is taking with her:

-Her twin sister

-Her family

Such nice circles, these are.

And for everyone one person that leaves, it's most likely another one follows.

My friend shouldn't have to leave; I love her.

But love isn't enough.

Everyone follows the people they love. Oh, and my sister really does love her...

And I love my girlfriend, and my sister, and my friend, and my sister's friend and....

People are going away, up in the sky.

Falling and slipping and getting bruises they can't even feel anymore.

Oh fun.

Oh, and I'm following everyone I love.

But people die and people hurt and everything's just messed up.

And, falling isn't so bad, I guess.

I'll fall for you.

I'll fall for anyone I love.

In a moment.

I just hope... no one follows me.

stopit...

We're fighting.

We're throwing our arrow "You have to's" in flaming "You promised's". Swinging our "It's the rules" swords at your "Follow the fucking schedule!" shields.

As always, we're fighting.

But we're hiding behind mood charts and eating schedules and quirky smirks. Yeah, we're hiding all right. We're hiding in our rules and regulations, and standards and expectations.

We're lodged between our bitter structure and "Have to's", carefully wrapped up in our blankets of silence and promises that we really fuckedup intend to keep.

But all these intentions go nowhere, because we don't really care.

We're not really fixated on reaching 90.

We're not really caught up in all our work.

We're not really that in love with our music.

We're not really that into video games.

We don't really like bike riding that much.

We don't really care whether or not it all falls apart.

No, but we don't know that.

This is all so important. And, we just can't mess it up.

But what would it matter if everything fell apart, anyway?

You know I'm following our structure and eating charts. You know I'm sticking closely to the lines I need to follow.

Yes, just like I cut up my lifeline.

Just like I trace the lines with blood, so I know where I'm going.

But now I have to worry what you're going to say.

I have to worry if I have to end I can't trust you.

I will, too.

I'll do it.

You know exactly what to say to drive me off the edge.

You say it, and I'm gone.

Gone, dead.... It'll all be over

But don't worry about me. Don't worry about breaking my trust or bringing up things I really don't want to talk about. Don't worry about killing me.

This is all about you, anyway.

All about you, and no one else matters.

No, but that's a lie.

Remember when you fight me? When you're throwing out word-after-word accusations?

Remember that certain words hurt.

You remember that, and we're gold.

We're gold forever.

Nomoreair.

Ah, shit. No.

Ididn'tmeantosaythat. I meant to say that I'm fine and you're fine and WE'RE NOT FIGHTING!

No, we're not fighting and - who the fuck am I kidding?

I just want you to forget I ever said that.

Stop bringing it up.

I am over it, but you're dragging me back through it.

Pleasestop.

It hurts.

It hurts because those are my words to say, and my words to keep.

If I want them, they're mine. Stop taking away absolutely everything.

Tackylovesheralot...

I want to tell you I love you... a lot, but I'm just not sure how to bring it up.

I love you. So much...

Oh, the cravings...

How much I wantwantwant everything that I just. can't. have. And you... oh how Iwant you.

But everything seems to be getting in the way, and I'm confused and backwards and alone.

But I just... can't stop wanting you, and I can't even tell you.

I just- I don't want to hurt you. No, I want to help you. I want to make everything better for you. I want to make everything perfect and happy and soft and bright and wonderful.

Ah, but that can't happen.

No, because I'm a bad person.

You deserve better.
You deserve normal.

Amazing/perfect/beautiful, babe...

Candle wax under my finger nails tells me that there's ways to see when the lights go out.

That, no matter what happens, I shouldn't be afraid, because there's ways around the rules.

But some things still seem dark and stingy. Like there'll always be someone lurking in dark alley ways, watching me. Someone stronger, smarter, and faster than me. Someone obviously less powerless than me.

But every time I remember you, you give me strength, and I forget to worry about people waiting to get me; tohurtme.

I forget about darkness, and silence, and darkthoughts, and people, and words, and sounds, and noise... and everything that scares me. I forget about drowning in mid-air, suspended by my words, falling from the mountain I tried to climb to get fresh air. The mountain I climbed to get away from the fire. The fire that was trying to save me from the darkness, with good intentions... burning me every step I took. Every breath I took.

I forget about all of it, and I only think about you.

When I'm focused enough to get back to the world, to see, and hear, and know and understand... when I'm not too far away from it all, not dreaming... I see you.

When I actually look?

I see you, and I'm not afraid.

Oh, hello there. I believe in love again...

No longer applicable. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy...when skies are grey...

Today, it's the way the sun shines off car windows and puddles. The way it sets everything aglow, golden and brisk in that fresh-morning-air.

We don't talk about how lost we are, or how hurt, no. Instead, we just smile and recognize that today could be something. That, whether or not we try, today could actually be a something, in a world of nothings and anythings.

And that thought alone is sending millions of pitter-patter thoughts through people's heads. Millions of pitter-patter thoughts that fall onto paper and into ink. That fly across the computer screen, ready and awake and aware.

And everyone's minds are glowing today.

Glowing, because the sun's finally here again!

And because today?

Today I'm going to smile.

Hm

It's so... far away. So far away from wherever it is I am.

But it's still the same. I mean, they say that. They say nothing's changed. But it's like every second? Every second I'm alone? I'm thinking about everything I could have done differently.

Everything I could have done to fix this.

Either that, or I'm thinking blindly, because none of this is what I know.

I don't understand how any of it works, and maybe that's driving me insane.

Yes, but it's incredible.

Because everything is perfect and normal and okay and... I'm blind.

I can't even see anything anymore. Far away doesn't even begin to cut it.

More like... too far to see.

More like, too far to reach

And here we go again... we're going off the edge.

Where are you?

And it's nice, I think...

The fact is, I'm tired of being quiet, though.

I'm just so damn tired of pretending I'm not even here, that I've actually started talking again. And you know what happened?

Absolutely nothing. People don't pay any more or less attention to me than they used to. But the honest truth is, they've always paid a lot more attention to me than I thought they did.

The honest truth is sometimes people listen.

And maybe... sure, maybe they don't hear me, necessarily, but they're trying. They're listening. It's an effort, and it's more than I've ever done for them.

How do I expect anyone to hear me if I'm not talking?

How do I expect anyone to see me, if I'm spending all my time trying to be invisible?

I really can't blame anyone else for this.

It was my mistake.

My mistrust.

It was just me being a sore loser, because no one liked me.

Only... that's still true, I suppose.

But now I'm talking.

I'm saying small words.

And, la. It's good.

It's great, actually.

It's all right, I mean.

It's... it's how everything is supposed to be. It feels right.

Moderation...

Thinking about... moderation.

Less is more.

They say that, right?

Less is more.

All right. Less. Less makes everything smaller.

And smaller is... good.

Good. Great.

Fine.

But why does it feel terrible?

Silence...

We're pages in books that don't get opened, sitting on shelves that don't get looked at, in libraries where people forget to go.

We're words hidden deeply, submerged in sentences and paragraphs, on those same pages covered in dust.

Although... there is those days when people find us, hidden and dusty, alone. And they glance at us, taking in the picture. And we scream, trying to give them our message, rushing and throwing words out stupidly, because we've been alone for so, so long...

But we scare them off, and they close us.

And they move on.

And we watch, dumbly, as they walk out.

And that's it.

That's enough.

Maybe we don't have anything to say, ever. Maybe it doesn't matter.

Maybe... maybe we'll shut up, and they'll want to know what we've got to say... but TOO BAD! They left. They walked on, leaving us here. They didn't want to hear us.

They never have.

So it's their fault.

And now we're quiet, because we're true to our words.

Silence, for all those who never heard our noise.

So happy/sad/confused...

It's as if we're sitting under a moon-lit sky, full of inky stars and cloudy swirls that we can't really see. As if we're watching everything go by slowly, taking it's time, simply because it can. As if we're just... here for once.

As if that's enough.

But at the same time, it's as if we're watching people die everyday. People we were close to, too. People we loved. As if we're watching them die, slowly, taking their time, simply because they can. And if that's not enough, we have to keep on watching it, everyday. Every second. Every moment.

And our heart won't stop for them.

It can't.

But in reality, we're just here. We don't know where it is, neither one of us. But we know it exists, probably, and that's okay. And we just... stay here, because it's easy and simply and comfortable. Because it doesn't burn as much. Or if it does, we're used to it now. And maybe it hasn't even stopped burning any less, but we've accepted it.

And so we're just... we're just here and we're okay with that.

But that moon-lit sky makes everything more than okay. It makes everything excellent.

And then we're watching it comfortably, excitingly, while our eyes light up from the backs of themselves, by the tiny pin-point stars scattered around the sky precariously.

And we're just like, "Wow."

Wow, because it's absolutely amazing.

And then... then it all falls and we're watching people die. And they're dying, crying for help, and we can't do anything about it. And we're terrified, because we can't fall asleep, and if we could, they're dying faces, all contorted and in pain, would haunt our dreams.

So we have to cover our eyes.

But, our hands! They're just... stuck. We're stuck.

So far apart, so close together.

Talking, but not really talking.

Yeah.

We're smiling, but we're not really smiling.

We don't really mean it.

We can't anymore.

This is what everything does to me...

Try.

Tryandmoveon

Tryandgetoverit.

Trytrytrytrytry..........................Just keep tryyyyyying.

Try.

All right, sure. That's great. That's sooooo simple. I could do that with my eyes closed.

No, that's such a lie. I can't.

Very good. I'll just, keep on trying, keep on going, keep on walking... and then running.

And then sprinting.

But then the effort becomes too much. I'm out of breath. Like everything's gone foggy-brain-dead-splotches-on-my-vision.

And everything's buzzing, shaking, and moving in weird patterns... I'm so lost I can't follow a straight path for very long. It's like... the paths... they're all wriggling, twisting. Every time I try to put my foot forward, forward's suddenly backwards. Or sideways.

Or... it's just everywhere. Everywhere and I-can't-figure-it-out!

I can't.

I really just can't.

Ah, but I don't have to know where I'm going. I don't have to know everything just yet. That's what this time is for. To figure that all out.

Great. Awesome. Fucking-dandy, you know? I'll just figure it all out slowly... but, that doesn't really work, does it? I can't even see where my feet are going, because everything's changing too fast. I can't even see which way I SHOULD be going, how in the nine hells am I supposed to see where anything is? Who anyone is?

I'm just... I'm tired of running and sprinting and falling and getting bruises in places I didn't know could get bruised. I'm just so tired of it all.

I need a break.

But this is supposed to be my break

Shit son.

Just three more months...

Maybemaybemaybe... so many things to consider, but I think this is it...

There are some things in life you know you'll never get fed up with.

Some things like good people, and amazing singing voices.

Like, sun-sets, and sun-rises.

Like eating the cake-mix before you've cooked it, or getting the day off school because of a five minute doctor appointment.

Things like this make everything a little more fresh and warm. Like a nice summer day with a breeze, but the sun still on your skin, heating you up from the inside.

It makes everything warm, and soft, and comfortable, and nice. And calm and perfectandamazing.

Like... like hearing the voice of someone you love when you've had a tough day. Or walking home late at night, exhausted, and passing out on the comfiest and closest thing to you.

Without these moments of life, everything would be cold, cookie-cutter metal lets-make-life-terrible flashflashflash film, where everything's pre-ordered and pre-set.

Where everything's supposed to happen one way, and it will.

Nice, calm, happy moments turn cookie-cutter-metal into plasticine stamps on glow-in-the-dark-paper. They'll always stand out in your memory more, because you enjoyed them, and they'll always feel better when they cross your mind.

And especially when they're happening...

Hm.

I guess, sometimes I forget to think about these moments, about the people who make me smile like an idiot, and I think -for even a moment- that life isn't worth it.

But certain people's smile, and their voice, and their existence is enough to remind me that things can be happy, sometimes.

That things can fit perfectly, and not be altogether right.

Maybe that's love.

Just... the warm feeling where everything isn't perfect, but it is. Where you're talking, but you're not talking. Where you're just... just there, you just exist, and that's all right for once. You're not just there.

You're here.

You exist.

You're alive.

And for once, as much as it did before, that doesn't bother you.

Underneath...

The side-walk cracks open up, tearing up concrete hand-prints. Inside them, dark caves and cells await me. They await me, whispering secrets of what happens when all the lights go out.

I'm scared; shaking. But no one else sees it.

Maybe if I weren't so heavy... maybe I'd float too high for the ground to reach me. Maybe I'd stop feeling that magnetic pull to the cavern-darkness. Maybe I could get high enough... nothing could get me, and I'd be okay.

(But then I'd be too far out to feel your hug, or your kiss. And your words would be a meaningless jumble. And food, and people, and life would all be so long gone...)

Maybe I should just give in...

Give up.

What, though? Give up hope, trying, caring, thinking, eating, loving, moving, living...

The side-walk cracks open up, darkness pooling out in long, silent hallways. I seat myself on the torn hand-print memories, dangling my feet over the edge.

When no one else is looking, I slip in, finding a cell that's quiet enough, then I lock the door and throw away the key, just like we used to do in grade school.

Mm. Love life,

-Tacky.

Laterally...

That's one more time I can say I didn't break down. One more time tears hugged the walls of my eyes. One more time thoughts scraped sliver-wood across my skin. One more time.... I'm still standing.

And I'm amazed. I'm lateral, because you're all down here... down here, on earth, in your head, all normal, all fine... and I'm too far to reach. Too far to save

I'm just steps away, huh?

Just next to you, holding your arm, holding you up...

Amazing.

You haven't even noticed I'm gone, staring blankly at the wall, at the ground. You haven't even noticed my eyes glazed over and I'm not there anymore.

It's just you.

Just your friends.

Just every other person you don't want to hurt you...

Just every person that will.

And I'm off somewhere where no one can find me, sometimes. Shaking hands with air and crying myself to sleep being A-OK.

Lah-ter-all-.

I'm too far out to grab your hand, even though I'm already holding it too careless to try and get back, even though I'm already there too indifferent to call for help, even thought no one could care and too far gone to notice I've fallen.

But Ihaven'tbrokendown because I'm still standing. I haven't broken down... I haven't. I swear I haven't, and you can't prove me wrong.

So I let some tears spill; it's not like you even saw. You were bawling. Tears streaming down your face, your smile gone, contorted into this rocky scowl... And I didn't even flinch. So a few tears slid down my cheeks. One after the other... all in a row.

So what?

I kept my composure.

I didn't frown once; didn't smile once.

I've mastered it.

While you're crying, and screaming, and apologizing, I can sit there and be fine, just a few tears. And they're just water anyway, and I'm deadly afraid of water and water is fine because it drowns you quietly.

Lovely.

I'm lateral.

Waves of sound...

::Poudingpoundingpoundinghead::

I have a headache.

Because of your yelling. Because of your ::screaming/shouting/hissing/spitting/growling:: stupid yelling.

I don't even understand why you were yelling. It's a phone call. It's your daughter's health. Your own flesh, your own blood.

But that doesn't account for anything in this house.

Your ::Music/Yelling/Pointless-try-after-try-and-again-stupidity-responses:: voice is too loud. Thunder-loud. The backdrop beat at a club thump-thump-thumping in the ground/walls/seats loud.

Shut up.

You're going on about all you do in this house.

You sit in the kitchen and play your crap music while you're not doing dishes or cleaning up or remembering you have a family. You hang out in the basement drinking beer and pounding your crap music through the house, making everything pulse with a sickening release. You don't listen, you don't hear me. You don't look, you don't see me. You don't know, you really don't know me.

You're angry alll the time.

Every day of every hour.

No, that's wrong. Every hour of every day.

You're driving me somewhere I don't want to be. And I can't even see me anymore.

I can't even see.

Nothing.

I'm gone.

Fuck you and your crashcrashcrash wavesonwaves voice, with your booming boomboomboom thunder bombs and your loud music.

I don't even know you, and you're my dad.

You're a stranger.

And we're not supposed to talk to strangers.

Maybe I'm not alone, but I might as well be.

Well, actually...

People go on about alltheseliesYOUtold, but you're not lying.

They say you're badbadbad and you shouldn't be here, shouldn't keep talking... why are you talking?

But...no. No, no, no, no, no no no no nonononononNo!

No, because you need to be quiet, quieter.

No, because you can't lie anymore, liar.

No, because you're not in love, stupid.

No, because you can't hear anything.

No, because it's all a muddled mess.

No, because you can't clean it up.

No, because maybe this is yourfault.

No, because it couldn't be.

No, because you are happy.

No, because you're doing fine.

No, because everything's just perfect.

No, because... just no.

Just say it a million times over, no, no, no, no...

But yes, because everyone's all wrong.

Oh...

So tired I can't think straight.

But maybe that's for the best.

Skies aren't so grey, anymore...

Maybe it's only hard for me to hear you, because you don't see me.

NO NO NO

I'm listening, you're looking...

But neither one of us get is.

NO NO NO

Two years ago, and now everything is grey and blurry. Two years for that to build. Two years for it all to come back, biting at my ankles.

NO No...no

And you've made me think.

Oh... god. What I think about...

You're made me realize I am me because of who I am. Past times... past times are shit not important and don't matter anymore.

Don't they?

It's just me and you.

Just us... we're cool.

We've got our circle, and we'll be doing just fine.

I love you

And you know... of course, that sometimes no one sees me.

But I know it. You know it.

We both have to listen harder; we need to hear. And then we can look farther; we can see.

And once we see each other, and hear each other...

What? What exactly is supposed to be so great about seeing and hearing and all-knowing greatness? What is it, anyway?

I love you.

Love.

L-O-V-E.

Sorry for making you spell it out to me.

But I finally understand now.

I love you

I love you.

It's not dark anymore, but you still can't see me...

Small little ramblings in dark places lead to fights and words being torn to shreds in skin.

We're all right for now, the two of us. But everyone's tearing us to shreds, now. Destroying our humanity. And that's slowly killing me. That's why I carve my honest hope into my skin.

So maybe someone will actually see me. Maybe someone will glance my way and ask if I'm okay.

It doesn't mean I'll be honest with them, tell them I might give up, but at least I'll know someone even cares.

Maybe not, though.

Maybe people don't care, and I should give up. But then there's all this riding on me and what I do. It's not even my opinion anymore. I'm not really good at this.

But

if

I fall

so many

people

will

die.

And that wouldn't be so bad can't happen because death is bad and you need to keep your head high and enjoy your life.

Enjoy it!

How? How would I go about trying to enjoy something I can't even look in the eye?

Just breathe, then, and keep on hoping. Wishes may not come true but at least I'm still alive.

Maybe.

Ha-ha. No, seriously, that was funny...

St-st-stuttering my w-w-words and ev-every chance I get, I mi-mi-mistake what I'm se-se-saying. And the w-wo-words get all choked up, little piece by l-little piece, st-stuck in my throat.

And the b-bits are all one p-piece of one p-puzzle, that we broke up.

That we condensed.

And the w-words are all one se-sentence in one looooong paragraph. One long paragraph that we cut into smaller sentences. Smaller words. Smaller letters.

And we break those up into little lines and swirls and dots. And then just ink on a page. And soon enough, everything I said is all gone.

Gone.

Blank.

And that's all fine and dandy, that's all great.

But then when I want to tell you something, anything... it's all choked up and gone, and cut up, and the pieces are too small. And I can't manage anything. I just sit there and smile, because that's the best I can do.

Ah, but you don't see those smiles, do you?

No.

And I just can't get it through my head that you love me have to keep on smiling, reminding myself we're together. We love each other. Even though I don't know why you'd even consider liking me

Which is, in itself, the whole thing that's wrong.

We love each other, but not ourselves.

We'll never love ourselves

We'll just have to work on that.

Yes. Fine.

That's all lateral, and great.

And completely A-OK.

We'll just... ignore this? Pretend it never happened?

We're both broken

We both love each other.

And that makes us all right, for now.

We'll be just fine.

Which means she loves me...?

By now you've realized that you can't see it. You can't see what anyone else sees in you; your eyes must be broken. You can't see why someone wouldn't lie to you when they say you're beautiful, you can't see why someone isn't just messing with your head, or playing games, you just can't see it.

She said you're beautiful.

She said you're beautiful, and she wasn't lying.

No, she said I was beautiful. Me.

And... was she lying?

If she was, that's all right too. I guess I'll just get over it, because when you're beautiful, people only love you one way.And that way isn't so fun. Not really.

And... and she said she loved me.

Which is... which is the good kind of love, she said. Whatever I was comfortable with.

Whatever I am comfortable with.

I love her, too. Of course I love her too. How could I not? She's amazing.

But... I can't keep myself from thinking she was lying to me, or it was someone else on her account, messing with me. Or even, even she was just joking, and she won't remember this in the morning, or the afternoon, or ever.

But I said I loved her too. And I do.

I love her more than she'll ever know.

And love hurts, so I'm just going to have to go with this.

Just take a deep breath, and keep moving.

And love is... happiness? Comfort with another person? Comfort? Have I been lied to...?

"Small little bruises, with small little lines. To stitch up your smile, and patch up your time."

Or... no? No little bruises lining your skin, not anymore. You cover those up. No little lines, red, and purple, and blue and silver... no little lines lining your skin like soldiers, like armour. No carefully threaded lips, to be silent, and perfect. No seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years...

None of it's real, then? None of it's real because it doesn't really matter. And because we can't see it too well, like it's still a little sideways, a little twisted, and contorted, and... like it's just fuzzy, and blurry, and altogether choppy. With little separations, like, comma, after, comma, after, comma, after, comma...

Sing it off, though. Sing it all away, with your silent song, and your colourful skin, with your little lines of armour and shielding, and protection against all that's bad.

And... forget about that lulling ache of soft, stiff and bitter fuzzy, stuffed up pain that radiates from every little purple dot, or handprint, or mark... forget the stinging of those little soldiers on your wrist and leg and ankle and tummy and palm and shoulder and neck and knee, forget it all.

And just, fall into those late-night tv flashing, of the light going flikerflickerflicker across your room, and remember to sink into your bed and pretend nothing's happening, nothing ever happened, and nothing will happen. Remember to melt into the negative molecules, the little spaces in between, and to think about nothing, but the people you love.

And love is... a good thing because it's not what you're thinking about, and why are you thinking about that anyway? I mean, it's so stupid. It's not even real, it didn't even happen. YOU'RE JUST LYING TO YOURSELF! Love is love, meaning you like someone, or they make you happy.

Not... the other way around, and how is that love, anyway? It's just this stupid... this stupid, forecful... well it's not something that you should think about anyway because it's just a stupid thing.

Lovely, now it's colder than ice...

Soft, sweet songs to sing, on the back of an ocean lake. Deep, dark monsters lurk under the ocean's skin. Round, warm waves pull my boat to an island's edge. And we get out, just to watch what's overhead.

Aeroplane birds fly far, dipping near the lake. Soft, calls fall from them, tingling on my skin. We keep looking up, watching the flying things, but we still do not see, what's awaiting us.

The birds fly circle's, 'round the island's shore. We lay on the sand, enjoying the sunny warmth. We listen, carefully, to the sound of the cawing noise. Calls for help arise, seeing how far we can Go! But everyone's all dead, so it's only a matter of, "No."

And we keep watch to see, if our boat's still tied up carefully.

But somehow it's just gone, floating out on the ocean bed.

So we stare up in defeat, hoping someone will take us home,

but it's just us and the birds, flying around, flying to roam.

Flaming...

My throat's all clogged...with little fire spikes when I breathe.

I hate being sick.

No, I don't hate it. But it's horrible.

All right.

Alllllllll right.

Amazing.

Somehow I decided I'd take my younger brother for a bike ride, today. A long bike ride. And I'm sick.

Which meant that my lungs were already burning, already making it really hard to breathe, but I went for a really long bike ride with my brother anyway.

And ...

Now everything is clouded by my flaming throat and lack of oxygen. Which is making it hard to think straight, to write this, but I'm making my best effort to make sense.

I think, though, that this is all I can manage, because things don't really make sense in my head right now. Like, it's all sort of sideways, and I have to keep twisting my head at strange angles to see it.

But then it moves, and then I keep moving my head, so I can understand it, or even see it right, but and then I just get dizzy.

And when I'm dizzy, things make even less sense, so it's all counter-productive.

Which for me, is being sick in a nut-shell.

What to do with it all...

Not never sure what to do with myself.

Friday is absolutely the worst day to do nothing on, but nothing is happening and it's a Friday.

Friiiiday.

Yes. It's a Friday today.

And I'm alone in my house, avoiding the kitchen. Avoiding you no one...

La-la-la...

Of course there's a million things I could do today.

I could clean my bedroom, clean my fish tank, finish my homework, post for a story, take a walk, write a letter to someone, go to the beach, watch a movie, talk to you...

I could do a million, billion, trillion things.

Indecisive.

I can't pick, don't want to, so I'll wait until someone else is up, someone who'll make me finish my homework, or take a walk with them.

Someone who'll choose for me.

La-la-la...

But no one will choose for me.

Choices...

Pick this, pick that, make this one count, this is your life, it's important, you'll change your future, don't mess this up, do something worth while, keep on track, be spontaneous, smile more, don't laugh, no, that's not funny, you'll lose if you keep doing that... HEY. Choose already. This is your life, are you not serious?

I don't know.

Am I not serious?

Why can't someone else pick for me?

It's my life,like I have a choice... so I need to do something with it.

Something... productive.

Something amazing.

...And how am I supposed to do something amazing/life changing/productive/important/perfect if I can't even pick what to do on a Friday afternoon?

What do I even want to do with my life?

La-la-la...

Stop yelling, for one.

Stop getting angry.

Stop crying.

Stop worrying.

Stop caring.

Stop hiding.

Stop... everything.

No, but that'd mean death. That'd mean my life would be over, and I'd have done nothing with it. I'd be a waste.

I'd be rotting away in my silver box, knowing I'd done nothing.

But is nothing better or worse than something?

Is nothing something, in the end?

Is something really nothing?

...No.

No, something is something. Something means you're normal, that you make choices, that you're alllllll right.

So, nothing then.

What's that?

Ha.

I'm not even serious, am I?

It's a Friday afternoon, I've only lived fourteen years.

I've got plenty of time to do something.

Something, nothing is that a joke?

I'm going to die before I do anything worth while.

But I'm just a kid.

Humming along...

When everything is confusing.

Confusing, and messy, and complicated, and fucked up, and dusty, dirty, bloody, soft-skin-on-skin, touching, bleeding, bruising.... When everything is broken shards in sand, little surprises for un-suspecting beach-goers... Little bloody treats to fill your fat face with...

That's when I'm alone.

That's when everyone decides to leave me alone, choking, stuttering, and freezing. With small blue finger-prints on my skin, marking a path, a day, a life... Not mine, though. Never mine, because this isn't about me.

::Confusing/messy/complicated/fuckedup/dusty/dirty/bloody/touching/bleeding/bruising/skinonskin/bloody little mess::

I'm alone, in the sand, falling through. Brushing up against those shards, counting every mark I get, the possibility that it's the same piece, overandover doesn't register. It's everyone cutting me; everything.

Every piece, every word, every person, every smile, every frown, every noise, every hug, every touch, every thought, every patonthebackGOODJOB....

Wow.

Absolutely everything...

How funny?

But I promise I won't hurt you. I promise you that I'll follow through, betsAreON!

I promise you I'll pack up my bags and leave the first moment you want me to. Yeah, I swear on my life, on my bloody, fucking life.

On my life.

And... promises are not kept.

And if I go back on those promises... I'll kill myself for you I'll be a fuck up.

And we all know... No, wait. What do we know?

::Confusing/messy/complicated/fuckedup/dusty/dirty/bloody/touching/bleeding/bruising/skinonskin/bloody little mess::

We know we'll fuck up, someday.

But we're prepared.

Preconditions....

Tease, tease, tease, tease... set in stone, the way we walk?

I already know what you're going to ask me, from one look. I already know what I'm going to answer. I see you.

I understand know everything that's going to happen between us, what relationship we'll have, how close we'll be, what I can tell you, what I can show you...

I hear you.

You're talking, words, syllables, pause... You're talking, the way you walk, the way you smile. The slight hesitation before you answer questions in class. The pause you take before you continue to speak; forced, because you talk too fast.

I know who it's okay to laugh with, who it's okay to talk to, who it's okay to insult. I know how you're going to take my words, which way you'll go about answering me, and if you care.

It's all obvious, to me.

Obvious and set in stone, the way I've planned my words slowly, the way I've carefully set them up. Building towers to hide in, dragons to guard me, and walls to knock down, if worse comes to worst.

And you're just playing into it.

So why don't you answer me properly? Why are you suddenly two steps back from where you're supposed to be? How'd you get behind me?

You're doing it all wrong, all wrong. Stop it.

It's all right, though. I'm sure you're just taking a breath, we'll catch up tomorrow. We'll fall back into step, playing our parts.

Only, no.

You're telling me that ...I can't even hear you. I don't even see you anymore. Where'd you go?

I miss you

I don't need you, though.

I'm okay.

Define dead...

Arrows point us in the right direction, going nowhere, to our final destination.

We follow them in complete faith, that their sharply tuned edges and points will lead us where we should go. We're so confident in them, we forget they're sharp.

We forget they're a weapon.

When they pierce our skin, we forget about it, because we stepped on them. Our fault. We made the mistake of following them chose to follow them, and didn't watch where our feet were landing.

By the end of the trail, we're left with small, red, bloody holes all over our feet, which we hate because they burn and sting which we're okay with, because we're finally where we're supposed to be. And everything is all right because now that we're here, nothing is wrong.

We followed blindly by the arrows that tear us apart, because we didn't know any better. Because they're supposed to lead us in the right direction. We never questions them. Not even once.

Because there's sunshine and trees, and soft, warm grass to run around in. Because we can laugh loudly and spin in circles, and watch the sun set and rise. Because we'll never fall asleep, never get hungry, never shed a single tear.

Because this is what death is like. Soft tears turn to lakes and ponds, where small, red fish swim around in tendril-like circles. Quiet screams turn to wind blowing around carelessly, whispering secrets in our ears and toying with our hair. Cuts, and bruises and trying, assaulting pain turns to warm blankets we lay on at night, watching the stars as they shine in the sky; our own, personal night light.

And everything's watching out for us, ready yo catch us if we fall.

So it's a quiet nightmare dream, silently lulling us into careful submission.

We'll rest quietly here until the ground closes up, and it's just us in a silver box.

Like those Arrows knew we'd always envied sleeping beauty.

Dreamland.

Soft, silent dreamland.

My cell phone's running away...

Everyone's always talking, Loudly... going on about all those little details that don't actually matter.

They're moving their lips; open, shut, open, shut, open shut, openshut, openshut. Moving in -words, food, fat, air poison, happiness answers... moving out- words, questions, knowledge my life, air poison, life their life...

They're greedy, with their perfectly lined up answers, ready to knock down my answers like bowling pins-pow, pow, pow.

Sometimes I'd like to ::Punch/Kick/Destroy/Ruin/Hurt/WatchThemBleed:: remind them to watch out. But they'd whip out another perfect line, fitting accordingly on my skin. They'd wait to watch the blood spill out, "Free at last! Free ast last!"; my reaction when I'm left unprepared. As if their angel blood is unlimited. As if they never get wounded.

But then I feel bad, because they're human, and why ruin perfection at it's best that?

No coruptions here, no ma'am.

Step back a few steps, and I realize I'm drowning in a pot of burning wax, too hot! And once I've cried out all my tears and every drop of water's evaporated, they'll pour me into a mold, cramming in every last bit of flesh and bone, while *I* hover next to the fire, anchored down, watching.

And the perfect follow the leader! me will step out, happy and contented, stuffing my greedy face with -words, food, fat, air poison, happiness answer... and then I'll move over so nextinline! can burn to a stub. Conformists, all of us. We're fixed! It's a bloody miracle!

But everything's aching like it's bruising under the skin, under the wax... it's been here for too! long. But we're quiet. Shh! Don't wake the voices... No, no we don't want THOSE again...

Shit.

They're back, with stronger words, like OBEY!, and SUPPORT!, and it's loud bowlingballcollidingwithpins! shouting. And we dig our nails into the candle wax... OOPS! that's our skin... But blood pours out? Weren't we one of THEM? No, not blood. That's us. Me!

And I'm all burnt, corners charred and folded, but you still love me, huh? Well I'm not trapped but the world is cold, and without my skin I won't grow old. I crave the fire you burn so bright, hand me the marshmellows, we'll bleed smile all night!