Leave.

My hands are tied to my pillow, my scream

contained within its seams. I wish the red

in my eyes stopped burning holes into my skin,

with that blade, I touch so quietly. No one should

see me ripping myself apart, hiding from the world

with a cut or two. Slipping on lies like a coat that

promises warmth, I face you, your senseless eyes,

I know you want to help but what a fool, there is

nowhere, to go. Nowhere to breathe. Stop your

caring, all it does is fester guilt and though I am

used to that, I can no longer scream. My hair rising

like the tides, almost drowning the hope that was

left, I promise I am not scared, only scarred, you see.

It’s not your fault and that is the problem, no one is to

blame. Just a life I thought I could have called mine,

but those idols were broken in front of me, even before

I could play with those toys, my mother lay broken like

the one that had expired and dried. It’s not your fault.

You are here for some odd reason, though. Let me tell you

that stripteasing will do no good cause I

know you mean well but I don’t and I can’t care

so please just leave.

HOPE

What is Hope, I ask myself. A senseless illusion that should mean something. I wish I could write when I am happier but happiness seems like a lie most days. I mean, why not? There is so much to cry about; so much to scream about. Just when you think things are getting better, life stabs you in your gut and it hurts even if it is not your own skin. I want to weep and roll into a ball that can never untangle itself; that goes through life just hugging itself. At least that would help, right? I don’t know what this is supposed to mean. What stupidity posting this online, what is the point, who even cares for each other’s ramblings. Sometimes, I think we shouldn’t care about each other’s ramblings because no matter how happy you are, there is someone breaking around you. This happiness is never fair, and to feel happy in your happiness seems like the most selfish and insensitive thing to do. So what do we do? How do we navigate through this perpetual human suffering? Through hope, you say.

When you come.

I imagine myself intact.

With every piece fitting in just right. The color of my skin hiding beneath the gushing of my blood. The beating only evident if you could notice my pulsating chest. I scream silently and in that moment there is a silence that is loud enough to shatter glass. Loud enough to deafen the questions you ask and the lies that you so evidently crave to understand.

I imagine myself intact.

With all my hair in place and the creases of my clothes stretched to perfection. My eyes turning in, to hide. Your lips make no movement even if they do because my ears shut the noise out.

I imagine myself intact.

No heavy breathing or loud cries, just a warm pretense. I imagine myself intact,

when you come.