Disconnected

My body is here, my heart has gone
My mind is stable, but can't move on.
The wrong emotion arrives late,
A smile hides a painful hate.
So high up, yet so far under
When it rains it pours; my soundtrack is thunder.

A memory is lost much too quickly,
But a lie takes its place just as swiftly.
Attempting to gain love through false affection,
I leave in a state of empty disconnection.
Guilt buried inside waits for my vulnerability
To crack my broken soul and devour it wickedly.


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Open Minded

I am but a skeleton, 

A misprinted society element.

I lived to the hum of my own melody, 

A disapproved version of achieving ecstasy.

Those around me didn't like that very much,

Made me feel crazy, distant, and such.

Then, one day, I came to find,

I was one of few with such an open mind. 

Pressured with conformity, I remained organic,

Such a rebellion filled them with panic.

So here I lie, a pile of bones

They ripped me to shreds, no trace with their ghost.

No one realized, for they were confined,

Stressing to stay structured, to keep their design.

But in the near future, they all will see,

The one they cold-heartedly killed is with whom they now agree.

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Gone

Cold wind races by me, nearly knocking me over and putting out my cigarette in its path. I reach for my lighter and accidentally skim the edge of my razor. I throw my cigarette onto the frozen ground and look up. I didn't plan on coming here, yet somehow this is where I always end up. The broken down tree house lies in front of me creaking in the wind, its faded green flag torn, its three stories empty. My breathing gets heavier as I stand here, staring. The snow slowly sinks under the weight of my firmly planted feet as I listen to the squirrels running on the branches above me. A few flakes of snow sprinkle down on my thick coat of dark black mascara. Hot tears crawl down my face as I fight the urge to grab the razor. My hand slips into my back pocket and I feel my fist clench around its sharp edges almost uncontrollably. I lift my left arm, wrist facing the grey sky, and remember the reason behind every scar that covers my entire arm. I've waited so long that I feel my hand start to tremble as if the weight of the razor is too much. The clean, sharp edge is cold as it presses against my warm skin. Pressing harder, I can feel my pulse start to race as the coldness of the razor is overtaken by the heat of the deep red blood that bubbles to the surface. Little globes of blood start to drip down my arm and fall like steaming rain.

One drop.
Two drops.
Three, four, five, hit the powdery snow and stain it- a harsh dye against an innocent material.
I continue to press in as my thoughts race and remind me to go deeper. My body starts to tingle as if I had just fed an addiction. The release is euphoric, I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and get absorbed into an alternate dimension. Wind smacks against my bare face, my eyes shoot open, and I'm alive again. My arm goes numb and I stare in a trance at the stream of blood flowing down my arm and collecting in a small, red pool beneath me. My mind goes blank and the deafening silence that hangs in the air becomes strangely apparent. Suddenly, I'm confused as my body turns numb and weightless. My sight blacks out but my mind remains awake. I grab my arm to feel how deep the cut is. The vertical slit stretches all the way up my forearm and is deeper than I've ever ventured before. As I feel myself slip from reality, I can't help but smile that it might actually work this time. At least two minutes pass before I realize that I've been sinking into a freezing bed of snow. I start to lose track of time, it's only been a few minutes but it feels as though I made the cut hours ago. Blood rushes through my body and my paralysis gives me an alarming high. My thoughts start to fade, my body now non-existent.
Even if someone were to find me, it's too late.
I am gone.





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Demons

There are demons inside of me.
They consume my soul,
Destroy my body.
I walk around
As though they do not exist,
Yet the truth remains
No matter how hard I resist.
The darkness germinates in my core,
The roots stretch through my veins,
Each day they grow more.
Through my eyes -
I see shadows,
While cries from Satan's slaves echoe.
Hunting for prey,
Hungry for anything.
I give them myself,
My hollow body means nothing.
As the pain builds inside me, I need a release
I fold myself to fit,
But can't bend to a perfect crease.
So I cut,
And I cut,
Again and again
Your body is a canvas,
But it's not ink in my pen.

 
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Lost

As I strolled down to my dead-end forest for one of the last probable times I would enjoy the escape, I stumbled by many horrid sights. Fitting the mood of this glum, grey, Saturday afternoon, I walked along the outskirts of my forest observing the saddening sight of what over the years had gone from beautiful nature to overpopulated, 'evolutionary' pollution. Everything on this day seemed to be too still, for even the few snowflakes that were released from above drifted down far slower than usual. Soon enough, I sought upon the sight of a baby fox, lying dead in the frozen grass, its mother licking the poor creature in mourning, prayers of its' child's return to the world. Once noticing a humans' presence standing upon the scene in silence, the mother ran away in fear.
Staring at this breathtaking nature sighting, I saw myself. Lying lifeless in a coffin during a very proper Christian funeral, I am dressed like a school girl on church Sunday. An image of my father, I am an atheist with strong beliefs, yet I lie trapped in a holy church. My tender family speaks as robots, repeating the priests blessings to my dead soul, unknowingly at the fact that God will have no impact on my sold soul. They stare at a closed casket, hiding the gruesome display of blood I had spilled upon myself as the tainted clock ticked the time aloud during the moments of my last exhales. From the church, my family precedes mechanically to the burial sight. As my coffin is lowered slowly to the hums of the priests' last preaches, my mother takes a step forward, shaky contrarily to that of the mother foxes melancholy steps around her helpless child. She approaches my coffin carrying the first of many roses to be placed on the top of my descending dead body. As she steps backward to leave the sight of her daughter disappearing, a small tear rolls from her unforgiving, guilty eyes and lands silently on the petal of the pure white rose. She waits a bit longer as if knowing what will happen next. The rose transforms almost instantly to a withered crisp, its black, charred petals surrounding its discolored stem.
A rain starts pouring from the skies, as Jesus cried from above trying to heal what has already run too far into the distance. For all that has been lost is never truly lost, but I am one who will never be found.





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