The perfect suicide note

When I go I will not leave a note
because I think (this moment)
If you really want to know
I'll leave my notebooks open.

Trapped.

 I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe here I can't breathe.

Smoker's Corner

You were right; you were right.

I slipped out of the house and into the night, padding silently into a driveway with my lighter and cigarette clutched between two fingers. The glowing orb at the end was my light at the end of this tunnel, though I looked away in a hasty attempt to hide my escape once more. I found no solace in the smoke tumbling like satin curtains down to my lungs. Instead, my mind filled with a strangled fear that perhaps all I was in the current moment was nothing like who I was meant to be.

Disregarding my tight black dress, I sat down on the grungy cement and pulled my knees to my chest, staring at that blank spot in front of me. With the world spinning away at an alarming rate, I whispered, Who am I? Who am I? Then to the cigarette staining my fingers, Why haven't you killed me yet?


You were right. All I've ever wanted was a quick escape, but into a world darker than the one in which I currently reside. The light won't have me.

Most Beautiful Place

Midnight, stars out, rooftop in Mexico. Club music beats from down the street. Barbed wire surrounds the property. But the red clay rooftop is taller than that, and warm, and I stay there for well over an hour while the air drips with crickets.

Into Darkness

"I've forgotten," you say in rhythm with your heartbeat.

And I want to ask what, what you've forgotten, but the dying light in your eyes tells me you wouldn't know. The dying light in your eyes fades with the sun, and suddenly we're thrown into darkness, and you laugh. But you aren't laughing. You're crying. And I cry with you.

"I've forgotten," you say in whimpering sobs.

"So have I," I whisper. "So has the world."

Somewhere along the way, you lose sight of who you are.

It doesn't strike you as love, but there's a physical pain in your chest every time you lay eyes on her and you start to wonder. What you always assumed to be infatuation, possibly even a strong lust, may have exceeded your expectations and transformed (slowly, over the years, of course) into something bigger. Something... better?

Love.

Cue the sappy music, the array of cartoon forest animals, and lace doilies. You question the doilies, those odd white pieces that litter your grandmother's house, and their position in every love story. Maybe they show up to distract you from what comes next.

Hurt.

The moment she meets your eyes and a thousand apologetic words drift out into the stiff air between you, only you never really wanted to know the truth behind her tangled excuses. Your words make no sound, and she takes a step backwards, lengthening the quickly-expanding gap between the both of you. If it was her who created it, then you scared her into walking away. If it was you who pushed her to leave, then it was she who took the first step. You watch her go and an ache strangles your heart, screaming in its silent way to go after her, to let her know how you truly feel. There it is again.

Love.

Then hurt.

Then love.

You close your eyes for a heartbeat, pinching your lip between your teeth. It's not raining, but you wish it was, to hide the wet on your cheeks. She hasn't turned back. You haven't stepped forward.

Love.

Then hurt.

Then love.

An alarm goes off in your chest:

You've forgotten the sound of her voice.

It's a simple realisation but it hits you full-force and you think to yourself, that's going to leave a bruise. As if ideas are solid entities, you muse with a half-hearted chuckle, but it will most definitely leave a plumb-coloured mark deep beneath your skin. Unseen to the outer world, but the pain is still very much there.

You're in bed, this is the second realisation that hits you, and on any other day before That Day it wouldn't mean anything. But it does. It means you're in bed, and the moment you roll over, her side will be as empty as you left it the night before. You don't want to open your eyes. You don't want to stretch your arms and hit the cold, vacant pillow next to you that most likely holds a few of her discarded hairs. Maybe it will smell like her, like the soft breeze that filled the room whenever she walked by, you hope. It's an empty wish, this time. You know rather well by now that her smell has disappeared from everything she once touched. Her side of the bed is now just half a mattress, half her favourite pair of white cotton sheets that you've taken to buying in bulk, and that fluffy white pillow you still can't bring yourself to touch.

With the heaviest heart since yesterday, as hearts grow lighter with each passing night, you force yourself to sit upright and turn your head slightly to the side. She isn't there. You can't wake her up with a kiss. She won't greet you with a mumbled morning, gorgeous.

There is no solace in seeing her bathrobe draped across the bedroom chair, exactly as she left it twoyears:sevenmonths:oneweek:threedays:sixhours ago. You strain your ears to hear her calling out those last words, the he's on the roof, he said he's sorry, I need to stop him that you thought you'd never forget, but all that echoes through your head is your own voice replaying the same speech.

You've forgotten the sound of her voice. First was the exact colour of her hair after a shower, then came the pleasant sigh she exhaled while you held her, and later was how she felt in your arms. Her voice was the last you had of her. The last moment. Her parting words. Yet no matter how hard you try, from this day on it will always be your own voice echoing back at you.

One piece

Paisley: There was a sea monster in my bath tub last night. I was going to soak for a while in the warm water and then go to sleep, but I couldn't because his eyes were watching me far too closely.

Scum: There was a dragon in my soup this morning. Dear thing was drowning, and when I tried to pull him out he chilled me so cold it burnt. 

Paisley: Did his eyes pierce your skin? I felt prickles, Fax.

Scum: I don't remember his eyes, just the chill. 

Paisley: Well it's harder now. Kracker's gone, and they're everywhere.

Scum: Kracker? Oh...goodness. What did I miss when I was gone?

Paisley: Everything happened because you left, Fax. Jax took Kracker to the clubhouse to show her something he'd figured out, said he'd show me once it was safe. I...couldn't stop myself, I hid in the boulders near the lake and waited for them, figuring I'd pretend I'd been hiding out from Dad and Crook, but... Oh...it was so awful. It was the darkest creature I'd ever seen, yellow eyes. Very small, beady, yellow little eyes. It started getting really cold, and I was about to turn home, but I heard Jax scream. His voice was so shrill...so terrifying, I was paralized, Fax. I couldn't move. And then I saw it's nasty little face, and Kracker was running. She tried to attack it with her knife, but it didn't even bleed. It's skin tore right off and fell to the ground, where it burned up and disappeared into ash, then air. Jax was...I don't remember, he was gone, and the thing scratched Kracker's shoulder. So much blood...she, screamed. Loud. That hurt my ears, hurt my brain. Everything hurt, and I remember peering up and staring directly into it's eyes. It saw me. 

*Fax takes this all in, then waits.*

Paisley: I don't remember anything else. I woke up in my bed, on top of the covers. Crook walked in and told me to bathe before supper, but I didn't feel hungry in the least. I told him I'd just go to bed after. That's when I saw the sea monster, and it's eyes. It's eyes...were yellow. Just like that creature's eyes. Only, it vanished moments after, and I went straight to bed. I haven't seen anyone since, 'cept you. 

Scum: Oh...Paisley, darling. You must be traumatized. 

Scum thought for a moment, then recalled his father asking if he'd seen Jax around near supper the previous night. He got a sick feeling in his stomach.

Scum: Come on sunshine, let's get you home. Best to get another night's rest before we investigate anything, and I'll get some supplies. Just to be safe, act as if you saw nothing. Crook's still on watch with us. Can you manage to eat something, sweetie? Just something small like some bread or fruit. I'll come by your place tomorrow 'round dawn. 

Paisley: I...no, this isn't about me, though. Kracker's gone. And I don't even remember...my own best friend, I just...we need to find her. 

Scum: Far as anyone knows she's not even missing. Come on. Please, get some rest and we'll figure this out tomorrow. I'll ask around a bit in town, but we must be discreet. You sleep. 

Paisley: We need to find what Jax went to show her.

Scum: In the morning.

Paisley: I...-fine. But not a minute later. 

Dreamer

Tamber watched the edge of the water with empty eyes.
She was waiting for that boy again. For him to appear out of nowhere like a super hero and make her smile. She was waiting, but it was taking ages.
The rough material of her blue, old-fashioned dress started to rustle with the wind, and finally, that boy's reflection rippled across the water until he was sitting next to her in his old suspenders. Tamber liked the idea that this was a dream. Where the boys dressed in white, button-up shirts and wore strange brown shoes. She liked their rough pants and dark, tweed hats that reminded her of Ireland. It was a nice dream to get lost in. A safe place for her to go.
"I see you've got your shoes back, love." The boy was smiling his toothy smile.
Tamber nodded. "Ronald returned them in my window last night. Bit of a risky job, but we managed without my father finding out."
The boy laughed. "You musta, otherwise I quite likely wouldn't be seeing ya here, would I?"
There was a silence between them for quite a long time, until Tamber spoke again.
"I'm sorry. I've forgotten you name." This was an obvious lie, to her, at least, because she'd never known his name in the first place.
"Hah, it's Oran, love. How could you forgot your silly old Oran?"
Oran calling himself hers gave Tamber a little jilt in her stomach. Such a strange thought, though. She waited a moment to capture her thoughts before she projected them.
"Ah, I remember. Oran."
Tamber smiled, and Oran returned it easily. The silence that followed was comfortable, until Tamber was pulled out of her sleep and into the real world once again.

"Tamber. Wake up, you've got training today." Tamber groaned and held her eyes shut tight.
"Not yet," she mumbled from under the covers. But the soft, red cotton sweatpants folded at the end of her bed brought her to the realization that she was now fully awake, and could do nothing to help that any longer.
"Fine. Get out. I'm changing."
Tamber sighed.
She absolutely hated waking up.

Scripted Love

JASMINE

You have to choose, Petra. The relationship, or your freedom.

PETRA

I love her. 

JASMINE

That's not a choice. 

PETRA

No it isn't. But I do.

JASMINE

Sometimes love isn't enough of a reason to stay.

PETRA

Sometimes staying isn't enough of a reason to love.

JASMINE

She asked you to choose.

PETRA

I can't have fences. I can't be in her box, with just her, with only her. I love her, but I can't.

JASMINE

So tell her. 

PETRA

It'll kill her.

JASMINE

And when you cheat on her, it'll break her heart. You choose what's worse.

PETRA

She loves me.

JASMINE

Mhmm.

PETRA

But a lot of people love me.

JASMINE

I know.

PETRA

So... what?

JASMINE

That's up to you to figure out.

Hate

Sophie laughs, but no one's laughing.

No one else is laughing, Sohpie.

Falling

You fell for me. More like tumbled, with your arms outstretched and a look of absolute terror on your face.
I watched you whimper as the black hole before me swallowed you up completely, and you were gone.

You fell for me.
Or maybe I tripped you.

It was an accident, I swear. But now that you've disappeared, can I have your favourite sweater?

Hallow's Eve

Hallow's Eve is the night where we are all empty.
The night we dress up in costumes and masks because we're too afraid to face the world. This year, I'm going to be a Skeleton among Wizards and Ghosts.
I'll be even more empty than everyone.
I'll be the bones my skin is supposed to cover.
I'll be great.

Killer

"I wasn't afraid of myself until you were."

"I'm not afraid of you. Just of what you do to yourself."

Scowling, I rub my knuckles along the rough pavement until the skin rubs off completely. The sting of raw, bloody flesh barely touches me so I keep going, keep wrecking my hands. If I can rub them down until they're just stumps at the end of my arms, maybe I'll stop destroying everything I touch. 

"I fell in love once."

"Yeah?"

"He died."

"How?"

"Jumped in front of a subway. Away from me. Said I'd killed him already."

A small shard of glass glints from the asphalt at my feet and I pick it up, examining its sharp edges. It's so clear I can see right through it, but I'm afraid to look in case I catch a glimpse of my own reflection by accident. Monsters have always scared me. The glass fits perfectly between my fingers, draws perfect lines into my skin, and opens up the seams of this costume I've been dying under. Only no blood falls out, just ash. 

"I'm a murderer."

"No."

"Everyone who gets close to me shrivels up inside."

"That's not death."

"They're dehydrated memories and then they crumble. Soon after, the body gives up too."

You reach over to console me, to put your hand on my shoulder in an empathetic gesture, but you fall right through me and your skin smacks loudly against the pavement. I was right when I told you two parts of the same person can't exist outside of each other. Maybe we should stitch ourselves back together again. 

Oh wait.

You're already running away. 

Never mind. Go be free. 

Matter, matter honey.

The fact was, they were talented. Fin played the guitar, sang with a hushed, melodic voice, and had the sweetest laugh. Jamie was the writer, who's words fit perfectly in Fin's mouth on stage, and sat quietly in her journals off.
They were golden.
Together, they were golden.
Jamie waited in the park every Friday on the grass (or when it snowed, on a bench), and wrote words that she dragged from her head, muttering under their breaths angrily. She scribbled them on the paper in neat block script, and when Fin walked up with his case over his back, she closed it quickly. She'd move over even when there was more than enough room for Fin already, and together they'd go through her pieces and put music to them.
Everyone was jealous of her words and his voice.
But Fin and Jamie couldn't be fucked, because it was the only thing that kept them sane. Without it, they would definitely be somewhere else. Somewhere possibly dark.
Occasionally the words would be louder and louder, almost angry, almost upset when Fin sang from the bottom of his lungs. He strummed the guitar, banging the side as he went for a beat. Those were the times when Jamie kept her book closed for minutes longer than usual. When her smile faded as he read through the lined pages.
But more frequently the words were quiet. Shielded just enough so you had to look under the shelter to understand. To pull the cover back just another inch.
Jamie never had to voice her words because Fin was her voice. But behind his voice, or rather, in front of, stood Fin, singing his heart out to desperately understand Jamie. She scared him.
Sometimes her words hurt him, dug claws into his spine and pulled. He knew something was terribly wrong, but he never questioned the meaning behind them, just the emotion. That was enough.
He figured if he sang for her, if he let out the pain she was feeling for her, then maybe he might understand, and maybe he might help.
Jamie was always in the audience or backstage. She watched his heart go out, lights, eyes, on his skin.
She listened to him, to herself. She loved his voice.
She loved it as if it were her own, as if he were her own, she loved him.

The last Friday they met in the park, Fin hugged Jamie, in tears. He hadn't any guitar case on his back, and Jamie held her journal tight in between them.
But it doesn't matter what was said, what happened. In the end their lives were as insignificant as any other.
Just as yours is, just as mine.

What else

Emily Marxson watched her father pack his business suitcase much fuller than usual from the dim hallway, hugging the door-frame to his bedroom. Don't go, she begged silently. Please don't go.
Outside the window, into the cold night air, the city was holding on as usual, put-putting along just fine without much trouble. Slight Emily couldn't help but wonder what life would be like had they moved to the country. The country, a place her father couldn't run away from easily.
No, the city she loathed so dearly could barely hold him, flinging his bags into a taxi with a sigh of relief, breathing in the dirty exhaust, and tears running down her cheeks. She knew that he could be gone for a very long time, and she should be calling her mother to make the arrangements, but Emily stood in the door-way, her silhouette a dark shadow in her father's life.
Things took a turn for the darkness when her father started going away every weekend. But darkness wasn't real, anyway, and Emily Marxson was very aware of that. She knew just as well as anything that darkness was simply the absence of light, just as death was the absence of life. But neither hurt any less, felt any farther from home, no.
"How long will you be gone?" she asked, playing her role in the script ever-so-carelessly.
Her father didn't look up. "Not too long."

She was older now, a full fifteen years of age, but the frame of the door hugged her body just the same. The smooth blue paint felt just as cold and stiff as it did when she was five, when she was six, when she was seven. Years had passed, but the scene remained the same, as it must, in order for everything to stay together.

Her father's gruff voice always said the same sentence, the same way. All emotion missing, all loving, caring, tenderness lost in the grey city rush. Emily hated the city with everything she had, but she needed it to hold on, too.

The silence that passed through the room was amplified, buzzing in both their ears with cars honking down the streets, racing past their noses, pushing them back onto the side-walk before they got hit. As fog was on rainy days, neither spoke when her father walked out of the room, hoisting his heavy bag just to his waist.
"I love you," he spoke, no meaning behind the words. Emily nodded.
"I'll see you in a week, maybe."
Then he left, the front door shutting with a quiet click, a noise not audible if you weren't listening.
Emily stared at the door. Her eyes caught the way the light faded slowly. By the time it was night, new shadows had formed from the city noise, and she stared motionless for hours until the phone rang.
Such a noise one was accustomed to in this house, as the phone rang nearly every minute of weekdays. Her father would spend hours on the house phone, the business phone, his cell phone. It was almost hard to recognize him without it plastered to his ear.
For this reason, Emily had her own cell phone, one she loathed just as much as her own family. Her own blood meant nothing.

Her younger brother, clean flesh, laundry-smelling, car-noise of a child. He loved green shirts, and racing. Emily couldn't look him in the eyes.
Her mother, a woman who lived to cook and work, being the perfect balance of mother and job-hoe, Emily spoke to with clipped words and no warmth.
Even her friends, her encounters, her teachers... Emily couldn't stand any of them. But she must. She did, because the city was based off of who you knew, and what you did.

Emily was the perfect teenager.
She got A's, and nothing less. She played sports every day and ate the right foods. She went to the right parties, drank the right drinks, and knew the right people.

But inside, Emily was a monster who hung around in her little brother's closet, coming out at night with sharp teeth and claws. At night, Emily watched her mother from the backyard, the window opened, but the lights always off.
While her father was away, Emily tormented her family from the comfort of her deserted house.

Having killed herself at the age of fourteen, everyone in her family had their methods of coping. But her father lived in the city rush, constantly in motion, so her angry ghost couldn't keep up, couldn't break him apart.

She was loved, was she?
But no one knew enough to show it.

Whispery Silvery

"I don't remember what it was like before," I murmur dreamily.

"Before what?" she asks, the sharp edge of her voice cutting into me.

Slice.
Cutting into me.
Metal on flesh.
Blade on armour.

"Before the destruction of self-destruction," I whisper.

Whispers in the wind catch my thoughts.
Snatch them.
Steal them away into the fluffy white clouds.
Empty me.
Clean me.

My canvas could be wiped clean of marks, of those scars that brand me. They could disappear, in her mind. I could have bare skin so pale it blinds the moonlight, free of silvery licks.

She doesn't understand though.
Scars are the tip of the iceberg.
She doesn't see the deep wounds buried underneath.

Nothing will fully heal. Nothing will disappear. 

Swiiiimming isn't so bad alone.

"The air's soupy," Nova remarks, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Soupy and hot."
Ellie smiles, that far off look in her eyes again.
"The water's probably cold," she says after a moment, as if it were a sudden realization.
Nova nods and takes off running. The lake ahead, the sand behind her, it's perfect.
She dips her feet in, rolling her pants legs up and cuffing them over themselves. She's worried, though. The water's everywhere.
Ellie starts trailing behind her, and Nova feels safe for a short moment.
Eventually, the cool water edges up past her cuffs and to her knees, while Ellie lifts her dress up farther and farther to escape it getting wet.
The day is foggy, and in any picture, it would look cold. But it's one of those things, because it's baking the two girls alive.
"We could swim," Ellie laughs. "We're already very wet."
Nova shrinks into herself and tries not to cry.
I'm in water, she thinks. How the hell am I in water?
For a moment she considers arguing, but instead grabs Ellie's hand and goes farther out to sea.
The two of them smile anxiously at each other for a second, then slip under water completely.
Safe together, because only they understand.

Through Her Eyes

In the car she rests her hand on my knee and that's when I realize I missed a hair shaving, but she simply smiles and apologizes for being so forward.

In her bed I turn away from her, hiding my shining eyes from hers that'll peer right into my soul, as she does. Her arm wraps over my body and tugs me into her folds, keeping me warm and safe. A soft pair of lips come to rest just under my earlobe, whispering a small, Are you all right?


I am not by any means all right but I say I'm fine and she strokes the hair back behind my ear to let me know she doesn't believe me.

I let myself drift into a dreamless sleep, punctuated by the occasional shift of position, after which her arms find me again and I find myself tangled up in her sheets and throws of affection. As I wake up for the twentieth time since she yelled out her window at some stranger banging cans, I notice her eyes focused on me, and the thought occurs to me that maybe she honestly does care.

You're so beautiful, she tells me. I wish you could see what I see.


I have never before met a girl who was so quick to accept how I stiffen up when a hand is laid on me, due to the not-so innocent hands that have graced me in the past. She smiled sadly and told me she could see I was scared, but hoped she wasn't the one scaring me. If words could express my gratitude when she only held me... I wish I could see what she sees as well.

Let downs

"I like you," I say quickly, biting my lip as I realize what I've let slip.
"I know," he laughs, taking my hand in his. "I know you like me."
There'a a pause.
"And I like you too," he continues. I feel my insides warm up a little bit, thawing. Maybe there's hope...

"But just not like that."
My teeth slip and I taste blood.

So-fucking-much for that...

Once a friend, now a lover.

Moments with her are like those moments in your childhood where time lays in the still wind, frozen as you wave the bubble wand across the sky and release a thousand little globes of swirls into the atmosphere. My breath catches in my throat as she smiles at me and my heart trembles like the wings of butterflies.

"I am so happy with you," she says in a whispery breath.

The flash of her melted-chocolate eyes leaves me speechless and again I'm reminded that she chose me, out of all the girls in this world she chose me, and I could not be happier. Words flow through my lips in silence, masking themselves as laughter, and I laugh with my whole body, shoulders shaking. Cheeks aching.

"I'm my best when I'm with you," I murmur.

Her fingers sweep across the couch cushions to tickle the back of my hand, so soft and graceful like rays of sunshine. She brightens my day, as corny as it sounds. She is my raison d'etre. I'm alive for her.

Make each day count because it's one more day we have together. 
Smile with your whole heart and laugh with your whole soul.
Sing with passion. Live with passion. 
Be the beautiful girl you are. 


I am beautiful because I am hers. She lights me up from the inside, inky waves of sunlight that bounce around in my hollowed-out core. She's filling me with happiness. I'm bubbling over.

She really is alone

"I got a compliment today," I say to the silence of my bedroom.
"Jackie liked my shirt."

Around me, the silence nods.
Yes, it says. Very nice. 


I beam.
"Thank-you."

Her(e) Today

She cups the edge of the world in her hands, blowing little ripples into memories before releasing the sand-like pillars of wisdom into the air. As she watches her existence blow away with a whim, her heart begins to tremble in its cage of ribs, thick with regret.

Do I want to?


In front of her is empty space; tendrils reaching out to accept her into a thousand lost balloons and the laughter of forgotten children.
Behind her is her childhood stretched out in gum wrappers and torn-apart teddybears, flashing neon lights that warn her away from The Light but she steps forward, she walks on...

We tried to hold her back; grabbing her thin arms while she fought us with teeth bared. We screamed Reasons Why at her, trying to convince her otherwise.

Today she is free.
Today she makes choices.
Today... today could be the last today, never a yesterday, never to see tomorrow.


Or not.

27.

"And she deserves to rot," I overhear them, talking behind my best friend's back.
I turn around, glare, but they don't see me.
"FUCK YOU," I scream. From across the street, they look up.
They smile, flash the finger, and go back to their business. Or, not really their business, but they seem to think it is.
"YOU TREATED HER LIKE CRAP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? HOW DON'T YOU SEE THAT? YOU TREATED HER LIKE CRAP AND MADE HER FEEL GUILTY WHEN SHE HAD A SMALL, TASTE OF HAPPINESS."
My best friend isn't even aware of this, but people seem to hate her for reasons unfit. I love her. I love her, and fuck the world for not understanding that.
No, she does not, in fact, deserve to rot. She's my best friend. My sister. The only reason she didn't dump you sooner was because she didn't want you to kill yourself. She felt guilty EVERY DAY for even existing, because you made her feel that way. She complimented you, and you told her you were TOO TIRED to compliment her back. TOO UPSET.
But did you even once consider that every time you did that it hurt her a bit? That every time you did that, it made her feel like crap. And when she'd say, "I'm happy today," you'd tell her how many times you cut yourself up and fucked yourself over. And her smile would vanish.

I know you're going to hate me now.
I don't care.
I choose her over you.
She's more important.

A Girl (in six sentences).

When you walk into a crowded room, all I can hear is your footsteps, and the currents running through my veins as your soft skin grazes over mine. I've committed your laugh to memory, so the fluid peels can wash over my flesh whenever I think of you. Your eyes flash curious smiles in my direction, causing my timid heart to seek refuge in my lung. You are the calm amongst my storm. Tomorrow I might talk to you. Or maybe we'll continue to hold on a minute too long while passing art supplies, just to see who's brave enough to let go first.

Red Wires

Like wires in the sky, her cuts overlap, running up and down her thighs in every direction.
It's mad, like New York City on a Friday night.
I asked her once to stop, and she said, "Hold your breath."
Her eyes shone, but dying light, really. Like a light-bulb that's about to flickerflicker out.
"Please," I said. She opened her mouth, inhaled, then stopped breathing altogether.
The grey walls behind her reflected her solemn manner, and I had to think back to when she'd painted them a year ago. She took down the millions of photographs that lined her walls and painted until nothing was visible. Slowly, things disappeared from her room. Her desk, her tv, her bookshelves... Even her cat stopped coming in.
She frowned, and breathed in finally, not really whole-heartedly, though.
"Can you hold your breath your whole life?" she asked. I didn't answer. "Neither can I."

The perfect girl for you.

She looks at you with this emptiness, and you worry that if you rest your hand on her shoulder, the noise will echo around inside her cavernous body. She is stalagmites and stalactites, dripping down and reaching up for something, for someone, to love her and make her feel right.

"Kiss me now," she begs you, but you turn your lips away and brush them against her forehead instead.

You see her emptiness, you see how it fills her and stuffs her up like a teddy bear, too tight for her skin but loose like a baggy sweatshirt. She's become a shadow girl now, afraid to leave the darkness because the light burns those who lost their purity. She is silence now, curdled milk in a baby's mouth and that moment right before you scream.

She makes your insides ache. She haunts your daydreams. She digs up under your fingernails, pushing into the vulnerable stretch of skin with her sharp words and tapping into your veins.

You bleed for her, but you're so afraid of breaking her that you let her break you.

And then you realize, with eyes so tired from wishing, that all her emptiness wasn't empty after all, it was a thickness of moments she'd collected over the years. It was everyone else's memories that she'd stashed away for later. She's a soul-sucker.

She's hollowed out and in.

ZackgoesHEY

Zachary watches the light fade from the junk-yard that is his life. Metal skeletons and broken things are the only furniture to keep him company while he lights up.
Zachary knows that smoking is bad. But doing speed, that's a little worse.
Still, who's here to stop him?

After getting a good hit, he turns away from the window and looks towards his cavernous apartment. The electricity's out again, he notices. But that's fine. He'll just make a fire in the trash and burn a few candles.
From outside, Zachary hears some yelling, and then the sound of a car alarm going off.
Who'd be stupid enough to park their car here? he wonders.
Within that moment, he has to laugh.
His life is so...pointless. It's not like he helps anyone, not like he cares about anything at all.
He's lost anyone who ever loved him, if there ever was anyone to lose in the first place. From the beginning, his mother couldn't support him, so she handed him off, to someone who handed him off, who handed him off.
It was a cycle, and Zac learned to take care of himself. Eventually.

For a second, a small breeze sweeps in through the window, precariously edging it's way along the walls of his dingy apartment. It smells like the gardens at the foster home he lived in for two years when he was 8. Like blue violets and blue grass. All of it, sweetly tuned to the fire-light bugs that swam through the air carelessly nearing midnight.

"Fuck," Zac laughs, pulled at the edge of his sleeves. "Fucking hell."
For a moment, Zac considers grabbing a jar from the kitchen and getting something to drink, but instead, he sits down on the beat up couch and puts his feet up on a green crate.

It's not even worth it, he decides. I'll just be dead in a few years anyway. 

Princess of Somewhere Else

She knocks a cat out of the way with her foot, disturbing his feast of a moldy plate left over from dinner a few nights ago. The dust on the tattered lace curtain makes her sneeze, startling the cat who'd moved on to a few peas ground into the antique rug. Shoving aside a well-used fly strip, she peers out the dirty window. The garden down below is grey with neglect and growing over the stone wall that separates this house from the world.

She imagines she's really a princess in her tower and the bushes sport blue roses. People walk up the street with gifts, lighting up as they see her smiling down upon them. She gives a slight wave, knocking a fly into the sticky strip and breaking the illusion.

She turns around. The path through the walls of boxes and old kitchenware suddenly seems even smaller, squashing her against the window. She can't breathe. Her chest hurts. The cat claws at her leg and she whimpers, taking off through the winding maze of this bedroom to the solace of the long airy hall.

If she closes her eyes and leans over the banister that stands above the grand foyer, she's almost somewhere else.

Kinda, sorta, maybe.

I readjust my body on the couch. Sit for a beat, move my foot, fiddle my fingers.

I'm waiting. 

"I don't know," she says finally, and I exhale. Softly, hoping she doesn't hear.

"But...in the general ballpark...do you, or do you not, like girls?"

She looks uncomfortable for a second, and creases her eye-brows.

"I guess," she says. "Maybe. I mean, they're cute. They smell nice. And they've got such-"

She stops, her cheeks turning red.

"No, no," I say. "Such what?"

A few seconds pass and her lips twist into a quirky little smile.

"Such soft lips."

I nod, agreeing. But really, really agreeing. And hope she catches on.

"So what about you?" she asks, completely oblivious. 

"I don't know," I mumble. 

She frowns and shakes her foot impassively. 

"No. You have to answer. In the general ballpark. Come on."

I fiddle my fingers, think of an answer -any answer- other than the answer that's just right there. 

"Truthfully," I say slowly. "I do."

She raises her eyebrows and smirks. "Oh?"

"Yeah. And...I think she might know too."

"She?" She cocks her eyebrows even higher, and I laugh.

"You look like a clown with your eyebrows that high..."

Making a face, she tries to get them even higher, until finally, she relaxes her entire face.

"So who is it?"

"Who's who?" I ask, giggling at the image of her in a clown's suit.

"Who's this girl you like?"

I watch a spark of something in her eye go off, flaring. Anger, maybe. Impatience. 

Beat, beat. Let the seconds go by, because I don't wanna answer! 

And finally, my mouth betrays me.

I let my guard down for a second and the word jumps out.

"You."

Pause.

Shit.

"Coincidentally," she says carefully. "I don't mind."

Relief washes over me in a snow-storm of words.

"Even...I kinda like it."

Summer Day

"When I look at you... I'm home," she says to me.

I laugh. "You stole that from Finding Nemo."

"Yeah, but it's true. I want to hug all the Disney writers because their lines always mean so much more than they're supposed to. Don't you think?" she asks, settling back into her Adirondack chair and closing her eyes.

"Yeah."

I'm trying to understand exactly when I became a home to her, when I had the comfortable scent and overstuffed armchairs that let her be who she was inside. Two years ago she pushed me down the school stairs, screaming that I was a fucking bitch. Twenty months ago she became such a small, lost girl that I took her in my arms and let her sob quietly. Three weeks ago she kissed me.

"What's on your mind, babe?" Her hand finds mine across the wooden table and she squeezes.

"You," I say. "Always you."

She laughs this time, sunshine spreading from her deep blue eyes. "As it should be."

Existing

"I think it's cool," she mumbled. "How no one ever sees you."
The boy picked up a stick and started picking it apart, throwing the pieces onto the surrounding grass.
"Yeah," he said. "Sure is."
And then he was gone, because he didn't exist, because no one exists.

Phone Call

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Alex."

"Oh hi, Alex. What's up?"

"Um... I just, need to talk. I think. To you."

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm... sorry."

Click. 

"Fuck."

Bam.

"Fuck!"

The End.

Anything can be beautiful

Nova stands at the top of the hill, looking out over the long grassy fields below, ultimately leading into large, dark forests.
"It's beautiful," she says, disregarding all of the death and decay that has happened here over the past 100 years.
"If thousands of my ancestors hadn't died here...hadn't been slaughtered mercilessly...this would be a perfect place to cloud watch."

She sits down at the top of the hill for a moment, breathing in clean, clear air.
"Perfection," she says. "At it's very best."
Then she lays on her back and closes her eyes.
"Fuck death and decay," she thinks. "Any space can be beautiful. Any past can be reversed."

She starts humming to herself, a soft, bouncy melody, and smiles.
Anything can be beautiful. 

Greetings

"Hey," the girl says.
"Hi," the guy says.
But neither one really, really cares.
Neither one does, so why bother?

On Death and Dying

If I'd known you were going to die, 

I would have done so many things differently. 

But I always knew you'd die eventually and 

I don't know why I let time pass between us 

so quickly.

Your funeral holds no comfort for my aching soul and the bleak casket only holds the shell of who you used to be. I can't find you here. You always told me you'd be in the clouds, looking down on me when I was happy and whispering by in the wind when I was sad. I'm listening but you're not here. I'm waiting but I can't feel you. 

Your parents are standing a few feet away from me, holding onto each other as if they're the only thing holding the other up and if either moves, they'll both fall to pieces. I feel the same way, only there's no one to keep me whole. That was your job. You told me I'd find someone new, someone who could hold me the same way you did when the rain poured down outside my window and the thunder was too much for me to handle. I've been looking. Everyone's already paired up.

Your flowers are filling up the room, covering every surface and polluting the air with their unwanted sickly-sweet scent. They're pink, roses maybe, something you told me you never wanted to see again after that boy broke your heart and pretended to apologize with a bouquet. I wish I'd told your parents. They're oblivious to everything we went through. I wish I'd told them you weren't feeling well, or you weren't smiling that day, just so they could give you another happy day that I couldn't. I wish for a lot of things.

Your early death took my breath away and ever since I've been gasping on half-formed thoughts of where I'll go next. You were my everything. I'm lost without you. I have more to say. I have more love to give. You're not on the other end of my conversations, smiling while chewing on the inside of your lip. You're not here. You slipped away while I closed my eyes. 

Dealing

"It's just a taste
Of pick-your-drug
It's a pat on the back
When you need a hug"


"For starters, black jack is a game of chance. Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't. But it's also strategy. You've got to know when you can take a hit, and when it's better off to stay."
Elise watched her daddy explain the game to his son, wide eyes when he glanced over to the  doorway she was hiding behind. 
"So I'm going to deal and we'll just play a round, the two of us, okay?" 
Ben nodded, sitting up a little straighter in the seat from anticipation. 


Their father dealt the cards, one down, one up, and placed the deck near himself. 
"Want me to hit you?" he asked. 
Ben set his face to confusion for a second, watching Elise shrink back behind the doorway a little farther. 
"I'll stay," he said.
Ben's father nodded, thinking. "But you're trying to get to 21, remember that?"
Ben nodded, giving is daddy the A-OK sign. 


Silently, Elise went back to her bedroom and turned the light on, watching the walls illuminate with a yellow glow. She sat down on her bed and picked up her teddy bear, Grayson, and hugging him tight.
"You can stay," she says. "I'll never, ever hit you."
She hugs Grayson tighter and lays down on her side, pulling the covers up tight, tight, tight as they can go.


Black Jack is a game a chance, and it really depends on the cards you get dealt. 

Alienated

Alienated.

The one time I changed in front of my classmates, they saw the lines and lines up and down crisscross my legs and arms. They didn't like my skin. They didn't like me anymore.
Now I am me, and they are them.
We're separate.
It was one of those silent promises they made when disgust burned in their eyes upon seeing me.

So it's my fault when I eat lunch alone, my fault when I do projects on my own, my fault when I have no plans on a Friday night, my fault when I sit on the bleachers in gym class, my fault when I'm alone.

The one time I changed in front of my class, I was thrown out of the pack.
Alienated. Disowned.

And four months in, it starts to get lonely.
It seems all I have are my crisscross legs to keep me company, but even they don't like me.

I scratchtearrip every day during class, sitting in the very back.
And no one seems to notice the razor blade in my hand.
No one seems to notice the blood through my sweater, through my shoes, through my shirt.

No one notices me anymore, because in their worlds, I'm not allowed to exist.

I am a ghost.
An alien.
I have bulgy green eyes and grey skin.
I am too thin, too red, and too light.

But it's FINE, because I don't deserve any better.

It's fine, because I hate myself just as much as they do.

Happy, Simple as That

"Do you ever fall in love with someone you've just met, like sitting on the bus or standing in line behind you?" she asks me.

"Like love at first sight?" I reply, distracted by the sunbeams falling down from the blue sky.

She squints, shielding her eyes with a hand so she can look at me. "No, I mean, just fall absolutely in love with this stranger. So much that your heart aches when they walk away, even if neither of you said anything to the other."

"Do you?" It's a stupid response, but I'm not sure what else to say to her. She seems so enthralled with the air out here that her words come out happy and I don't want to disturb that.

"Yeah," she says. "All the time. Every day."

I smile. "Do you ever fall in love with me?"

She whispers, "Every day. All the time."

I tilt my head away from her so I can see the gracious waves lapping at the sandy shore, mere feet away from where we're sitting on the calm wooden deck. Under the ocean, millions of tiny creatures are living their daily lives, eating plankton and swimming quickly past bigger creatures in hopes of surviving another day. We do it too, up here in the air. We rush past the dangers so we'll make it to tomorrow, so we can rush past more dangers and make it to another day of rushing and rushing and hiding.

"What are you thinking about, lovely?" she asks me with a grin on her sweet lips.

"I'm thinking fuck it. I'm tired of living safe so I can keep on living safe." I prop myself up on my elbows.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't want to walk on the sidewalk. I want to dance in the street. I want to spin in circles between the speeding cars. I want to sing at the top of my lungs!"

"Keep going," she prompts.

"I wanna love without caring about anything anyone else thinks! Just love and fuck, you know? Just be happy," I tell her. "I just want to be happy."

"Me too," she mumbles.

"So let's do it," I say.

"Yes," she says. "Let's be happy."

Ali(v)e

"Where are you going?"

The question follows me as I wade into the water, breathing slowly as the cold creeps up my skin.
I'm going to freedom
I'm going to get away
I'm going to be happy
I'm going to escape! 
I let my feet scramble slowly and carefully over the rocks lining the bottom of the lake. The frigid cold jolts everything into a solid tune of thinking. One where all I can imagine is my purpleblue lips, like bruises, my cast-iron skin, and everything, everything, swollen.
Sunken.

Sink, sink, sink. Choke, choke, choke. 
I take these words into consideration as I slip under the water, grabbing hold of the first strong rock I touch at the bottom. Within a few seconds, my lungs start to ache. It feels like my eyes are burning.
Ache. Throb. Ache. Throb. Ache. Throb. 
I open my mouth under the water, trying to hold tighter on the rock as the temptation to find air increases. Suddenly, waterwaterwater rushes in, pushing the last bits of air from my lungs out in small, misshapen bubbles.
I watch them float to the top.
My head feels PRESSURE, and just that, like it's going to implode in on itself.
If I could, I would scream. BUT THIS IS SILENT SAFETY.

Ache. THROB. ACHE. THROB. ACHE. THROB. ACHE. . . 


It's SCREAMING on the inside.
Everything just HURTS just ACHES and I just can't take it...

Suddenly something grabs me, arms wrapping around me. I see beautiful hair circle around the figure. Beautiful blonde hair, like a mermaid. The green murky water surrounding her glows, almost, in her presence. The green murky water that seemed so dark and lonely.
She drags me to the top, where noise explodes and my ears POP.
I sputter, sputter, choke.
Coughing, coughing, cough. 
"It's okay," she whispers, kissing my forehead. "It's okay. Just breathe."
I try to take a breath of air, but water clogs everything and I cough, cough, choke.
The noises of water wading in and out circles me, making me dizzy.
We're in the middle of the lake. Alone. She's holding me above the water.
Suddenly, she presses her lips to mine and breathes, pulling all the water from my lungs and replacing it with sweet, sugary air.
Her air.
"Thank-you," I sputter, coughing a bit. She holds me tighter, whispering, laughing almost, "She's alive."

A few seconds, and she presses her lips to mine again, just for a moment.

"I'm alive," I repeat.

Sweet Kisses

"So I've taken to wearing all black," I say to her as she eases herself down from the top of the chain-link fence and into the flower-covered field.

"I've noticed," she replies. She gathers all her blonde hair up in her hands and lets it fall at her neck. "It suits you somehow, like your colour shows when you strip away everything else."

After a quick glance over my shoulder to see if the security guards noticed our arrival, I lead her up and over a tiny hill until we're standing at the very beginning of the end of forever. Tiny purple dots of flowers stretch out before us, welcoming us with the sweet scent emanating from their soft petals. She whispers out a small gasp of excitement before taking off running through the field, that wild mane of hers soaring out behind her like rays of sunshine.

"Come on, girl of darkness. Come play with me," she giggles.

I follow her, grateful for the quiet breeze kissing my cheeks and bare legs as the black skirt of my sundress lifts up a little while I run. She reaches for both my hands and takes them in hers, suddenly spinning me around in circles so the whole world around us fades into a beautiful blur. All I see is her ivory face, the curious blue eyes, and a pair of plump pink lips that seem to be calling to me.

"You look almost like you've fallen in love," she jokes, but our spinning slowly comes to a stop and we sink to the ground in unison.

"Maybe I have," I say.

There's a question in her blue eyes now, but it isn't asking me who I love. She's leaning in, her forehead resting on mine before she presses her lips into my own and we kiss. The tiny purple flowers begin to sing and I smile, still kissing this girl as she kisses back.

Farewells

Fractured sunlight tumbles down between the clouds that fill the lightly bruised sky,
and underneath two small girls say their most meaningful hello,
while the world around them whispers a fading goodbye.

But tomorrow...

"I'm happy," I tell the stranger next to me on the bus. 

"I'm happy today, and I'm eating. But tonight I'm going to fall asleep crying. And tomorrow I'm going to scar up my leg. And the next day I'm going to stop eating. And after that I'll start hating myself again."

"I'm happy," I say. "But I'm only happy for a little while. And then I am very, very sad."

The stranger on the bus scowls and gets up to move seats. 

"That's fine," I tell them. "I'd run from me to."

Only, there was never any stranger on the bus, because these are the words I hide so desperately to myself. 

Lonely Girl

"Here's me," she says, pointing to a non-existent spot on the brick wall that's supposedly become our map, "and here," she emphasizes, stretching her arm across ten bricks, "is you. All alone. All lonely."

"No, but I'm right..." I pause, frowning at the burnt red bricks until my eyes water and the vision in front of me begins to blur. "I'm right here," I whisper. "Here."

My finger pushes into the soft skin of my chest that's barely visible above our regulated white button-down blouse. Like most girls at this school, I'm wearing mine two buttons undone at the top so I don't choke myself with an over-starched uniform. I'm sure my grey plaid kilt is scuffed from the asphalt by now, but I don't move in fear of this girl in front of me with the startling violet eyes.

"You were never here," she mutters with frustration.

"Was too," I say.

She shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. You've always been on that fucking brick and I'll be damned if I let you tell me otherwise. You're like, on this island, and you're kind of all by yourself."

"Well I am an island," I joke, "and you're drowning in my vicious ocean."

This is rewarded with a dark scowl. "No one gets to drown me. No one gets to fucking drown me, and I am not going to sit here and take this bullshit. I'm moving my here to over there." She jabs her arm across my face, motioning in the direction of the parking lot.

Oh well, I think. You're the one who thought I was alone in the first place. Make my day and leave me.

Ode to Dishabillophobia

In gym class, Alex climbs the stairs to the changing room.
"Fuck it," she says. "I'm not doing gym."


She untangles the earphones from her hair and pulls it back into a dark ponytail with a blue elastic band from her wrist. As she walks back down the stairs, her phone vibrates, sending shivers up her spine.

"What, no show for me today?" it reads.
She erases the message, pretending it never sent in the first place. Pretending she never read it. Then she pulls a think layered mask across her face, consisting of solely a slight, quaint smile.
"Fuck you," she says out loud. "Fuck everything you've done to me."
With that, Alex hurries into the gymnasium and sits on the bench. Tick one, tick two, tick three, tick four.
She runs her fingers along the bench wood in a straight line, tick, ticking her way until class is over.

"Alex," she hears from behind her.
She turns, and it's her gym teacher.
"See me after school. You're running laps."


Alex doesn't move her smile, but instead lets it sit there, in all it's wrongness.
Running, Alex thinks. Is an excellent way to improve your body. 
It tones your leg muscles and, if you do it long enough, helps your lungs improve their breathing capability, just in case you ever need to run away. 
She nods in the direction of her instructor, then almost lets a real smile break her mask away.

But that would mean breaking it forever. 
And one real smile is not worth the millions of fake ones she's perfected. 

On the Edge

"You do this... You stand on ledges, waiting for someone to talk you down. Well I can't do it anymore! I can't beg... and plead... and cry... I won't do this. Not again. 


"Do it. Take that step off the ledge. See if I care. Because I'm done... with this. With you. I can't. I've had enough. You know my reasons for wanting you alive. It makes no difference, fine. Jump then. Die. But stop killing me."


She jumps.