Cheers to waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You're the worst.

Why would you waste time asking yourself questions when you could

ask someome else. That's the whole point of writing, isn't it? Measuring

your crazy against theirs and seeing who took a dive from the cliff sooner.

And my question is this. What is the breaking point for us. At what tragedy

do we decompose. How many sad songs before we are the lyrics, liquid to any

ears that have heard enough cruel language to know that death at a price is better.

By the way, what is death, really. Termination of the senses you may have had in

life, memories of touch to fingers, hands holding nothing but air. Should you scream

when the car comes racing towards you. Should you smile. Should you find the nearest

coffee shop and write about the real reason you slept in until almost one in the afternoon.

That's the thing. As scary and terrifying as we make dying to be, it's far from the worst

reality to have. It actually sounds quite nice, if you think about it like I do, a light switch

on the wall, a no instead of yes, an x in the checkbox. Silence instead of noise. The only reason I can think of about death that is unpleasant is that you wouldn't be able to listen to music. Yes, Ana, gasp. That's not true. There are lots of reasons dying would be upsetting compared to life. So many, I cannot even count. I've just been interested in the line lately, not dead, not alive. The barest form of existence. I know way too well that walking on that line is unbareable. Sitting in my room for hours, looking through pointless social media posts, continuing my habit of posting pictures and then deleting them. No, this isn't life. This is closer to death. That's what it feels like. Reading comments and I feel the energy drain from my head. What am I doing. What am I doing. I hate the cycle. Waking up and thinking "here we go again." It drives you insane.

It drives you so insane that you go to a public place. On purpose. As an introvert. At first, it's overwhelming. You try to concentrate but you can't because they're there, except they aren't existing, like you. They're living. Not spending all day on the phone. Not posting pointless photos, not listening to the sound of their own voice or looking into the mirror for an hour straight. They're alive in the world, changing it with their hands and words and selves. Pointless, but much less pointless. Don't you want to be the one

to change their entire hour and year and life. You do. You know you do. So do it. Don't even think about it or talk about it or plan. Seriously, cheers. To waking up on the wrong side of the bed. You're the best.

i am tempered glass, liquid smooth, sly and fluid when graced with warmth, yet a hollow and cracking silhouette at the slightest touch

i cannot contain such beauty, brain, a huddled mass, soft and screeching, i am wondrous dopamine, receptors firing obsession right into you, you cannot escape what you think you love

feel skin, she crawls, full of life, shifting and breathing, the magic of surface tension, the only thing keeping you from falling right into me

an apple, aglow and with sheen, plummeting from tree of falsity and splendor, catch me and bite into ash, you wish i was what you thought

capture me in a picture, ageless as love and timeless as dying, you look behind glossy eyes in a photograph that has a thousand words telling you why you should leave

this novel, from beginning to an impossible end, pages filling and compiling, there is no finish to a story who’s only words are “im sorry”

im liquid smooth, adorn yourself in silk woven for a body so perfect, and isnt it perfect? in my prime, ripe, about to fall

Jaxon is a feral boy who spends his days amongst rotting trees and eating wild berries.

His mother, Margaret in her mid-twenties, sips coffee with her husband and crochets.

She talks with her husband about times before parenthood, they play this game often.

Her, baking cakes and knitting beanies. Husband Tyler listening to rock music.

Jaxon cannot speak and knows not the embrace of a mother. He lives among deer.

Margaret abandoned him at birth, favoring a life of zest and young love to motherhood.

Tyler wil not talk about him anymore. He reads and remembers the good old days.

The home is very quiet and there are no visitors. Michigan knows what they have done.

No family, no friends, just work and solitude. They really are from the same bloodline.

Jaxon, living life quietly with nature, following his doe herd, resting in oak forest flora.

Margaret, watching crime shows to distract herself from her own wrongdoings.

Tyler, trying his best to remain emotionally unavailable and resemble a concrete wall.

Even when they try so hard to deny the past and forget the mistakes, there will be no rest.

Instead of admitting defeat, Margaret and Tyler ran away.

Their baby will always be lost, and the nursery door will always be locked from the inside.

There will always be deafening silence and a population that knows the true story.

Maybe there's a silver lining somewhere in these clouds I've been falling through.

Perhaps a plush sea awaits to hug me as I fall into it. I've known this sky for so long now.

I've torn apart skies with my fingertips, frantic to find an edge to grip.

I can remember a time I stood atop a mountain and saw happy souls flying free.

Stood there, envious of their power and carefree nature they floated across the Earth with.

Thought that if I took a running start, I would earn my wings too.

That was before I knew how pain felt.

My trembling legs were just a sign of how unprepared I was to jump.

They begged me to stop, take a moment or two to reflect before going on.

Instead, I ran acoss the plateau made for crawling and preparing for flight.

Jumped off the cliff made for rising from with ease.

Squeezed shut my eyes, meant to be seeing my long awaited flight.

So as I fell I used to scream, beg for someone to fly down just to pick me up.

I flailed my weakness around, just trying to grasp what remaining mountainside I could.

That was never meant to happen, though, this is all destiny.

Those souls flying all had this same journey. Thought they would fly the first time around.

The truth is, I guess, that we all have to take our time.

I'll reach my ground and climb again like all of the others, and I'll give myself time.

Now I see, the silver lining in the clouds is that I will see new ones when I rise up.

The plush sea will come and it might still hurt and that's okay.

The beauty in the fall that hasn't been so graceful is the chance to climb again.

I'm still falling and some days the friction between my body and my environment hurts.

But soon I will stop, I will breathe, and I will carry on. I've learned so much already.

Recovery isn't s traight line that only goes up, and I'm still learning to deal with that.

I wish I had a car.

So that I can escape when everything becomes too much.

I wish I had a job to help pay for the cars expenses,

And to buy the things I want 

So I do not look like a beggar to the ones I love most.

I wish I didn’t have this anxiety 

Eating away at me till there’s nothing left except nausea

I wish I was more social and had more friends 

So that I can rely on someone that’s not me 

I wish I could tell someone my deepest darkest secrets and have them not judge me for them

I wish I still had my childhood

I wish that it was not taken from me forcefully by some teenage boy who I thought he knew what he was doing. 

Being the small six year old that’s I was,  I followed his lead. 

But in the end,

I just wish I was happy.

Sabrina looked anxious as she paced back and forth in her bedroom. She could hear the shouting in the kitchen downstairs in the house, her parents were fighting after just receiving the news. She flopped on her bed, then instantly turns over after receiving a shock on pain from her chest “I keep forgetting that they keep growing.” she said to herself. some tears dripped down her face, as quietly lay on the bed. The argument downstairs was getting louder, and Sabrina could hear the exchange between her two parents. Her father’s voice began to calm down a bit.

“We have to support her in this time, she needs a family right now. We can’t give up on her.”

“But he has been lying to us for seven months now, I still won’t let my son go.” said Sabrina’s mother though her distraught emotion. “If we have to get him to stop, does he even know what he is doing?”

“Of course she does.” Her father said, much calmer now. “She just wants our support through this transition.”

“Fuck this!” Her mother said in an angry tone. “I’m going out for a smoke,”

Sabrina heard the front door slam.

“Honey wait.” Sabrina’s father said as he went out the door.

From her open window she could hear the car engine turn on, her mother’s horn blared, and her father yelled after her. She heard the other car start, and both car sounds faded away into the distance. Everything was quiet now.

Sabrina got up from her bed, the lights were off in the room and there was a lack of shadows anywhere. It smelled like it was going to rain soon. She threw on her new teal hoodie and walked down the stairs of her house into the entryway. She glanced back at the kitchen, and saw the bowl where her mother’s dog muffin use to eat out of. She put on her converse and, took the suitcase which was still at the entry way from when she got back to the house earlier that evening. Walking quietly towards the door, she put her hand on the brass knob she would touch so many times before. Images of her happily leaving and coming home to a happy family, a family who loved her. She looked up at the ivy trimmed mirror that hung on the side wall of the entryway, her eyes met her reflection and it captivated her for a moment.

“Look how much you have changed.” She said to herself, the tears stopping for a moment. Her hair had some lingering purple from the last time she dyed it but the pinkish blonde was returning to brown near the roots of her hair. Her face was much more feminine than it was a few months ago, a softer expression of brown eyes stared back at her, with red cheeks still streaming with tears. She licked her finger and quickly rubbed off some eyeliner that was starting to run from the tears. With a half smile she opened the door and took a step into the cool autumn air, she inhaled and picked up her suitcase to descend the two cobblestone steps, placing the suitcase wheels on the black pavement. Sabrina closed the door and made sure it was locked, then grabbed the handle of her suitcase and starting walking. The suitcase leaned and the extending handle clicked into place as she made her way down the driveway. As she approached the end of her driveway she turned left to walk the sidewalk to the end of the cul-de-sac on her street.

She passed the blue house next door which was recently sold, then the pink house which was home to a childhood friend who moved away while she was at college. She paused at the third house peering through the window. An illuminated dinner table, with a family of four, their faces were bright, laughing and enjoying each-other’s company. Sabrina turned as some salty droplets fell on the sidewalk, dampening the area in front of her, she continued. A strong wind blew her hair back and it smelled of dampness as the leaves showed their lighter underside. The wind cooled her face and it made her eyes dry and water a little bit more. She continued walking until her house was out of sight. Sabrina felt a weight on her shoulder and collapsed on the cement sidewalk crying. Her phone started to vibrate but through her sorrow should could not hear it. More drops began to fall, this time though from the sky.

If I

stepped outside

without a stare nor fleeting glance,

without a care or hope or chance

of ever stepping back inside

and fell away

and faded

into tones of paling grey,

and vanished

suddenly from sight

to forever disappear

that night

would a single sleeping soul

wake an eye to breathe a sigh

or would the night continue on

and ignore this passerby

words sprinkled and

colors splattered

i have seen the

carelessly intentional strokes

on your fiery canvas

every millimeter its

own splash of unpredictability

the messiness of it

draws me in

and each time i see it

i feel as if i embark

on a journey laid out

specifically for me

on this intricate map

i crave to discover more of

your hidden gold

as the flow of shapes and musings

weave to conjure this

uniquely powerful

masterpiece

that has since spoiled

all other art for me

now i sit bored analyzing

renowned pieces

and i see that

the critical skill behind other displays

pales in comparison

to the effortless portrait

of you

which i know glistens best

under the sunlight

of my loving eyes

Heather, what a wonderful person.

Smart, kind, and mostly shrewd.

You, are great!

I hope, with me, you shan't worsen.

Though, I am viewed...

Innate.

In star-eyed love, coerced in,

A beautiful mood,

Fate.