ages, it's been ages

waking up to the same fever dream

it's like your arm is still

threaded through mine

like spun silk

so

breakable

behind my eyes:

sinful tragedy, repeating,

respelling, respilling

like your teacup

knocked

over

. . . . . . .

hot tea

burning my tongue,

but it's yours

and

it's ours

and

we're the same, sometimes,

when i close my eyes

and the sun tells me: lies

.

stepping gingerly over ginger

cuts like roots underneath your

fingernails, connected to

fingers that play the piano for me

or did you?

i've got a toothache, but i

keep feeling it in my chest,

and

the leaves keep rustling and it

sounds like your name, but it's

just raindrops and raccoons, actually,

asking me

how long it's been

until i can open my eyes

.......

youth

reverberating

ribs

beckoning

reckless

hopeless

feverish

dreams

.

but i don't

always

wake up

One hundred is such a small number,

Your sibling might have one hundred beads in her collection.

You have blinked one hundred times today

Your friend has taken one hundred breaths.

Your father has taken one hundred steps.

Someone might not have lived to see hour one hundred.

One hundred can also be a very large number.

In a battle one hundred lives were lost.

Someone my only have one hundred minutes to live.

Another person my have cried one hundred tears.

Someone heart could have been broken one hundred times.

Another thing, This post is only one hundred words.

Echoes in and echoes out,

Whispers turn into a shout,

Their voices prowl through my thoughts,

hissing things I can’t make out,

They talk the same way fires burn,

sapping life with no concern,

I'm dry and cracked and limply dragged

to the point of no return,

Stumble through the mess of tears,

Watch them liquefy my fears,

Maybe it's just perspiration,

sliding gently to my ears,

Smoke and lava sear my skin,

Carve my walls all paper thin,

Crying never left me painless,

Hide behind my plastic grin,

Water proves thicker than blood,

I drown in a salty flood,

Nothing seems to be making sense,

Surrender to my heart’s thud,

Will I die to rain or flame?

Both sides think I’m theirs to claim,

Am I asleep or wide awake?

Tell the truth, is life a game?

Cough a song of sorrow sweet,

Block the voices here to greet,

They never come and never leave

as long as I’m here to meet,

Listen to the silent scream,

My heart sweats to form a stream,

Burning yet and forevermore

is me in my fever dream,

I am the oldest of three.

The is a baby sister, a middle brother and me.

As the oldest I take on most of the responsibilities.

While my youngest sibling, my sister handles most of the formalities.

However, the middle child; being my brother...

He has no are in the world, he is unique, and like no other...

I am my dads weakness, and often win any of our battles.

My sister is my mom's, and she knows just how to be my mothers annoying rattle.

But, with my brother, there is no hope.

for he is the middle child, the one that never feels bad to see no.

He is the one, that makes you laugh even when his jokes no sense.

The one who sees the rules as 'made to be bent'

And believe me when I say he can be irritating, and stubborn.

But that's how all middles kids are, that is their norm

Listens to no one and does whatever he deems right.

oh, and believe me when I say, with him you will never win a fight.

He is the weakness to my household, and can not be controlled.

But that's what he thinks, being the oldest I now how to make him cave and fold.

He is my first best best friend, and my partner in crime.

Without him, I don't think my childhood would have worth the time.

He stole my heart the minute he arrived...

And in that moment I knew what being a sister meant, how it is defined.