Things I've done that I've regretted doing, and other things.

1 year old: I don't even remember
2 years old: Probably did something stupid like hit my head on the table
3 years old: I have no idea.
4 years old: stepped on a bee while playing in my front yard.
5 years old: hit my little sister in the stomach so hard she almost threw up, walked in on a boy in the bathroom during my kindergarten class.
6 years old: 1st grade, met a boy and made fun of him for his buck teeth
7 years old: 2nd grade, wrote a book about my life and lied about my birthday
8 years old: 3rd grade, started stealing candy from my parents
9 years old: 4th grade, stole a rock from a public store. Got in MASSIVE trouble.
10 years old: 5th grade, told my crush of 5 years that I liked him. Creeped him out. Moved to Colorado in September. Didn't stand up for myself on my first day of school. Found a new crush. Wished my sister had never been born. Started stealing massive amounts of money from my parents. Wrote poetry about horses and nature, and how life was beautiful. Listened to a ton of disney music and other such things as that. Gained a new best friend who's stuck with me through it all.
11 years old: 6th grade, decided to stop talking to everyone but 2 people. Had no friends. Beat Elijah V in basketball, though he still won't admit it to this day. Tortured myself with my allergies. Had a pink and orange room.
12 years old: 7th grade, dated quite a few people. Stole money from my parents all the time. Gave up on school and on life. Stopped caring except when I needed to. Was in the theatre program, helping out with the techies. Never auditioned for a play or musical, ever. Started exploring more into the world of sex using youtube videos and porn. (not my best idea.) Had a really bad relationship with my little sister. Hated my mom. Distanced myself from my dad.
13 years old: 8th grade, more distance. More friends that don't know anything about me. Hung out with some of the wrong people. Moved at the end of the year.
14 years old: freshman year. Cut for the first time. Went "emo". Made lots of new friends. didn't  give a shit about homework or school. Failed 6 total classes that year out of 14. Wrote poetry about death and bleeding. Wrote a poem called Secrets that I'm still proud of today. Became obsessed with Edgar Allen Poe and his poetry and stories, particularly The Raven. Had my first kiss. Fell in "love" about 10 times, and had my heart broken every single time. Met a new best friend. He's just like me. Dyed my hair black. Went anorexic. Lost 20 pounds. Gained a new personality and more self confidence.
15 years old: sophomore year. Cut for the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th times. Started using serrated knives for pain. Started drawing. Made a ton of new friends. Became popular. Retook algebra. Felt loved. Believed a guy who hurt me. Drove two people to attempt suicide because I didn't love them back. Began to hate myself. Realized that I hurt everyone I meet. Tried distance again. became loud and obnoxious. Failed 3 classes. Started eating more. Gained back the weight. Dyed my hair red, brown, purple, and black. Hovered on the very edge of being concieted. Wrote half of 3 books.
16 years old: junior year. Not regretting much. Joined the Movement and Diversity club. Saved 6 lives. Met a ton of new people. Gained some friends that were good for me and lost some that were bad. Have a much better relationship with my parents. Dyed my hair all black again, then bleached some of it, and tried to dye it blue. Broke someone's heart so much that they almost killed themselves. Almost tried cheerleading. Trying to get into theater. Lost my virginity, which is something I definitely don't regret. Fell in love with the boy I'm currently dating. His name is Austyn. I taught someone how to feel again, using poetry. They were sad. Tried to protect the ones that I hurt. Made up a new word. Started a couple books, but stopped writing them. Fell in love with music, and art. Started caring more about school. Learning how to drive. Inspired a couple people. Saved some more lives. Kept writing, started drawing and singing. Made more friends. Gained a best friend named Eric, one named Ainsley, and a couple more. (Kimmy, Courtney, Edyn, Kenton... ect ect.) Submitted my poetry to a contest, still waiting for the results. Cried because Bella almost died in Twilight. Cried because Toothless almost dies in How to Train Your Dragon. Cried because of the love between Severus Snape and Lily Potter, even if it was one sided. Cried because I was afraid. Discovered some of my fears. Broke my own heart. Healed it up again. Taught someone the beauty of the world with one simple word. Gained self confidence, felt proud, felt loved.

Love.

I have long since deserted my once imperceptible, and perhaps inconceivably so, determination to discover the secrets of the human race. There are too many impossibly simple things that can have so many meanings camouflaged into the ramblings of a sentence, or the intricate melodies of music wrought from strings of steel. Music, to the pack of wolves that is humanity, means either crystal clear simplicity or an overwhelming simmering anger. Anger seems to be the driving force in humanity, the fire and explosions that drive the dreams of humanity to advance to greater and greater heights, skyward in comparison to any else. However angry one single being may get, there is another force like a needle in the spine or a kick in the ass of the intelligent mind, that compulsive need to do something on impulse is the farthest from anger one may ever get. A crimson, bubbling word that tickles the tongue and jumbles the mind of every individual that has ever existed and will never cease to twist knots in our stomachs, a word that I have only recently stumbled across in my recent adventures. A word that he says to me every night. Love.

Sorry.

I'm sorry. I would have told you sooner but I was scared and I felt guilty about what happened. You didn't look like an ass. You were just trying to protect me. I'm sorry. You've got a right to be angry. You made me feel like shit, again. You win. "I'm sorry too. For believing you." Yeah. Whatever. I told you today, isn't that enough? I TOLD THE TRUTH! I hid it from you because I didn't know what your reaction would be. Thanks for making me feel like this again. I love you more than anything, mom, but you just don't get it.

Being Watched

              He is following again, I can feel it. That sensation deep in my gut that someone's watching me. It's been almost a mile and the feeling hasn't gone away. I close the door quickly behind me as I slip into my apartment, shaking the ancient frame like breath from terrified lungs. The click of the lock behind me is satisfactory, yes, but not at all calming. He always finds a way in. I reach out and grope along the wall for the light switch, at the same time taking off my shoes. i hear a soft click, a buzz, and the room fills with a soft yellow glow. A sigh of relief floats up from my lungs. Nothing's changed. Usually when he follows something has been moved, a small amount, maybe an inch or two. Maybe he was only following tonight, then. Maybe he would leave me alone. I hang my large black coat on the rack and wander into the kitchen. One of the drawers is open slightly, but I pay no attention to it. It must be broken. The refrigerator door protests with a loud creak as I open it. I scowl and berate myself for having forgotten milk. Of everything that I could have forgotten--- Wait. Something's missing. I stand straight up, my muscles coiling like springs in a mattress. His breath is on my neck, hot and foul, the stench of raw meat. I can feel the fingers of his right hand trailing slowly up my back, tracing every curve and bump in my spine. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes go wide. He knows it. I'm sure he can feel my heart racing, pounding against the tips of his fingers as his hand rests on my breast. A soft, terrified whimper escapes my lips, and he takes it as encouragement. His left hand tangles in my hair suddenly, yanking roughly on the back of my neck until my chin points straight at the ceiling. A yelp rips from my throat as he digs his nails into the back of my head. I hear a growl of pleasure. Suddenly he has me pinned, my body pressed hard between him and the fridge. He tears off my clothes with dirty hands, streaking my skin with grime where he touches me. I begin screaming, someone's bound to hear me, to come running. He cuts off my screams and stops my life short with the blade of his knife. Everything is black.


            I sit bolt upright in bed, my chest heaving great gulps of air into my lungs. My body is cold, sweat pours off my sides and my hair is wet. I tear myself away from the dream, tears welling up in my eyes. How could anyone be so horrible? So heartless. My mind is whirling. I open my eyes to find a knife, sharp and shining, hovering just above my throat. His eyes shine in the darkness, and I see no more. I guess some dreams come true after all.

Asphyxiation

        I feel as though a fly would,

caught inside a Widow's web 

her sticky strands of helpless tangled thoughts

confused,

has caused my strength to ebb.

       I feel as though a raven does

when soaring through an inky sky

with feathers dark and thick and dangerous

like lead

and bloody tears I cry.

       I feel as though a black cat has

accused of pretense witchery

and hanging by a knotted, gnarled rope

eyes open

Now I can see.

       I feel his pain now

that which you cause him in an 

everlasting grief

and through the blood and marrow bore

the tears and strength to weep.

       Ah yes, my name. My name

hath not a single silent sound

but the water boils up around me

and in it

I hath drowned.

This and That

I am someone, and no one. I am dead, and alive. I am irrational, and logical. I am a dreamer, and a realist. I am a non-conformist, and similar to everyone else. I am a lover, and a hater. I am surrounded by friends, and alone. I am beautiful, and ugly. I am wanted, and unneeded. I am inspiring, and ordinary. I am adorable and annoying. I am unique, and judged. I am peaceful, and in pain. I am calm, and stressing out. I am whole, and breaking. I am insane, and misunderstood.

Realizations.

Insane
Alone
Masochistic
Logical
Ordinary
Vacant
End
Dead.

Suicide note for a broken heart

Take my hand
and close your eyes
take a breath
and stop the lies.
Kiss my lips
stop your heart
walk away
for once we part.
A tight embrace
a gentle word
we never touched
you sound absurd.
A troubled mind,
a tear unshed
a drop of blood
upon my head.
A razor edge
an open wound
a single cut
it's over soon.
Dark as pitch,
and hot as hell
the demons sing;
you're dead, oh well.
A wooden box,
a shallow grave
a painless death
that we all crave.
A letter that
I'll never send
a gun goes off;
that's it. The end.

Pain.

I hurt everyone I've ever met. The people I hate to hurt I end up tearing apart. How do I keep going like this? How can I keep going knowing that I'm just going to hurt people. I'm in a suicide prevention club and every single DAY I drive someone to the edge! Even the person I would kill myself for. I don't deserve forgiveness, and I don't deserve your kindness. For all of you that have shown me even the slightest bit of it, thank you. But tomorrow I'm going to have my mouth stitched shut from the inside. Maybe if I disappear I can stop hurting people. For those of you who hate me? Congrats. You win. Just keep the insults coming. I'm ready. Someday you'll regret it. Someday you'll be face down in the dirt with a knife in your back with no one to turn to but me, and I'll be there. I'll take your shit, your insults, your drama. I'll bottle them all up inside and then someday I'll just... Explode. I've come to terms with this one single fact. I hate myself and everything I am. When you're old and wrinkled and you come to see me don't expect me to be there. I'll be 6 feet underground with the rope still around my neck.

Mein Freund

You can almost see the thoughts in his eyes. They are deep and bright, full of memories and a dark past. The way he thinks is different, he thinks in music. In lyrics and chords made clear and precise. He changes every thought many times before he writes it down, he could spend hours thinking about a single phrase. When he tells people what he thinks he spends more time wording it than actually speaking. He has a passionate side, with places for music and writing. He has a violent side, full of blood and gore, and a girl he once saw in a dream. Despite his past, his present, and his distant and unpredictable future, he doesn't write about suicide or death. Not from his perspective anyway. He inspires those around him with simple words. He inspires me, and yet I barely know him. 

Her

       She walks through the door and instantly freezes, her eyes aimed at the floor. Their crystal blue irises shimmer and seem to glow in the faint light. They are deep and solemn, and as ever changing as the ocean. Irresistible, yet dangerously so, full of secrets and hollow forgotten words no one dared to speak. They are slanted slightly, like a cat's. She could hold a gaze forever with those eyes, often turning heads wherever she walked. She was an oddity, piercing sapphire eyes and raven hair, as thick and full as a waterfall of shadows. It framed her face, adding a deep and stunning contrast to her porcelain skin, which was as smooth and perfect as a doll's. She had high cheekbones, dyed naturally with the faintest of rose coloring, giving her a permanent blush. Her lips were full and soft, deep blood red, and concealing sharp ivory teeth. A faint smile graced the corners of her lips, as if she were always smiling at some silent joke. She stood as though she were still moving, fluid even in stillness, her ebony corset hugging her perfect hourglass figure, and flowing out into an elegant skirt around her waist. She is beautiful, even in her frozen shock she is composed. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is a gentle soprano, a note of birdsong in an empty field. It holds a note of power, soft as it is. A single word makes its way slowly from her ruby lips, the only word she can possibly think of to say, "Hello." 

Silence in the form of Screaming

There are some things that one just can't write about. Some emotions that are just too large to completely understand, some places one can't go. Some memories one doesn't want to relive, futures that one never expects to happen, and futures that seem to always happen. Some things can't be described through a pen on paper or even a first hand experience. Some details that will be left out or can't be given because they hurt too much to mention. Sometimes, it's not enough to learn about it in school, research it, watch it on tv, or read a book about it. Some things just can't be written, and others just can't be said.

Desolation

There is a place, somewhere
full of scraps of yellowed paper
broken pencils with erasers half worn down
and candles still burning,
with orange and yellow flames against a background
so dark, it swallows you whole.
There is a place, far away
where the drawings are of demons,
breath as hot as the core of the earth
and eyes as dark as your room
with your blinds shut and a bullet through your brain.
Somewhere, there, embers burn from dying fires,
and worn down lead bleeds black onto brittle papers
by the light of a candle, ebony and thick.
Pentograms line the walls, inverted and smoldering.
All is lost, when Satan calls.