Route Four

This constant ringing makes me sick. Let's just cut the coated wire of connection, because the whole world doesn't need to be held at our mercy. They leave like the strangers of a subway train. These strangers only travel to get from point a to point b, just like you. I made the mistake of talking to one of these strangers, getting to know one of these strangers. It's getting loud in here; the spark created by the metal on metal contact echoes throughout this train of mine. You pull the bell, it's your stop. Your icy cold stare eats through me as you become one of those strangers. Just like them, you got off at your point b never to be heard from again. Why? People are fleeting. Moments are fleeting. Life is fleeting. Maybe she wants to go, and if she does than I don't need her. Maybe I want to shove the moments we shared into her torn suitcase, but memories are something I can't erase. Maybe life is fleeting, but I'm not going to sit back and watch it slip away from me. You might be gone, but the subway doesn't stop just because you did.

The conductor of route four can't be seduced without a ticket.

Weekends

Those tires are talking now
She can feel the vibrations
And creases are stained yellow

She's in downtown London
The stereos are screaming
And her body temperature's rising

Home is something distant
She is slipping away
And these miles battle years

Everything looks the same here
Everything is so empty

Towers are planted
Signal them
Towers are planted
Signal the rulers of the sky

One, two, three
The red eye is blinking

Towers are planted
Save them
Towers are planted
Save the rulers of the sky

Watch as the pretty lights dance
Red, green, blue, white
They paint this place

The television is talking again
Look at those dirty shoes
And look at their dirty smiles

I want him
I need him
I miss him

It's the weekend
Let's not celebrate it

Weekends just aren't the same without you

Stitches

You're her friend, princess
Hide the truth behind your lies
And face the world with your torn down image

Beat her down, princess
Flaunt what she can't
And take what she has

Center of attention, princess
It's time for another quick fix
And he means nothing to you

You're so fictitious
You could break glass

Suck it up, princess
Let's peel back the layers of your plastic skin
And let's see if you feel something

Break yourself, princess
Cut yourself open
And watch yourself bleed

Don't stitch yourself up though, princess
Lessons in suicide are nothing new for you
And you will never be the same girl from four years ago

Take your pretty pink nails to the tiled walls, filthy whore

Neon Messenger

He is my neon messenger
He is the sign
He is the artist

My slumber is stained with little thoughts of misconstruction

Travel voices, travel
Swim through the static network manufactured by strangers
In this static network sculpted of strangers
You will find me

Drown me voices, drown me
Cut their lifeline
Make them flatline
And leave them silent

It burns, blinds, and incinerates
My mistakes ignite you
And my mistakes ignite me

Your mind is stained with little thoughts of misconstruction

It's so cold in this place
It's so empty in this house
Let the spark flicker
Let the spark spread

I go right
You fall behind
She listened to your silence that whispered weakness
She listened to your silence that whispered love

Maps love you, my neon messenger

Never Dance Upon His Grave, It's Not Polite

Mr. Grave Digger walk me slowly, let your lantern burn bright. How am I suppose to trust you though, Mr. Grave Digger? Today you kept his secret. The car in the parking lot should have been bathed in rain, because you aren't allowed to steal her tears. The white lines were the only division of direction between her and my haunted past; her stolen tears should have washed them clean. Perhaps if the raindrops chose to dance, their illusion would have been enough to divert her attention from the left. I suppose we'll never know, it's too late now. Wrong turn after wrong turn, why does fate have such a cold touch, Mr. Grave Digger? There was no rain. There was nothing cascading upon the smooth glass protecting her from the real world, from the same seemingly unknown surroundings of her past. There was nothing letting the glass bleed, letting the glass clot, letting the glass heal. The cold-blooded fate would never spill her tears to protect innocence; self-sacrifice is its only desired quality.

You always intended for innocence to be broken, Mr. Grave Digger. He was just borderline a silhouette, a silhouette corrupt. His skeleton was constructed with such detail, with paint so angrily thrown upon him, she was forced to remember. It seems as though she isn't allowed to forget. I remember him well. I remember what it felt like when the truth finally seeped through the barrier which blinded me from his reality, so many wasted months just a blur. I let his ink bleed and I let his ink fade, but the ink can only bleed until the paper heals. The ink can only fade until the paper attempts to reconstruct. She is attempting to reconstruct with the pieces of past destruction, and her little soul is unaware this paper will always read the same. I remember everything; he has made a home within my cobwebbed memory of ancient business. If I can remember everything so well, why can't I remember to forget? I'll be alright.

I've come to realize, one skeleton can have only so many graves.

Infected Retrospect

I rest peacefully among strangers, just as the black rests so peacefully among the ivory. Strangers don't know, and with them I create a distance melodic hum; it's the soundtrack to the unknown which makes its existence so beautiful. Dancing silhouettes trapped within mirrors die behind my eyes, but they'll never know and this thought puts my mind at ease. It's a twisted comfort one can't really explain and can only understand through experience. This whole idea creates and environment so serene, yet so dangerous because just as they don't know, I know nothing of them. Love danced upon my fingertips; among those strangers I was unaware and so was he. Who know I would be the one to fall in love with fiction, a mere dressed up image of fantasy?

We are the insatiable. We, the children of god, show no mercy. Within the unknown lurks a mysterious desire to become aware, but we never really are truly aware, are we? Our lies cover truth and our secrets cover lies. At first glance, we take in what we see and believe what we subconsciously wish was the truth. Automatic judgment is a sickening creation of desire. We then trap those wishes in empty bottles, bottles that will be smashed and broken before our eyes once we become aware. They will spill our dreams, our secret wishes upon the concrete that have become a part of our corrupt human nature - a daily ritual we all mindlessly follow. Hush now, don't scream. The burn of passion is merely a disguise which masks the burn of pain - only after the fire does the ruthless wind bring the ashes to sting our eyes. What we as individuals believe to be reality blinds us, it only allows us to see the exterior being put up and never look deeper to see the truth. The pages of our story, our past, are now stained with everything we hate. The lights of our city crawl from the sky, one by one into the unknown darkness of hatred and fear. These lights are the bottled wishes, wishes with which we painted our sold out futures among the streets of silent romance. In the end, we're alone. We're always alone, and the unknown darkness is our future.

Love is absolute self-destruction.

The Smiling Moon Never Knew

Summer - it's the indefinable. It's love and hate, it's pain and comfort. It's the nights when the stars paint her weeping widow bright and the days she wastes away in a utopia of bliss. She was always shy; she would let her feelings linger in waiting for the vacancy of his heart. He was a beautiful lie, she was his beautiful disaster. It's a strong drug, a drug unmistakable to the summer girl's soul. A drug so dangerously intoxicating that as it fades away with it's season she can feel the sting on every inch of her fragile porcelain skin. A summer fling screams romance is dead, but she would give everything to feel it again.

It was late, the road glistening from the rain. All she could hear were his footsteps echoing though her mind. They'd lay beneath the stars, watching them stain the night sky with beauty. Space's own night lights and satellites created a glimmer off rain drops astray throughout the field - it would cascade upon their young teenage souls. He would tell her everything she needed to hear, but she'd heard it all before. His empty conversation is detectable by a mind of great wisdom and blinded by the poison of love.

Her eyes wondered, catching glimpse of a plane. The stars mapped out the sky; where were they going? She wished she was aboard that midnight flight to the unknown, the unknown sounded enchanting. Escape is her fairytale. Flashback: romantic oblivion, this ink set her fate. She was curious, wondered if the silhouette strangers that were faintly outlined within the windows had lived her story. Dimly lit airplanes against the backdrop of the night sky had always been intentinally created for the runaway. You could see Hollywood in her eyes, but airports are for dreamers. The maze of terminals was never meant to go on forever in this illusioned reality. It's not time to dream, the comfort of compazine is just a fantasy. Welcome to your first mistake, child.

Hello outer space, sometimes we all need a holiday.

Mixtape

It's 3am: her pillow is stained with saline mixed with traces of black mascara and fallen eyelashes. She isn't the type of girl who would normally mask her face with makeup, but she needs it now to feel beautiful; he never told her she was. While fighting back tears she writes herself a note. It's everything she feels, but can never find the strength to say: "it's time to say goodbye, you'll always have a piece of me."

I'm sorry.

Ghosts of Ivory

Together we entered a long hallway full of strangers.
The space we each took up became more and more insignificant with every passing second.
The movement made you sick,
and the passing images flickering before my eyes made me reflect upon change.

Everything was being drowned out by her voice.
The faces of these strangers washed memories up upon the shore of our minds,
within them we saw the boys we'll always love.

These resurfaced memories only reminded us those boys are never far away.
We soon would see them,
their pristine faces creating a rush of emotion expressed through a smile.

The amount of strangers faced within that hallway was completely insignificant,
compared to the thousands we would face within moments of exit.
Within friends we found comfort,
and within strangers we found friends.

It was exhilarating.
During this unforgettable moment in time he would mean nothing.
He was someone who used to mean everything to me.

The night sky was illuminated by stage lights.
Our lungs filled with the smoke tainted air,
as our minds left hemisphere collapsed.

My eyes acted as though they were the masters of trickery,
the darkness would play with us such convoluted mind games.
He was his dressed up mannequin with the mischievous grin;
I blissfully attended a masquerade ball with fiction.

Within this stranger,
a boy whom I had never seen before in my life I saw him.
Why before was I so scared of romance?

I fell for him over a year before.
His butterflies now have broken wings,
but they are in repair.

Goodbye stranger,
hello friend.

Sugar Bride

It's all over now, everything is gone. I had been beating myself up over all the mistakes you've made, when I've made none. If I ever did anything wrong that lead us to this, I would without question take my share of the blame, but this was all you. I've come to realize I shouldn't fight for you, because you've never fought for me. I honestly wish I could look back at these past two months and tell myself it was all worthwhile, but I'd be lying. With you happiness was something rare; you took so much from me.

I used to lie to myself, everyday. I would trick my mind, say the way this is going is okay and that I just need to stand strong and hold up. Every time I asked you if there was someone else you would lie, you would promise me I was the only one. How many mistakes I made with you, if only I could take them all back - all my wasted time with you, all the pain you've caused me. Sex will never justify love and it's a shame I almost made that mistake with you - key word: almost. I personally find it hard to believe how you could ever be happy after what you've done, although I know I'm not the first. I hope those five weeks make you life, because after your time with your cold-blooded whore runs out you'll be left alone.

They say the end is where we begin, and I agree - the only difference: I'm not carrying you through to the next chapter in my life. You deserve everything you have coming your way for what you've done, but you can't borrow my strength this time. You've cheated and you've lied, so go ahead and tell people your version of what happened - you're good at that type of thing. In the end, we both know the truth. You were never a friend to me. I know you saying you care is just another lie bleeding from your heartless mind and gracing your dangerous tongue for the most selfish of reasons. I also know how the idea of someone disliking you eats away at your heart and mind, so there's one last thing you should know: I dislike you.

Go ahead and choke on your own misery, I'm done choking on it for you.

Escapist

Summer
It's never the movie depiction
But it's the time we feel alive
The time our heart runs wild

The sky was a perfect shade of blue
A blue I haven't seen for quite some time now
And I saw his face
For if only a momentary glimpse into the future

My tainted mind forgotten
As I wondered the path of vivid memory
The sun smiled
And I let go of myself

Escaped what we call reality
If only for a brief second
I numbed my brain
And created a wonderland forever missed

Aftermath

The night was young,
but for us it was almost over.
The point of being was never the highlight of our time spent;
it was always the aftermath.

Copious crowds of people never seemed so big,
until a familiar face could not be found and we began searching for an escape.

Our laughter was ear piercing.
It was a symphony of sound we created and an alluring melody we one day will forget,
but we didn't care;
we never did.

My missed conversations are something fate never intended upon;
their time was stolen by something believed I could never again live without.

As the rain tainted the windshield of the car,
the lights of a city illuminated the dark space radiating with promise and need.
The division of direction was a chain linked fence,
proving to me that mankind isn't all that beautiful.

We discovered the soundtrack belonging to the weeping widow;
watching the stars melt from her sky,
we would dream.

I dreamt of someone forgotten.
Goodbye was something I couldn't allow myself to accept when it came to him,
but our missed opportunities dress us up to be who we are now.
I've realized tonight it was never meant to be,
because I could never bring myself to give up what I now hold in my tiny fragile hands.

Where they were going was uncertain,
but where I was going I knew all too well.

Say hello to suburbia,
we're home.

Last Midnight Plane Home

Sometimes she just wants to run away, run away from everything her picture perfect life is suppose to be. The illusion of her smile will eventually fade and the tears will bleed past her fight to keep them buried within. It doesn't matter how hard she tries, her fragile heart will never be strong enough to understand what love really is. She has the damaging ability to let her mind wonder into the uncharted territory of her past, painting conflict upon the canvas of her present.

Her world of make believe is the only place she can hide, but what happens when she begins to play hide and seek between fiction and reality? She can't be saved, because she won't let anybody in. She is alone, alone in her picture perfect world of fantasy. Her life is slipping away while she's searching for something she'll never find.

The stars will collide before her eyes as the planet's last dance comes to an end; they'll fall from the sky and break her perfectly constructed world into countless pieces of an unsolvable puzzle. She'll keep lying to herself, because she misses everything that used to be, but it's too late to go back. It's time to catch the last midnight plane home, back to reality before it's too late. All that's left is to follow the luminous lights she dreams upon within the crimson of nightfall - to follow them to the edge of the world and never turn back.

All she needs is to run away, away to where her dreams run wild.

Why So Infamous, Puppet?

We are all born with the beautiful ability to act upon thoughts and ideas conjured up in our own profound minds. It's a shame some people are able to steal this away from us - or rather, some of us are foolish enough to give it up. I suppose I'm an easy target because I almost always let my emotions get the best of me, but what's your excuse puppet? You've made me my personal, impervious concrete castle - protecting me from your selfishness, your deceit and your denial. With the snap of the puppet master's fingers you'll dance your little dance, no matter what the consequence.

Why wouldn't you let us cut your strings when we had the chance? We spoke no lie - she lies as though it's her twisted second nature; in combination with her corrupt powers of manipulation, she's deadly. You may not know it yet, but one day your strings will become intertwined and you will lose what makes you her favorite little puppet. Without the connection, you are nothing. What happens then? This will be the moment when you realize your mistakes; it's a shame it's always too late.

Forgiveness can't wait around for you forever my little puppet, and it now rests upon our international dateline; you'll never know where it is because it will never let you find it. I can't say I'll miss you, because I've gotten used to living without you; we both know you've been gone for a while now.

Break a leg puppet, you're the star of her little show.

Your Actions Are as Shameful as Your Acting Is Stunning, Jeremy

This is what she gets for letting her heart get tangled up in his web of beautifully dressed up lies. Although her mind was telling her to be cautious, she wanted so badly to believe he really did change for the better that she shut off the warning signs. The luminous light of reason was shut out by the darkness of the night he charmed her within. The danger lurks in our dreams, and she was a dreamer - he was her ashen dream. He swept her off her feet, his alluring enchantment that of a prince. She fell for him, fell believing he would catch her because he was falling too - or so she thought. In reality, he was back to his childish games he played only a year before, and she fell into every trap he set. He is the magician of love, the master of trickery.

It's funny how blind you become when your heart shuts of the warning signs that your mind fights to keep alive. If she ever had to choose though, she'd pick the fool anyday; she'll have no regrets because she was no swindler. As for 'the prince,' he'll be trapped in an everlasting hurricane of forever seventeen.

Your flame just burned out, and ashes aren't so captivating.

Your Crime Scene Was Missing Its Caution Tape

Sometimes we let our heart over power our minds, and she did. Sometimes the hardest and the tight thing are the same, but something the difficulty blurs out our ability to reason and know what's right. This could either be her most inordinate mistake or her most versatile quality - only time will allow their story to unfold. Her denial is an endeavor all of its own. She allows the thoughts to elude her mind so her heart can mend. Sometimes she worries that it's all in her heard, that she's over reacting and she's the one who's doing wrong. She worries that she's letting her past seep in to poison her present. How foolish she is, letting him toy with her heart strings and taking his behavior as something that will change with the season. Does she not remember seasons have four faces, and only repeat? There's times when she wants to give up and let go, but she can never bring her fragile heart to do it - she's scared. She knows this isn't what she wants, she knows this isn't how it should be, but she allows herself to wash his fingerprints from the crime scenes as he leaves her alone. Moving backwards to where he wants is uncharted territory; its existence may not even be possible. We can only move forward, moving backwards is a nonsensical game - building her concrete castle walls so strong they become impervious. As outsiders we can see he bleeds only false pretense; he dresses up his lies so perfectly they become hidden. If only she knew, but I'm no outsider.

I think you have some caution tape showing.

I Hope the View from Heaven Is Beautiful

When you are touched by death, you can't help but believe in god. The belief of heaven above is the security blanket in which we bury our misery and excuse our apathy for the world that not has become the barrier that separates us and someone we love. Faith is something we can't live without, because no matter how deep inside of us we hide it, it will one day resurface and we will be invariably thankful that it never really did leave us. As intricate and as difficult as something may be, we must learn to lift ourselves up and move past this seemingly inescapable moment in time - we know it's what you'd want. The sun will always rise the next morning and in it we will see your child like smile filled with innocence and love. The sun will always set and allow the slumbering moon to take its place in the conspicuous night sky - within the beautiful, endless blanket of stars and planets we will see your beautiful face. When we force ourselves to hear the thunder, see the lightening and feel the rain we will hear your voice telling us we'll see you again someday. Faith is the one thing we must forever hold onto, because without it the pillars of our soul become broken concrete held up by the sands of time that one day will run out.

The most angelic of angels must one day fall, your ageless beauty will keep the heavens bright.

Sing Me Your Masochistic Lullaby and Make Me Your Perfect Little Broken Butterfly

He has the twisted ability of the charmer. He is the puppet master of what she should know is the flame of a candle that all too soon will burn out. Fill her mind with your cursed lullabies - she'll fall into every trap you set. How about you tell her you've missed her, then the heartache will scratch the surface. Don't forget to say you're sorry, by now she'll believe every word that falls from your tongue and is graced by your perilous voice. And remember to top it off with that you've changed - she'll be head over heels for you any moment now, just sit in your clandestine glory and wait. His lies are coated with honey; there couldn't be a sweeter danger. She made a promise to herself that she would never let this happen again, she would never let him happen again. It looks like she became the one thing she despises the most; she became the worst liar of them all. A liar who does not create a world of make believe in other peoples' minds, but yet in her very own to ease the blow. "I can't get in over my head this time," she says. His ruthless goodbye left nothing, but a world of self-destruction and self-hatred. Lure her, trap her, and then let her go broken hearted. Isn't that what you do best? You let me go.

Sing me to sleep, I'll love you forever in my nightmare that is us.

The Distance Is Daring; Oh, the Young and Reckless Love It So

In his perfect story, there are the torn pages - stained by the actions of the ruthless heartbreaker and with the saline of the heartbroken. In her perfect story, there are the pages of enchantment - abundant with the moments no lover's soul could ever allow to escape their minds. In their perfect story, there is the unbelievable - these pages full of inked hope and promise. The one thing we must remember is everyone's perfect story falls together as one like the pieces of a puzzle. What makes these stories so undeniably fascinating is not that in the end they are all intertwined, but yet the idea that not one of them is the same. No piece of the same puzzle is identical, and for this we must all create our own perfect stories to fit into the big picture of everything we already know. I've discovered something wondrous about my perfect story; in my perfect story is you. We all make mistakes, and we all say things we regret and wish so much we could take back, but after all is said and done there will always still be someone there who finds you remarkable. Within me, you can search for, find, and see that.

Oh, the distance may be daring, but nothing worthwhile will ever be right before your eyes.

Little White Balloon - It's Slipping Through My Little Insignificant Fingers

Her past, it's bleeding into her disguised imperfect present. The flawless image the present was so beautifully painting itself before her eyes as being has all been a ruthless lie. She should have been anticipating, expecting, knowing this was going to happen. No matter how perfect her life may seem at any one moment in time, the car crash of emotions is not far away. Although, it is far enough away that it is hidden among the city lights and traffic jams - lurking. She's dazed and confused; her puzzled expression tells us so. Everything she knew and loved is slipping from her fingertips. Control is no more. Oil and water, that is what the people in her life are slowly, but without doubt becoming. In a way you could say these are the moments that hold the most luminous beauty of life - the inescapable, enchanting disaster. We are someone, and sometimes that someone changes, or rather the people that make us that someone change. When what makes you everything you ever thought you were leaves, believing you can remain the same is a fantastical delusion of fantasy. You can't. When those people decide to change, you're forced to comply and change whether you know it or not. We are constantly changing. The only problem is, change comes with a price.

That balloon, it made her soar.

God's Own Teardrops Danced Upon My Fragile Fingertips

Today on my way home from school, my lack of concentration caused me to miss my bus stop. The typical dreaded thought of the fact my walk home would be twice as long because of my foolish mistake flooded my mind. In all honesty, I can't say I was even the least bit thrilled about the thought of having to be walking home in the melancholic excuse for april weather we had today. As I made my way past the main road's traffic and into the side streets of suburbia, a realization hit me. I can't quite be sure if it was an accident of nature or one of faith, but despite the buckets of water drenching my hair and clothes, the rain put me in a serene state of peace with the world. Rain drops are the marionettes of God; they wash away the illusion we build ourselves up to be with the paint of want, fear, regret. Maybe if we took more time to take in the moment, the past would fade away into vivid nothingness - a distant echo. If we're always living in the cobwebbed memories of the past, the true beauty of life will forever be masked from our eyes.

Always feel, for not everything can be seen or heard.

Last Night, I Attended a Masquerade Ball of Shattered Dreams

We all wear disguises; women painting their faces with disfiguring cosmetics as men bathe their exteriors in charm. What lurks beneath this bleeding mascara and tainted lipstick, this fool proof trick of a traitor? Yesterday evening, I myself attended a masquerade ball of shattered dreams; this attendance of mine, I was unaware of. I wear no masque. I don't paint my face with plastic toxins as does the typical woman, nor knowingly bathe myself in contorted enchantment like the typical man. I am the ambiguous. I am the fool. I am the pawn in your twisted game. Why put me through this playful torture? The masque you wear, my king, has bled your true colours; the colours of a venomous snake. You are the hidden.

Miss me not, for I am only lost and one day will be found.

Perfection Is Our Heart's Greatest Illusion

It's a mirror just waiting to shatter. It occurs for the shortest amounts of time just so it can break you into a million pieces when your castle walls finally cave in. Emotional pain subdues physical pain any day. With physical pain you heal in time, and even though they say "time heals all wounds," the emotional pain never really leaves you. Who are 'they' anyways? Their unmistaken philosophy could not be any more wrong. What are you suppose to do when it feels as though the world you know is becoming the world you knew and crumbling beneath you? Are you suppose to prepare for the fall? No. No amount of preparation could ever prepare you for the fall that is about to come. We live, we love, and we break. How do we fix ourselves though? Hopeless abandonment is its own bitter-sweet symphony, but I'm not going to write you a symphony my dear friend - in the end, you'll write one all on your own. So go ahead and put on your light show baby, because it'll only last for a night.

Everything looks perfect from far away, don't fool yourself into thinking you're anything special.

The Russian Roulette of Emotions

The game of jealousy - it's a game we all take part in, whether we're aware of it or not. We're either the lion or the lamb, the victim of silent actions or the victim of words, spoken from the lips of a killer. It's a rather sick game, the Russian Roulette of emotions - it's deadly. The only difference is, this twisted game of jealousy we all play is inevitable. How does this game work though if someone is trying to use it for personal gain, for the attention of a certain individual? Granted, not so well if that person has caught on to their convoluted mind games. I suppose in the end it'll all play out like a game of cards, with the old saying of "if you play with fire, you'll get burned" attached to the end so loosely, but just enough to tag along for the ride.

The actions of jealousy give voice to the words we can't bring ourselves to say.

A World Away

It's almost like a scene from a movie, the whole girls meets boy cliche of this new chapter I've opened within my life because of you. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that it's real, that you're real. I just wonder, how could someone a world away be so intertwined with my most inner thoughts, feelings, and interests - with me as an individual? I find it so mesmerizing that my mind has a difficult time wrapping itself around the idea of you - the idea that you aren't an illusion of fantasy, but a living breathing human being. You amaze me in so many more ways than one; my words will just become a convoluted mess in an attempt to explain them, so I will keep this short. If I were the patient, you would be the ever so sweet compazine there to sooth my pain. My addiction to you, to your company sometimes worries me, but if I never met you, these feelings I bring to the realm of reality through this writing could not possibly exist and as I've learned, those simple ideas speak louder than any words ever could.

This was written for Ivan.

The Light Within the Darkness

As I slumber, your voice echoes through my mind - a voice I haven't heard in what seems like a lifetime. You connect the stars in my night sky as though they are the dots belonging to a childish puzzle - creating an image, just clear enough of an outline to give me hope for what is to come. For you are the sunlight on my darkest days of living, and without you my world has been the room of a young child with their nightlight containing a burned out bulb - bringing forth my fear of the dark.

The fear of darkness, no matter how large or small, harbors itself within every one of us.

My Planet's Last Dance

My trust with the people I most cherish in my life dwindles as the stars in my sky bleed a deeper blue than most, creating a world much darker than one should ever be. Could a past experience cause someone so much unrecognized emotional pain that they begin to mistrust the world in which they live? Sometimes I feel as though this is the case for me. I worry that without even realizing it, I am reliving my past in this very present moment of time. I understand this is a perfect example of when the much too often heard phrase of "forgive and forget" comes into play, acting as the Joker in a game we too often gamble away. Although, I find myself questioning the entire idea behind that phrase, because as humans how do we know when to draw the line? Certainly not all things should be forgotten, for we would have no memories. It appears as though I push the most important people away with the unintentional barriers I put up around myself; for those of you that tear them down, I am undeniably grateful. As I am, I relive my past in my present and leave the future as it is; a whole new solar system awaiting its discovery, for this is my planet's last dance.

I cannot bring myself to forget what you've done, allowing you to take hold of my soul like the leech that you are.

Friendship and Love, One in the Same

I cannot begin to describe the rage dwelling within me because of a recent fallout with someone I called my friend. I understand that what I am about to say may appear rather melancholic to many people, but it's in all honesty, the truth; what is friendship? In some cases you may believe it's what you share with someone, but is it really that when it can be broken apart and shattered before your eyes by just a few simple words? A split second can turn your world upside down, because you gave an individual the power to do so. Is that really right? If what you and that person shared was 'friendship,' would they really have been so cold as to use the power you so trustingly placed in the palm of their hand against you?

When you start to question the faith you hold in someone you so willingly refer to as a friend, the difficult realization hits that the term 'friendship' is thrown around as freely as that simple four letter word. It may be with the same person over and over again, or various amounts of people, but the problems faced rest upon a horizon too wide, or too broad rather for us simple minded humans to even dream of measuring to the point of comprehension. I suppose this is just a part of 'life' and someday we'll learn to overcome it, but for now we're stuck dealing with the backstabbing and lies high school life throws at us all on our own.

For the pleasure of calling you my friend has now ended, the memories will always remain.