Lay on a mattress 

Look out the window.

See the blackness waiting outside you

Glance up, and see the pillow above your head.

Take it.

And hold tightly.

Fall asleep.

Who am I? 

A question well said.

The one who reveals too much of himself.

The one who doesn't like people, but is social.

The one who's afraid of being the outcast.

The one who says the stupidest shit.

The one who annoys you to no end, but you're friends with for some reason.

The one who can't speak to the heart, but can write to the soul.

The one who makes the wrong joke at the wrong time.

The one who doesn't know what it means to love someone.

The one who holds his pillow close, wishing he wasn't alone.

The one looking for love in all the wrong places.

The one who must be the best at everything,

The one who doesn't know when to stop.

The one who listens to the music that doesn't work.

The one who has the wrong obsessions,

The one who holds a single secret.

The one who only pretends to want to die.

The one who thinks feeling nothing is better than something.

The one who looks at you with sadness in his eyes.

The one who can't think of a better way to fill up 200 words than repeating the exact same sentence.

 I wonder why I'm so cold.

The heater's on

I'm curled up under a blanket.

Yet my skin is covered in goosebumps,

and the hairs on my arm on sticking up, attempting to capture more heat.

It hits me, as I take notice of the pit inside my soul.

The darkness has returned. 

I knew I couldn't stave it off forever.

Returning in full force, I still don't know what to do about it

The happiness was good while it lasted, but it can only last for so long.

I decide to try and just continue to distract myself using my phone.

Yet darkness still creeps into my already black heart, only making the hole deeper.

Welcome back my old friend.

I hope you enjoy your stay. 

I look around at the poor weary souls around me. 

All we know is work.

Working to carry to world of tomorrow into the world of your dreams.

Working to stop the world from suffering.

Even though we still can't get over our own problems.

How do you expect us to save you, when we can't even manage to save ourselves? 

I saw the best minds of my generation fall around me, succumbing to the darkness of themselves. 

They drop to the ground, either dead or unable to move.

We work until our dying breath, just to prove to ourselves we didn't fail you.

Sorry we couldn't meet the bar.

Maybe you should put within sight next time.  

You come to me asking advice.

Just remember one thing my friends.

Expression of who we are is what makes us ourselves.

Express yourself in every and all ways you can.

Because once you forget who you are.

You become nothing more than a sheep that follows the group.

 When all the walls fall,

and all the secrets let out and tears stream down cheeks

And the suicides are attempted, and the wrists are cut

And when we curl up, in hopes someone will see us through this nightmare

And when we slowly admit everything to them, in hopes they can make it all better

We realize.

We realize that love isn't about caring, or kindness.

It's about pretending you have a connection to a total stranger. 

Just pretending that you two can just keep out the darkness around you for another day,

While those around beg for help,  asking how.

How you could be so broken inside.

Because when you look around, and see the world for what it is, and not the facade your emotions put out to keep you sane,

You come to realize that we are all broken

There is no help.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Just an enveloping blackness that will never let go.

(Play this- www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlysZAUNyFg)

I get home from school and walk in the door. 

Nothing.

No greeting, no acknowledgement.

This is not normal. 

"Mom?"

Silence.

I sprint up the stairs, a bad feeling in my gut.

I burst into my parents room, to find my mother in bed.

"Mom‽"

No response.

I walk over to her to find a body of lifelessness.

Not that the sickness left much in her, anyways.

I pause,

Then begin to walk to the basement.

I curl up on my bed and begin to weep.

2 days have passed. 

My stepfather and sister are still grieving,  but the times of tears are long gone for me.

We have moved into a smaller house, in the downtown area.

Money is so tight, we feel its constraints on our stomachs.

Hatred for me is constant.

They never liked that much in the first place, and now that mom's gone, well...

What's there to stop them?

1 year after.

It's been a year of shit if I've ever known one.

My stepfather never really recovered from her death, and squanders all our money on alcohol.

He's out of a job, and welfare keeps us going.

Due to his constant drunkenness, he doesn't have any limits for hating me anymore,

I can't even talk to him without being insulted about my "failure at being a son". 

But I have a plan.

Every two weeks, we go Friday evening to see our father for the weekend, and return Sunday.

Well this time, I'm not returning.

Fucking shit.

It didn't work.

My stepfather refuses to give me up.

And my biological father can't do anything about it.

Luckily, I always have a plan B.

My gun.

It can release me from this damned reality.

I put it to my temple,

Then pause.

I walk up to my stepfather's chair.

"Hey Dad, watch this."

As I harbor my secret close to my chest, I hear something from outside my world of darkness.

"Shit!"

It was my mother. She had spilled a glass of water on the floor.

I was already moving before she asked.

From the Kitchen,I got some paper towels  and a cloth, and started cleaning up after her.

The old conversation ensued

"Thank you"

"No problem"

I still felt bad about helping her. 

She was sick, but she never acted like it.

So whenever she needed help, I always wondered what was stopping her.

But I couldn't question it.

I didn't want to be seen as that kind of son.

As I begin to imagine what would happen, anxiety starts to run through my veins, causing me to leave.

Tears threaten to form, but the time for weeping is long gone.

At least for me.

So I retreat to the only place I find comfort.

The computer.

Open incognito.

theprose.com/write

I hear my dad from downstairs, calling me.

The war must go on, I guess. 

I get up every morning and stare.

Into that damned mirror.

Reflecting back the real self

One whose heart is wrapped in black lust.

Inescapable fantasies, please leave me be.

Sister,  do not shine your eyes upon me,

A bloody mess is all you'll see

You are so pure in your innocence,

Something that I sorely miss.

Just avert your gaze, and look away

Talk with me another day

Sometime when my eyes are not wet,

Sometime when blood hasn't been let.

Go with friends that make you grin

As I sit and rot here in my skin.

You need not worry yourself with beings such as I

For sooner than most, we will die

Cast your gaze to doors that show hope

Not to a boy with a loop of rope.

Go and achieve your dreams

For looking back, is more than it seems.

Your train away is due,

Just always know that I love you.