I taste like coffee and cigarettes. My eyes are in a far away land where stars and galaxies fill my Iris's to the brim. I see mountains and landscapes in everyone I love. I see the natural beauty bestowed upon them. I taste bitter, when you kiss me, you'll taste all the hate a anger I have inside, all of the pain and agony. When your lips touch mine you'll feel all the things iv experienced, all the hell iv lived. As much hurt and angst that I harbor within my body, when you touch me even just for instant it disappears. The hurricane inside of me calms to a soft lull of rain. When you kiss me, I see my heaven or hell. I know you would be the best thing to happen to me but you could also be my destruction.

Two eyes and a heart beat.

Your touch was my addiction.

Your kiss was my drug of choice.

Your eyes were like the forest, i wanted to get lost.

We all have to pick our poison. 

Some choose heroin or coke.

Some choose liqueur.

Some choose cigarettes

and some choose all of the above. 

Love is the biggest drug of all and we don't even realize it.

How easy it is to get addicted to another human being.

How fast their voice becomes the lullaby that puts you to sleep every night. 

How their scent is the only thing that can calm you down. How their touch can make your body relax and you sink into them.

We dont even realize when its happening, when another human being becomes a home for our soul. 

They become our shelter. 

They become our drug.

They become the thing we want to lose our selves in.

They become an addiction.

Two eyes and a heartbeat, that's all it takes.

I sat outside this morning and had a cigarette. I stared off the porch at all the clean white dust that lay peacefully on the ground, untouched by anything. Clean, solid, perfect. I took a drag and let it fill my lungs. Life, hurts. Everyone says, "its gets better", they say that it stops being so painful and that things work themselves out. I am one of those people, i always tell the people i love that things get better and it wont hurt as much one day. Its a lie though, and i know it and i think they know it too. I want to give them hope for a better future for themselves though, so i keep lying. It never really does  get any better. It gets good for a while and things feel okay but then you turn your head fast and as soon as you look back everything in front of you is different again. Everything is a mess. This life is made up of chaos and turmoil that fills us up to the brim, leaving no room left for anything else. We are all tired, we sleep till noon to make the days pass more quickly, were all medicated, addicted to prescriptions or self medicated addicts. We look for anything to fix the problems that lie beneath our skin. That reside deep inside our brains. Even when were high on drugs it doesn't stop,  the world is spinning so fast and we cant catch our breathe. Time passes by everyday and each day we get older, closer to our own demise. There are twenty four hours in a day, and everyday when i wake up it feels like i'm re living the same day over and over, the same time sequences pass and pass and never change. They never change but each day those times on the clock strike and im getting older and the weeks, months, years are just going past me and i'm stuck. Quicksand has been my biggest enemy. I'm constantly sinking. One day im afraid i will sink so low and the sand will swallow me whole and i will fall into oblivion, like i never existed at all. Im afraid i wont find the rope to pull myself out with. Today, i sat outside and smoked a cigarette, and i let it fill my lungs and i realized, being alive means to be in pain.

These brittle bones, they hold me up.

When I want to fall, when I feel so weak I don't want to stand. They hold me steady. They don't let me crumble. No matter how much I want to drop to my knees and let tears wrack my body. They always make sure I stay standing. They may be Brittle, they make be fractured, but they are stronger than I ever will be. No matter how weak I am, they make sure I never crash. These bones make my feet move everyday, make me keep stumbling along through my life. They never quit even when I do. That's what our bodies do. No matter how much pain and despair we feel on the inside, our bodies fight for us. As human beings we can't help but be resilient. It's in our nature. That's why bones heal, broken hearts move forward, cuts close themselves with fresh skin. There is always a scar to remind us it was there but it heals like it was never there. These brittle bones, they hold me up.

I let the cold air flow out through my lungs. Flow out, back into my surroundings .He’s back there, he can’t get me now. He won’t find me. Its cold, mist follows my breath with every inhale and exhale. Tree bark scrapes the hollow of my back creating jagged red shapes on my white skin. Thoughts rushing back and forth, how do I get out? , Why wont he leave me alone? , who is he?. All of them slowly driving me to insanity. A rouge tear rolls down my cheek landing on the back on my hand, the heat of it burns against my exposed skin. It feels like my soul is being consumed by something, a monster, replacing everything I feel with nothing but terror.

I can hear twigs and branches in the distance being crushed under the pressure of an unknown being. My breath catches in my throat, being replaced by pure fear. Scrambling to my feet adrenaline driving me forward, my feet moving so fast dodging all the dangers that lie beneath them. Trees surround me, there roots covered with a sheet of snow it shimmers as sun leaks in through thousands branches. I can hear him in back of me; his breathing is harsh and filled with hatred. Hatred of one thing, one person.. Me! Its stops. I can’t hear him anymore. I think maybe he’s given up; maybe I made it through this hell.

I let my feet slow beneath me, begging me for a break. I give in, finding a seat on the trunk of a large oak. They hurt so much. Pink and swollen from the cold. There are many lacerations on my feet, blood attempting to dry, becoming sticky across my skin making me queasy. I let out ragged uneven breaths, trying desperately to slow it down. I need to let it stay in my lungs long enough to help my body.

I let my eyes close, focusing on what I need to do to survive this. My mind is so tired; I don’t want to open my eyes I want to sleep.

I hear the snow crunch and my eyes flicker open, he’s here. He is standing in front of me, his shaggy black hair falls just below his eyebrows. His eyes still very much visible. I can hear his breathes as they come and go, he’s only three feet away. His green orbs shoot through me, touching my very core filling me with fear and hatred of him. He lets a chuckle slip from his throat, his gaze never leaving me.

“What do you want” I screamed.

His lips turn up into a wicked grin, his eyes boring through me.

He steppes closer, ice crunches beneath him I think hell stop but he doesn’t, he keeps coming closer and closer until his chest is almost touching my face. He towers over me his 6 foot 3 frame making me stumble back a little. He catches me though; his hand wrap’s around my wrist not letting me fall. I let out a yelp as his hold is to firm and my bone feels like it’s about to snap. Realizing my pain he releases me. Wait why? Why did he just let me go if he wants to kill me?

“What do you want?” I demanded again, trying to sound stern.

He steps closer letting his breathe flow down my neck making me shiver at his close proximity.

“You” he whispers

Panic rising in my stomach, his hand clamps down on my throat practically crushing my wind pipe I struggle to breath as his grip tightens

“You will die; you will pay fro what you did to me.”

“What did I do?” I spat .Even though my life is going to end in a few second I let the words roll off my tongue hatred and sarcasm dripping off them.

He reaches in his back pocket a pulls a knife from its sheath its silver blade shimmers as he brings it to my neck. I accept the fact I’m going to die. He applies pressure tracing the point down my throat to my chest, breaking enough skin so a small trail of blood trickles down my front. He lets out another chuckle. I can tell the final blow is coming; he brings the knife up ready to end me. I waited for it, but it never came. I looked down to see his lifeless body slumped over my feet. Blood stained his shirt, soaking through the white fabric. A wound very prominent showing from his back right over where his heart should be. If he even had one. I gasp and step away his head falling from my mangled feet landing on the snow, changing its pure white to a deep ruby. I look around searching for where the shot came from. I shook my head trying to clear it. It cant be, this thing in front of me. It’s a girl her hair brown locks cascading down her shoulders, her chocolate eyes meeting mine. It’s me, I’m the girl. Wait, no there can’t be two of me. No. The hand gun falls from her fingers or my fingers, who’s I’m not sure. I try to speak but nothing forms. My eyes grow heavy and I feel sleep start to take over my body hits the snow and I wait for the pain. I sit up in bed sweat gathering on my face. Panic and fear. I felt petrified when I woke. I was gasping for air trying to calm myself. It was just a dream. Just a dream

He came to me in my sleep.

I have experienced the greatest terror.

He came to me in my sleep.

When I close my eyes I see him.

He crouches at the foot of my bed.

His eyes, nothing but black pits

as they bore into me.

I huddled to the headboard,

trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

It didn’t make a difference.

Walking in a hunched form,

like a dog who had been hit by a car,

he slung himself over the bed rail.

He breathes ragged and heavy, chest heaving back and forth.

Lifting my face, I peered from my sheets;

what I saw created a fear that racked my body.

He sat there on his haunches, eyeing me.

He had no nose, and his eyes were open pools of space.

His mouth hung open, drooling,

jagged nubs protruded through his gums.

I couldn’t control the panic as I started to scream.

I didn’t know what else to do.

Just as I reached a loud enough pitch to be heard,

he lashed forward, covering my mouth

with his mangy, clawed hands.

I felt them pierce flesh as he dug me.

His face, inches from my own,

deviously he tilted his head to the side and let out

a wail that echoed against the halls.

Breathing down my neck, a low growl forming in his throat,

he started whispering words I couldn’t comprehend.

The things he spoke I could not understand;

it wasn’t a foreign language, in fact, it wasn’t a language at all.

Noticing my confusion, he leaned in closer, his skin

touching my cheek; he told me,

“I Am The Rake.”

Sometimes i like to think im different from everyone else, you know ? That my brain works different. I'm not saying its superior in any way but just that i have a deeper thought process than most around me. Nobody matches it, it can be frustrating sometimes. I like poems about about beautiful things, about girls with ruby lips and stories written on their wrists. I think because its something i can relate to. I like poems about forests and how they make you feel invincible when your toes touch the mossy earth for the fist time. I like poems about girls who love so deeply and pure but they are so terrified of getting there heart broken, so scared that the one they love most will leave them. That they will just wake up one morning and see them for all that they really are and fall out of love. Those are my favorite. Its real. It happens everyday.  I enjoy beautiful things and beautiful things are not always happy things. I have this picture journal and one of my favorite photos is of a woodland forest with a heavy mist. You cant quite see through all the trees and i think i like it most because it holds promise of something else. You never know whats hidden just beyond the trees, just hidden beyond that fog. It has potential. Lately iv been so scared because i feel like world is going so fast around me, like time is just whizzing by and i cant stop it, I feel like i'm frozen watching everyone else live there lives but i'm stuck in the quick sand. I spend most of my days just trying to find anything to do to occupy my mind, mostly reading, that has been the only thing that has helped me. I like stories about strange things, angels, demons, vampires, immortals. I like to read about impossible things because i like to think if you can believe in the impossible than maybe its not so impossible after all. It takes my mind away to another place, another world, where i don't have to hurt as much. The pain is still there, but believing in these things makes it a little more bearable. It gives me hope that magic exists in this hideous world. That there is beauty somewhere, even when its not around me.

Have you ever wanted to feel somthing, feel something just to make you feel anything. It's like when your so sad, your willing to put your body through anything just to feel somthing other than internal misery. Like dive into the water when is fourty three degrees out. The burning sensation the water would bring would feel better than the internal hatred that consumes you. In a way maybe you feel like it could wash you clean, inside and out. Give you a fresh start. Maybe that's why some people with depression take so many baths or showers the water makes us feel like it could wash away all the bad things, the thoughts, the memories, the expieriances, the past that knows how to eat us alive. We hope that if we stay in there long enough, it could cleanse us. Unfortunately some of us stay in so long, we drown. 

She told me

I was a poet,

That I write

My beauty

With a 

Broken heart,

And that all

Gather to

Hear my 

Words of

Infinite

Wisdom,

So that they

May understand

Their own pain,

Explained in

Rich tones.