In this new dream we are sitting together in a circular room

and Mom is looking at me from that yellow wooden chair

and she is not talking but she is telling me 

she is telling me maybe if i try harder in school 

then i'll be okay

and i am silent but i am telling her i'm trying 

and i'm trying very hard but i cry anyways and she doesn't get up

and she doesn't hold me because i'm not a little girl

and sometimes you just have to cry and no one can hold you

and you'll be okay

soon mom gets up and leaves and i am alone and the room expands

i am pacing across the floor until my feet make burrows

i am pacing and i am saying i'm sorry to this empty mocking space

because it feels like the right thing to do 

but the room is as big as a sanctuary now and i feel small i can't breathe

and please can't someone come here and tell me it'll be okay

but the walls are mirrors and i am telling myself that instead

i am telling myself that love is a real thing

& that i can live here by myself

& that i can thrive

& that i'll be okay

okay

You drove me to pieces.

You drove me to drink.

You drove me half-insane.

You drove me to the brink.

You made me want to slit

my throat with a knife.

So I'm gonna call and tell you that

you ruined my life.

I dial the phone.

This is something I have to do -

let you know exactly

what I think of you.

At the second ring

my mouth is getting dry,

but I don't care if what I say

will likely make you cry.

Three rings now.

My heart's beating faster.

I am ready to tell you,

'You are not my master!'

Four rings. No answer.

Mother, please don't be asleep.

Five rings. Oh crap.

Leave a message at the beep.

"Um, hi Mom, it's me.

I'm just calling to say,

that I hope that you have

a happy Mother's Day."

It's more than living, you tell me. 

It's dying. Not just dying. Not just empty.

Dying fantastically. Dying in the gayest way possible. 

Dying your way. Dying when you choose. 

Dying as you and not as what they made you into. 

Dying before tenth grade because you can't take one more day of math class. 

Dying right before my eyes, dying alone. 

Telling me you will. Any moment now. 

Telling me late at night. Then waking up in the morning alive and cursing it. 

You'll really do it this time, you say. 

Get help or I will, I reply. 

You don't reply. I imagine you sitting there wondering 

If these will be your last moments of living 

And thinking them to be glorious. It's 11:11pm and we're wide awake

And you tell me you're making a wish to die

In the most glorious and beautiful way possible

While I am wishing that your wish won't come true. 

It will.

So let's just sit here and pretend

That I didn't vote anyone for student council, 

I didn't flunk that science test,

You were not in my dream last night, 

I did not get 92% on the English test everyone failed, 

I did not whisper your name before I fell asleep, 

I've never loved you, 

I didn't say anything I said to you, I don't trust you,

I don't want to see you over the summer, 

Or ever again, 

I didn't have an anxiety attack when you replied to me, 

I sat there perfectly still, because

Yesterday didn't happen.

I'm impulse-sharpening my pencils again. 

Whenever I see a dull point, it must be fixed: 

Then when it's sharp, I have to write with it

But I only type anymore, so I have to draw circles

And eyes and the same face again and again and again

Until the tip of the graphite is not thin enough to trace the dents of his nose-

I then get out the manual pencil sharpener and spin the wooden thing

In circles. I imagine it's dancing. Sometimes its tip gets lost inside

And I have to start again. Then I sharpen another pencil, and another

And it's hard to imagine that I will even someday use all these pencils

Because all I do is type words that no one reads onto a computer

Onto this goddamn website, hoping to make myself feel liked

Hoping to change something by rearranging the same words

Toying with the same idea. Then it's back to drawing the face again, 

Trying to get it perfectly right, until I realize 

It's 7pm, and zero of my one hundred sharpened pencils have done

A single math problem.

You wish to control your own fate,

to take hold of your game piece, your pawn

and push it forward to the finish, 

knocking all other players off the board

in your quest to win. 

But cheaters never win, can't you see?

your funeral will be quiet, no one will know 

quite what to say about you, 

since this is a funeral you planned 

and each word is scripted, none of them 

say the words we're all thinking.

You got a card that said to go back two spaces again. 

it made you feel defeated, alone

as if you had no will to keep going 

if you were only going to be pushed back again. 

i myself skipped a turn or two, 

and am now a space in front of you

unable to hold you up.

I want to wait until the cards bring me to finish, 

no matter how long it takes

how much pain i have to go through

because even though death is like winning to you, 

even though to you, it is glorious, 

we're all going to get there. 

there's no waiting for the other players to join us. 

i can hold your hand along the way, but in the end, 

i'll get that card before you, 

move up five spaces, 

and die quietly, 

alone.

facade facade facade facade

(deter the demons)

YOU DON'T EXIST

(do you?) 

(do I?)

tis only a vision. 

'tis

haha facade is such a funny word though, fun to say, it rolls off the tongue

(i used to think it was pronounced fake-aid)

(funny you don't know what it means, it totally describes you)

(what a dumbass)

aaaaand I can't write?

You know why? because no one cares at all!

(i mean, some people do.

but do i??)

HAHAHAHAHAHA

I see you in full colors now, your beauty is breathtaking

    With these scratched up glasses it’s hard to make out shapes

I feel your hand reach for mine, its warm tones expanding

    With these unfeeling fingertips, I only touch a brick wall

I hear your voice call out for me, louder than the rain surrounding me

    The silence is overpowering. It’s as if I’m deaf; I’ve lost all recollection of sound.

I smell your fear, and I want to reach out and help you.

    My heart beats painstakingly inside my chest, the colors expand and contract

You’re farther away now, is it something I said? Dear angel, please return.

    And now I’m running towards the light, towards the promise we made

I wonder if I can still reach you, still hold you in my arms, one last time

    The darkness inside me is evaporating, I am feeling all there is to feel in this moment

You’re unreachable. Everything seems pointless, with you gone.

    Something is exploding outwardly, I am becoming another being

I still see you sometimes in my dreams, the kind you can control

    I still remember the cold softness of my mattress. The woven threads encompass me.

I still hear you sometimes in my head, your voice like that of a dove

    I’m lifted up off the ground, catapulted into the great expanse above me.

I still smell your perfume, I still love you, I still feel as if you’re here. Please don’t leave.

    As I rise I see someone standing below me, but the colors fade before I can call out.

I don’t want the last memory you have of me

To be my breath, or the whisper of my voice

Like a rattlesnake buried in your mind, preparing to strike

For now it's curled up, ready to sleep and stay there forever

I don’t want you to remember me most

By how emotional I could get, the things I’d say

In the late hours of the night, the promises

I made, but could never keep.

I want you to make me one last promise, to cross your heart

And hope to never die, not for me, not for anyone

And to keep one last wish of mine, in my dying:

Never, never remember me. 

The house had a porch, and a sideways entrance

With a screen door that creaked when opened, 

Revealing a young woman with a familiar face

And blonde hair.

The truck she drove was orange with flashing lights

And she used it to kidnap each one of us, and take us here

To the old house, with a big garage that could fit her truck.

She was pretty, but with a cruel look to her

And I was so small, looking up at her, I must have been a kid, and she greeted me

With a slap across the cheek and a kick in the back so hard

That I could feel it ricochet down my spine as I lay in my bed. 

I knew I was dreaming but could not wake up,

Could not control this nightmare. During the day she kept us

In cages, with the wiring they use in chicken coops.

It was my mom who saved us all in the end;

Somehow she'd followed the bright orange truck to the house, 

And called the police, who saw me laying there, bruised and beaten

Like a bird who'd forgotten how to fly. It was her voice, too, that saved me;

Calling through dimensions, speaking through the wave of the nightmare, 

Saying it's getting late and I should get up soon, take a shower

And eat breakfast.