Here it is a guessing game.

The lingering looks and stares.

Questions of "What's wrong with them?" Run through everyone's head

Is she anti-social?

Does he want to die?

Oh she's definitely bulimic.

Here it is teen angst galore.

Here it's muddy sneakers and fuzzy hair.

It's melting faces and picked skin.

Tucked close knees and nervous twitches.

You can tell they're one of the crazies.

A girl walks in like a ghost.

We all look up but no one notices.

She is not the only one who is dead.

Bones protruding, her face is skeletal.

But her grin is as deadly as poison.

Overlapping lines on skin are normal here.

Poetry carved into your wrists this is not art. This, is sadness.

It's hormones mixed with genetics.

Hushed stories of rape and suicides.

Teen magazines ripped to shreds.

A bloody towel.

Pills litter our minds.

Serotonin deficiency and mood swings.

Just call me depressed you assholes.

Just call me,

A teen.

Sometimes I wish my body was empty

Light like a baby bird's

I wish I could float across the snow

An angel shivering in white

To have small mountains rise on my skin

Feel cold in a warm room

For my shoulders to resemble peach fuzz

And my nails to be forever painted blue

Sounds beautiful...a beautiful lie.

The truth is chunks of hair falling out

Busted knuckles

The taste of acid in your mouth

It's dizzy spells

And a constant calculator

Failing organs

And concave spaces between your ribs

Sunken eyes with bruised rings

The truth is death.

It's not bubblegum lips

Or sharp tongued words

It's lonely nights

And stomach cramps

Hunching naked over a toilet with your arms wrapped around your waist like a venomous hug

The smell of vomit shouldn't be your perfume

Your slit skin shouldn't be an accessory

This illness isn't a friend

It's a nightmare.

So.

Wake up.

High school is,

Chapstick on exams

It's coughing up your lungs

Paper cuts in salt

The grease from pizza

High School is,

Poetry in the bathroom

Broken finger nails

Midnight essays

Dark red lipstick

High School is,

Best friends to strangers

It's glossy magazine love

Bubblegum anorexia

Page 5 of your math booklet

High School is,

Missing earbuds

Ripped dollar bills

It's too right braces

And hide and go seek pimples

High school is four years of this.

Four years of drama tryouts

Four years of cafeteria specials

Four years of PowerPoint intros

Four years of crowds

It's where I am right now.

It's-

High School.

To control your heart, they say

You must first control your mind

Do not tell me I am a gift

When I have been wrapped and tucked away

Do not tell them I am a saint

For I rip the sins out of my mouth

They say the heart is a restless thing

An organ that beats to its own drum

Yet, I feel it's hollow music

And hear it's mournful cries

I pluck the strings in my ribs like a violin

And drink the blood that flows through my veins

Do not tell me I am a gladiator

Do not tell me I am the King

Do not tell me I am the monster

I am the heart.

I am a song.

Around min sunday afternoon on a rather nice day, it happened. They were small, and harmless, simple fruit flies. And I had stained my shirt that morning with watermelon juice so it didnʼt seem unusual, until the flies didnʼt leave. 

They stayed near me even when I took the shirt off, none of them interested in the sweet stain at all. Instead, it seemed like they were focused on me. 

I ignored it, and shoved down my confusion and curiosity as of why the fruit flies seemed to be attracted to me. Then I turned in for the night, and slept dreamlessly. 

The next few days seemed fairly normal, a few flies following me here and there. I had come to the conclusion they were a type of biting fly or something when my skin became itchy and flakey. I knew that the flies would eventually die, and if they didnʼt Iʼd just hire an exterminator to look around my house for a colony or something. The strange thing was, is that it didnʼt matter if I had just taken a shower and smelt like a grapefruit, the flies would be on me the instant I came out of the shower. And they never seemed to bother those around me, always swirling in circles around my body, I'll admit, it was strange. 

About a week later and the number of flies had tripled, is when I grew concerned. They swarmed around my body like, well…flies. They had also grown, some as big as a regular fly, while others still the small fruit fly shape. It was like I was becoming a fly magnet. 

No one around me seemed to notice, even when I pointed them out. They just said I was paranoid about flies. Yes! They said I was scared about fucking tiny bugs. But, considering all that had happened recently I think I had the right to be scared. 

Soon I had a swarm of at least 200 with me constantly, the sound of buzzing drove me insane. It was always there. Their tiny wings fluttering, all I wanted to do was crush them, rip their wings off, and swallow their small putrid bodies. 

The sound of flies was slowly killing me. I couldn'tʼhandle it anymore. So as I write this to you, I hope you understand why I did what I did. I had to. And I'mʼnot sorry about it. Those damned flies. Disgusting, sticky flies. Swarms and swarms and swarms and eggs so, many eggs. I hate them, I hate it. FUCK!

Goodbye. 

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Case Number: 023

Deceased: Mariam Rose Guildsmen 

Cause of Death: Suicide by gas. 

Doctors Notes:

It seems Mariam was suffering from delusions that seriously affected her health. She was underweight, and had scratches along her skin from her nails. Her mental illness manifested itself into the form of flies. And as she went deeper into her illness, the more flies there were. Diagnosis; mentally insane. 

Dr. Shawn Indis

Dr. Tallie Snow

Detective Baxter 

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I stared at the paper in my hands, I couldn'tʼbelieve it. My Aunt really did kill herself. But that wasn'tʼlike her, she just didn'tʼdo stuff like that. 

I pressed my lips together, and picked up another paper. Her autopsy. 

“Holy shit!"

There, in fine print at the bottom was her inner body state. Apparently Mariam was…rotting. The inside of her body was rotting, it was decaying. Her outside flesh was fine but all of her inner organs were failing, she should've been long dead before she killed herself. Because it says her heart had collapsed, and one lung was shrivelled up. Her intestines were moldy and her blood was as thick as sludge. What the fuck?

"Get on the ground!” 

I whipped my head around to see one of the hospital guards, standing at the entrance of the storage room. An off limits storage room. 

Quickly I sprinted towards the window I came in from, and climbed out, rushing out into the dead of night. All the things I had just read bouncing in my head. 

Aunt Mariam…was already dead before she killed herself. 

What the actual fuck?!

Author's Notʼ:

Hey just comment if you like this…I might make it a book or something heh.

There is lighting in her veins. 

Blues and reds and greens. 

Criss crossing along her bones. 

She is sturdy, and solid. 

An unmoving force. 

Reflective and cool, she shines. 

The stars set above her head. 

Her hair is glowing, colours of pinks, purples, oranges and yellows mixing and swirling.

She smiles in the sky, and grins beneath the sheets. 

Pin pricks on her skin, she smooths them down. 

To me, she is a fortress. 

A maze that is solved, yet remains ever changing. 

Although she is strong, she has her demons. 

The bitter frost in her heart. 

Scraping sludge of her own skin. 

How dare we try to remove them?

Ripped holes, burns scatter her skin, she grits her teeth. 

I have walked her ribs. 

Seen her nerves, felt her ice. 

What use is a bandaid on a bullet wound?

We use her muscles as meat, and tendons as toothpicks. 

No more do I see her laugh of greens. 

Or tears of blue. 

The sludge in in her brain as infected us all. 

Or have we infected her?

After all. 

We are the virus. 

Aren't we?

I suppose we're both to blame. 

For both of us had one to many glasses of shame. 

It seems rather odd, we found each other.

Considering, you have no dad, and I, no mother. 

With spinning ears and wobbly feet.

We went outside, to escape the heat. 

Our bodies sweat, our minds go blank. 

We dance a dance, we walk the plank. 

You sing so high, a lullaby. 

I sing so low, I nearly cry. 

A midnight tango, we kiss our skin. 

I shed a tear, the war begins. 

A masterpiece, a gospel song. 

Our hearts beat as one, can we last for long?

I take the dagger, plunge it in. 

The bitter taste of love floods in. 

I touch your hair, you bare your neck. 

Water streaks, you're a wreck.

This pillow is a soft parade.

To the gods, I have prayed. 

Face to face with a blade. 

We can never be the same. 

I see you. 

I see you in the snow peppered grass. 

In the morning sun, beaming through my window. 

I see you in the tears of a young child, a boy, wailing over a scraped knee, I see you in his cries. 

I see you in the window sill plants, reaching towards the sky. 

You're in the carpet, dust and dirt. 

In the birds in flight, with wind in their feathers. 

I see you. 

I see you. 

Who are you, dear stranger?

What dreams do you possess?

What talents lay beneath your armoured skin?

Oh dear stranger, how I wish that word was more than plastic. 

How I wish you didn't seem so strange. 

You and your funny walk, and wide rimmed glasses. 

I suppose everyone is a stranger. 

For do we truly know those around us? 

Are we, ourselves...

Strangers? 

We treat our bodies as objects and toys. 

We are not the puppet masters in this play. 

So hear me, dear stranger. 

Will you be the one to cut the strings? 

Will you be the director? 

Oh tell me dear stranger. 

Who are you in my play? 

We are not friends

We used to be, long ago

Until I conspired with the mirror and TV

And learned to hate you

I learned to hate your bumps and edges

The jiggling of your legs as we walked

The puffy cheeks and back fat you so desperately clung onto to

I learned to hate myself

Society taught me

To love the feeling of acid climbing up my throat

To embrace my hip bones

To cherish the way I could place a marble on my collarbone

To take pride in being cold on a warm day

But never once, did I stop and think

What was happening to you?

You grew weak and docile

Easily breakable like a toothpick that I used to carve out my shame between my teeth

You shriveled

Muscles falling away

Screaming from the inside you grabbed onto our remaining fat and pulled

Trying to keep us alive

You went into starvation mode

And not once

Did I feel for you?

Instead, I adored you

I adored the peach fuzz covering our shoulders

The way our hair would fall out when I brushed it

The cracking of our blue nails

I hated you

And yet,

I loved you

Some days you would try to talk to me

Sending me waves of distress in bouts of dizziness and stomach pains

I knew that I was killing you

And you knew that I didn’t want to stop

So, you took matters into your own hands

You shrunk until people started to really notice

You caused our heart to become weak and our blood sugar to drop

You did all you could for attention

And I suppose

I thank you

A year later we are still not friends

We are trying to be

Parts of me hate you

And you unconditionally love me

For you are willing to do anything

To save us

You are my savior

And my home

And I’ll be damned

If I repay you for saving us

With air