There's something beautiful about the possibility of pain, of seeing the way things could happen and finally understanding that they should not. Of realizing that the red hot embers in your blood are not screaming to come out but begging to stay in, to let them crackle and burn until the dead flesh has been carved out and new veins begin to sprout like trees after a fire. 

I am a forest that roars up in flames when I am touched or spoken to, a forest that fights the chance of rain because I deserve to smoulder and cry, because I need to prove to myself that I am right when I say that there is no good in this world.

At least then I'd be right.

The answers that I look for are in the corners of my mind that I haven't searched through since I was 11 years old and read the words

They

           Are

Dead

Dusty hollows I haven't dared venture into since I discovered

They 

          Are

Dead

Dead

Dead

Dead

How do you revive pieces of you that died before you were formed. When this fire finally dies down I won't be the pristine cluster of pine and maple that I was before, just the charcoal that they left behind. Everyone wants me to be the pristine forest of cedar and oak but I don't remember what that looked like. I don't remember how to be anything but burning.

What if it's worse?

At least when im covered in flames I can see some light.

People don't tell you the truth of flying.

That it feels good at first, but for some people, some people who have spent their lives searching for the ground, the ground that is supposed to be the stable middle, we go past the clouds. Past the stars, the planets, the galaxies that twine around your legs like frothy milk, to the non-existence that stops air from getting to your lungs.

They don't tell you that joy can hurt more than the deep sea levels that seem to be the only other choice, because even though the fish are deadly, my god are they beautiful. 

They don't tell you why Icarus flew only close to the sun, but I know why because I have touched it, and it melted the skin off my fingertips like I was made of soft wax instead of flesh and bone. And I am scared, oh god, I am scared, but I need to fall, even if it crushes every single bone.

After all, without the ocean, all I am is ash.

Without the ocean, I will simply blow away.

I have that feeling again, that one I keep writing about. The one where my mind empties and fills with dread and my lungs stop working cause they're filled with lead and my hands start shaking cause so much of me is dead that even that small, obscure part of my head that sends the message to my muscles and bones to stay in control and steady can't do it's simple job because my tendons and joints are much too shattered to piece together. But it's still trying. It's still ticking and tocking like a clock that won't stop even when there's no gears and springs and fragile hands to make it work. But just because it's making the sounds doesn't mean it's doing what it's made to do, works to do, learned to do. Just because my smile tilts in the places and dips in the right spaces doesn't mean that it isn't the veil that places itself between emotions and what reaches my brain, because I think some things might be getting lost along the way. Because what I feel is as empty as the eyes sunk in my head, just the shells and skins of what happiness and excitement and hope should be. Would be. Could be, if only there was enough left of my brain to process them. But all I feel is this weight in my chest that signifies that there isn't anything left and this bitter self-loathing that whispers in my ear: you don't even deserve to be here.

You don't

               Even deserve

                                   To be

                                            Here.

I clutched Ears to my chest.

The smell of home was trapped in his pink, polyester fur and I breathed it in deeply, as if that would make everything go back to normal.

But when I peaked up again from behind his long, rabbit ears, I was still in my bedroom that was not my bedroom. I could see my bed, but the blanket was gone and the mattress was chewed and turned grey from dirt and dust. I could see my shelves, but Tail and Stripes and Dots were all gone. I pulled Ears closer as if that could make up for the absence of the others.

I shuffled cautiously towards the window that was not my window. Sure enough, I could see the forest and the lake that surrounded my home on the mountain, but the trees were bigger than I remembered and a thick fog lay across the water. I leaned forwards, frowning, but when I put my weight on my new window frame, the wood crumbled in my fingers, completely rotten.

I fell against the wall, only to shrink back when I realized that the new pink paper was faded and peeling. My hand trembled as I reached up to touch it. What was going on?

I scrambled to my feet, fighting tears. I needed to find Momma. She would know what to do. She always knew what to do.

“It’ll be okay, Ears,” I whispered, taking him by the paw and dragging him beside me “Momma will be in her room. We just need to get to Momma’s room.”

The floorboards creaked in protest as I opened my door that was not my door and crept into the hallway. I tried not to look around, terrified of what might be in the grey shadows that filled this house that was not my house, but my mind still took note of everything that was wrong: half of the stairs had collapsed in, and the mahogany banister was now a feast for termites. The chandelier was missing its crystals and covered in dust so heavy that it fell on me as I walked beneath it. I coughed and tried to pull Ears closer to me, but he wouldn’t move any more. I turned around, whimpering. A shard of wood sticking up from the cracked floors had caught on his stomach. I tugged harder, and harder, and hard, and harder until there came an awful ripping noise, and he flew up towards me.

Shaking, I looked down at the little rabbit, stuffing pouring from the hole that reached from his neck to his legs like blood. I moaned, dropping him on the floor and stumbling backwards. I really had to get Momma now. She had to save my poor, poor Ears.

I forced myself to look away from his mutilated form and scrambled towards her room. I held my hand out to open the door, but it was splintered and attached by only one hinge so, when I pushed it, it simply collapsed inwards in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, I stumbled forwards and landed on my knees next to Momma’s bed. I expected her to react, but everything stayed silent and for a moment I was gripped by the awful realization that she might not even be home. Something was so wrong, the house had fallen into disrepair overnight and now Ears was ripped up in the hallway, what was to say that Momma was here at all?

I looked up at the bed, panicked, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was sitting cross legged on the bed, paler than I remembered but definitely still there. Her head was down, staring emptily at something on her lap. I wiped the tears from my eyes and pulled myself to my feet.

“Momma?” I whispered.

She didn’t move, but that was nothing new. Momma had been acting weird since the baby died and Daddy left.

“Momma?”

Her head jerked up, eyes disoriented as if I had woken her up from a dream, and then settled on me. Her lips twitched as if they were trying to remember how to smile, and some emotion that I didn’t recognize flickered across her face. Not quite dread, but… Grief? Maybe a mix between the two?

“Ears ripped,” I said loudly, as if my voice could stop her from looking so empty.

“Come here, Sweetheart,” Momma said quietly, ignoring my declaration.

Some small part of my mind warned me to stay away, but I pushed it out of my head. This was my mother, and if she told me to come I would come, no matter what. I climbed onto the bed beside her, still slightly uncertain but determined to be a good daughter, and I saw that what she had been looking at was a bottle. She unscrewed it carefully despite her shaking hands, and when she tipped it over pills upon pills upon pills tumbled out.

She motioned for me to cup my hands and I did, and she carefully shook a third of the pile onto my palms, keeping the rest for herself and dropping the empty bottle on the floor.

“What’s going on?” I squirmed uncomfortably, looking longingly at the hallway where my bunny still lay “We have to go rescue Ears.”

“It’s okay,” her voice was slow but determined, “We’re going to see Ears, alright? We’re going to see Ears and we’re going to go to a place where there will be a better mommy who can make you happy.”

I stared up at her, confused. I didn’t want another Momma, I wanted her. She made me happy. I opened my mouth to tell her that, but she shook her head as if she already knew what I was going to say.

“Do you trust me, Dear?”

I nodded mutely, and she looked at me sadly.

“Then don’t question me, okay? This is best for both of us.”

I nodded again, and she gently kissed me on the forehead.

“On the count of three we’re going to swallow all of these candies, okay?”

I didn’t bother to tell her that I knew they were pills: it would only hurt her.

“One…”

I cuddled up beside her, and she put her arms around me.

“Two…”

I felt something wet fall off her cheek and onto mine.

“Three.”

I crammed them all into my mouth, ignoring the bitter taste as they began to dissolve on my tongue. Momma wrapped me in her arms, and I felt her body shaking as she cried and cried and cried.

The edges of the world began to go black and I clutched her arm, shutting my eyes desperately as if I just had to reboot them.

“Something’s wrong, Mommy,” my lip trembled, and I felt tears run down my cheeks, “something’s going wrong.”

“It’s okay, baby. I promise it’s going to be okay.”

I collapsed against her, and terror seized me. Frantic, I tried to push myself back up, tried to move my arm, my leg, anything, but I was suddenly so tired, so, so tired. I began to sob, because it was the only thing I could do.

“We’re going to a better place, my darling,” Momma was sobbing too as she stroked my head “I promise.”

She held me as I stopped being able to open my eyes, as I stopped being able to think, and then, some minutes later, when I finally stopped being able to breathe.

I clutched Ears to my chest.