In the end, what does it matter?

Why even try to please the

hungry mouths of society

when they only come back for more?

You go numb as they tear away your skin, as they tear away your very essence and it kills you but you pretend not to care.

I

AM

FINE.

But you’re really not.

He came into my

life so casually as

if I was worth it.

What he saw I do

not know. I guess it was good.

But I‘m still not sure.

I feel like I don’t

Mean much to anyone

yet he seems to care.

Still, what if he leaves

like all the rest of those boys

who just want to hurt?

If he leaves my life will be Hell,

so why not enjoy for a spell?

In the end, all we are is meat.

fresh blood dribbles from the mouth of the monster,

drooling over its next kill,

which cowers in fear.

In the end, all we are is meat

on another’s dinner plate.

the light grey of clouds

darkens a shade, now the clouds are stormy grey,

holding invisible droplets of rain

in their white surface.

clouds in a grey-blue sky,

preparing for the upcoming storm,

the clouds are even darker, the storm has arrived

But a yellow ray of sunshine creates

a rainbow, red-orange-yellow-blue,

Now the black night has come for you.

Hell on Earth for

A single night every year.

Let the moonlight illuminate those ghastly demons.

Let the costumes not be a disguise, maybe more

Of a truth than a lie.

We are the monsters, Halloween is the one night

Every year that we can be ourselves

Every year on the same day

Nice costume, they say.

Pain is the one thing that is real,

the one thing that I feel,

when everything else is dark and empty.

Those thin red lines on my wrists are not

scars of an addiction, or

scars of coping.

They are scars of feeling,

scars to rid myself of the numbness

inside

When I tear my skin off it's not

because I have to.

It's because I want to.

I want that pain again

and again and again and again.

Just let me carve one more line

or two.

Why am I here?

The question we all ask at some point.

We ask it so often and we

never really expect an answer.

But sometimes we get one

anyway.

Why am I here?

Sometimes, it's to love.

Sometimes, it's to laugh.

Sometimes,

there really isn't

any point at all.

Why am I here,

playing this game called life when there

is no victor?

There are two players, life and death,

and death

always wins

and life

always finds a way to come back.

So no one ever really wins

in the impossible game.

Why am I here?

My friends are the

only reason I stick around anymore but

they don't need me.

They need to believe that they are good so they pretend to be a friend

but there is only pity in their friendship,

pity and a desire to be needed.

I am here.

It doesn't matter why, but

I am here.

Whatever the reason, wherever the place,

I am here.

I'll always be here,

even when I'm just bones and dust and dirt and a wooden box of ash,

I'll always be here.

A rock weighing a trillion pounds

I'm too weak to move it.

The strongest man or woman would

have a problem moving it.

Even with machines there's

trouble moving it.

It holds me here, alone.

It holds me here, alone.

After dark when the sun falls and the sky rises

the ghosts come out for a night full of prizes.

A slippery eel calling itself Nyx

swims around in the river Styx.

After hours in my mothers bed,

which no longer holds her lonely head,

I invite someone in for a spin in the dark.

Getting money, that fickle muse, is not a walk in the park

But with this body I can do what I please

I only pray I don't get herpes

from one of these weird men in me.

One day I'll have enough money to be free

from this opression.

I can feel myself sinking into depression.

I don't appreciate being labled as a whore

I'm only trying to give myself more

opportunities,

but these

days, it's more for my son than

for me. I can invite in another man

if it means he'll have a future

to call his own.