learned to play them on guitar.

i loved it when you smiled;

when you said i was your star.

on paper, we were perfect;

that’s what they always said.

of course, they didn't know about all the times

you left me crying in bed.

your flippant words and apathy

were like a rock in my heart.

even when we were together,

we were never more apart.

when you told me that you loved me,

i knew it was a lie.

do you even know how many times

you made me want to die?

is it really my fault, for caring too much?

that's what you used to say.

if my only sin was loving you,

for that i've certainly paid.

i was there for you when you needed me;

when i did, where were you?

but i forgave you every thing you left;

now i see i was a fool.

because when it truly mattered,

all your promises fell through.

i was left alone to drown,

wishing i'd never trusted you.

and now i see just how it is:

this is our last goodbye.

but because i know that you don't care,

you'll never see me cry.

• “Dark Sacred Night” by Michael Connelly

• “The Phantom’s Apprentice” by Heather Webb

• “The Scarlet Letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne

• “Ranger’s Apprentice, Book One: The Ruins of Gorlan” by John Flanagan

• “The Midnight Fox” by Betsy Byars

• “The Giver” by Lois Lowry

• “Hatchet” by Gary Paulsen

• “A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeleine L’engle

• “Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

• “Alchemised” by SenLinYu

• “Tuesdays with Morrie” by Mitch Albom

Movies watched:

• The Craft (1989)

My rating: 10/10 as always -- freaking love this movie.

• Project Hail Mary (2026)

My rating: 10/10 -- AMAZING plot-wise and actually believable. They didn't just throw random scientific terms together; gotta appreciate that. AND it has one of my favorite songs in it (“Sign of the Times” by Harry Styles). I've rewatched it like 6-7 (👀) times this month.

• Flatliners (1990)

My rating: 9.5/10 -- absolutely AMAZING movie; just personally wish it was a little bit creepier. Seriously tho; watch it. Changed my life.

• Stir of Echoes (1999)

My rating: 8/10 -- another amazing movie I just wish had been creepier.

• Terrifier (2016)

My rating: 5/10 -- one of the most gory slasher movies I've seen, so it's great if you’re into that. Personally, I wish there had been WAY more psychological horror and suspense. It was also really predictable; I knew what was gonna happen before it happened. Overall, not terrible, but I wouldn’t watch it again.

Monthly playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TtLO9Zy0yQJl8dO6cmHax?si=qVmLa5pxSd2X60O6mW-Ceg&utm_source=copy-link

Give it a listen; it saved me.

Songs learned on bass/acoustic guitar:

• “What I've Done” by Linkin Park

• “Save Your Tears” by The Weeknd

• “All the Small Things” by Blink-182

• “All Along the Watchtower” by U2

• “505” by Arctic Monkeys

• “Fascination Street” by The Cure

Favorite memories:

• Painting :)) I experimented with watercolors this month. Just fucking around.

2. Going to the beach and collecting shells :))

3. Customizing my Converse :))

Farewell, August. You won't be missed.

‘Til next time.

- Eden Solace

and she found hell,

staring at the wall

of a prison cell,

where all the colors

bled into one,

and there was no sky;

no stars no sun.

now she sings a melancholy song

of frustration and self-pity.

and she sits and nurses her broken heart

in a graveyard that once was a city.

but beneath all the sorrow,

there's a swelling, seething rage.

a rage for all that happened to her

inside her golden cage.

she laughs at lies.

let her show you the world

through her own eyes.

she mixes metaphors.

she lives in dreams.

she'll show you the world

is not as it seems.

she screams at the silence

until it screams back.

she's got something special

that the rest of us lack.

she whispers to the wind.

she bleeds behind bars.

if you ask her nicely,

she might show you her scars.

she bares her teeth in a bloody grin;

she lies in wait on the ground.

is she a vampire or a victim?

it depends on who's around.

obedient; complacent.

now she bites back her words

and she screams in small spaces.

she says when he hits her,

she doesn't mind,

because when he hits her,

she feels alive.

(far away,

nearby,

an angel

begins to cry.)

more than many,

she truly knows

it takes more than a house

to make a home,

and the worst pain to feel

is to feel nothing at all.

at least that's what she tells herself

every time she falls.

(far away,

so close,

an angel

takes a double dose.)

red lights,

gray morning.

she decided

not to heed the warning.

the engine roars,

a grin on her face,

a contestant in

a suicidal race.

(far away,

close by,

an angel

tries to fly.)

smell of smoke in the air,

a screeching sound.

the wheels are turning,

but she's upside down.

(far away,

somewhere around,

an angel

falls to the ground.)

that haunt the streets

drown out the sound

of my soliloquies.

there are many doors in front of me,

but only one way out.

please be sure to clap for me

when i take my final bow.

and all i can see is

a heap of broken images.

why life can grow from this stony rubble?

i will show you life in a handful of dust.

lurking, troubled, confused.

what is left for us to pursue?

nothing comes from nothing,

we can connect nothing with nothing,

but we hate people who expect nothing.

they were living; now they are dead.

we are living; now we are dying.

we all expect something.

glory, love, power, pain.

there is always something to be gained.

but in the end, it's all taken away,

good or bad.

Life is cruel and Death is kind.

Life offers so many shining possibilities;

all just different roads leading to the End.

Death, of course, offers the End as it is.

it doesn't try to hide it or disguise it.

we are all born to die.

someday, we will all be dead.

we have only one chance to live,

but we have so many chances to die.

so, if you desire to live,

live your life as you desire.

it could always be your last chance.

This is the truth about what happened that night. This is not dramaticized or exaggerated; this is just what happened.

It's been three weeks, [redacted].

Three weeks since we sat in your car laughing and sipping warm energy drinks.

(Well, I was sipping. You were gulping. How TF you drank them that fast I'll never know.)

Three weeks since we went from making sex jokes to talking about the existence of God to insulting each other’s mothers to talking about our personal superstitions.

(Blue houses?? Really??)

Three weeks since we judged each other's music taste.

(Seriously dude, classic rock and Indie are WAYYY better than that frat boy garbage you put on.)

Three weeks since we watched the sun rise so slowly, almost peacefully, waiting for it to be light again.

(It took like 4 hours bro. You're a shit driver in the dark. And in general but y'know.)

Three weeks since you promised me I'd be okay.

(I'd say you lied but you didn't know what was coming.)

Three weeks since you asked me to tell you a good memory I had with my parents.

(And then proceeded to laugh while I racked my brains to find one. Jerk.)

Three weeks since we joined hands as I prayed for luck.

(At your request ofc. Seriously, I'm the superstitious one??)

Three weeks since we refilled your tires like 30 minutes into the roadtrip.

(Paranoid much? AND YOU LOST THREE OF THE FOUR CAPS?!)

Three weeks since you forgot to close your gas tank and I had to remind you.

(What are you, four? How TF do you forget that?)

Three weeks since we sang together.

(“Summertime Sadness” by Lana del Rey. How fitting.)

Three weeks since we got sushi and I forced you to eat some too.

(You also got two more energy drinks and finished both of them in like 15 minutes. What the FUCK.)

Three weeks since we were so close to the end.

(And you promised me again I'd be okay. It's not your fault.)

Three weeks since the text. Three weeks since you pulled over, unable to believe what you were reading. Three weeks since you showed it to me, and it confirmed what I feared.

(I've never seen you that shocked. It was like a punch to the gut.)

Three weeks since you handed me your phone, telling me to contact our last resort. Three weeks since they were unable to do anything.

(I still remember exactly what they said to us.)

Three weeks since you started panicking. Three weeks since I grabbed your hand and led you outside.

(I was shaking so hard. I don't know how I didn't collapse.)

Three weeks since you started talking, pouring words out. Three weeks since you told me your fears, your failures. Three weeks since you told me you couldn't do this again.

(I listened to it all, [redacted], even if I couldn't process much at the time. I'm so sorry.)

Three weeks since you sat beside me, tears running down your face, and asked me for the knife I had in my pocket. Three weeks since I was too numb, too in shock, to understand why. Three weeks since I handed it over willingly, stupidly.

(I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry.)

Three weeks since you stood up, opened the knife, and asked me not to follow you. Three weeks since I suddenly understood exactly what you meant to do.

(I stood up too. I knew that no matter how I felt, this was one thing I would never allow to happen. Never. One of mine does not die on my watch.)

Three weeks since you began sobbing, when you NEVER cry, and you tried. Three weeks since you tried to summon the courage to thrust it through your chest, then your head. Three weeks since I started sobbing too, begging you to please, please put down the knife.

(I knew I couldn't take it from you with physical force, but I was ready to tackle you if I had to.)

Three weeks since you let out a scream and threw the knife down on the ground. Three weeks since you sat back down and started sending audio messages, still sobbing, to your friends.

(I picked up the knife while you were talking.)

Three weeks since I pressed the knife to my own wrist and began to press down. Three weeks since you lunged forward and grabbed it, saying, “No! No. Not you.”

(Even after all that, you just wanted to keep me safe. I think that hurt the most. Knowing it was my fault, and that you still cared anyway.)

Three weeks since I sat beside you again, quietly, staring into the distance. Three weeks since I put my arm around you and you leaned your head on my shoulder.

(I'd have let you stay like that forever if it would've helped.)

Three weeks since you began panicking again and stood up. Three weeks since you made that desperate, empty threat.

(I looked into your eyes and I knew it was a lie. I told you you wouldn't. You stared at me, then laughed. “Youre right after all. Only you and [redacted] can tell when I'm lying.”)

Three weeks since you began pacing. Three weeks since you stopped suddenly and took the knife up again. Three weeks since you pressed it to your wrist and slid.

(I watched in horror as the blood began to drip. It felt surreal to watch someone else do what I'd done before.)

Three weeks since I began to truly sob and beg. Three weeks since you did it again, and again.

(I was helpless. I could only watch, and cry, and beg.)

Three weeks since you looked your wrist, red with blood, and laughed. Three weeks since you showed me the cut, deep enough to bleed badly but not deep enough to bleed out from.

(“Did the movies lie to us?”, you asked. I smiled bitterly. “The movies always lie.”)

Three weeks since you took off your shirt and tied it around your wrist, trying to get more blood out.

(You were so much more skinny than you were a few months ago, [redacted]. Too skinny.)

Three weeks since I did my absolute best to summon my spark back.

(I rolled my eyes over-dramatically. “Stop it, [redacted]. We both know that won't work.”)

Three weeks since you sighed, untied your shirt, and put it back on.

(I ran forward then, and hugged you. I needed you to know I was there. I suppose I needed to know you were there too.)

Three weeks since you hugged me back and then pulled away listlessly.

(I watched helplessly as you began to panic yet again. I don't think I've ever felt more useless in my life. More like a failure. I'm so sorry.)

Three weeks since you turned to me, your eyes suddenly bright. Three weeks since you asked me to help you.

(I stared at you. I never imagined it would come to that.)

Three weeks since I refused immediately. Three weeks since you started begging, saying you wanted it, I wouldn't be killing you, I'd be helping you.

(I cried as I kept saying no over and over again.)

Three weeks since you sat down beside me again, staring into the distance.

(I took your hand and gripped it tight.)

Three weeks since I felt my own panic starting to set in. Three weeks since I stood up, knowing I had to keep myself distracted as well as you.

(“Come on.” “What?” “We're going for a walk.”)

Three weeks since I led you through a field in the back of the rest stop, as it slowly got darker, holding your phone and key in my other hand.

(There was a large generator back there, making a loud sound. No one would hear anything. I turned to you. “Wanna scream?” You stared at me, then shook your head. I laughed, a strange, garbled sound. “Well, I do.”)

Three weeks since I turned to the generator and just fucking screamed, truly screamed, for the first time in my life.

(I couldn't believe that sound had come from me. I've never been so desperate, so angry. You stared at me, shocked, and I laughed that broken laugh again. “That felt good.”)

Three weeks since I started walking, still holding your hand, and you followed. Three weeks since I told you to look at the fireflies in the grass, trying to distract you again.

(You just nodded. I shook my head and began walking again.)

Three weeks since we walked through those cornfields that DEFINITELY belonged to that house we avoided.

(Oops. Sorry, owners of that house.)

Three weeks since your phone began ringing.

(I looked down. It was your father. I laughed. The fucking irony of it all was almost poetic. I showed it to you. You laughed too. “Want me to answer it; tell him to fuck off?” You sighed tiredly and shook your head. “Not worth it.”)

Three weeks since you began talking again as we walked, and I listened. Three weeks since I stupidly thought maybe you were fine again, and you wouldn't try again.

(I wished it. Wished that just talking would be enough.)

Three weeks since you stopped, again, and asked me, again, to help you.

(You should've known I'd refuse. You know I’d rather die. Though I suppose you weren't very rational that night. Which is okay. I wasn't either.)

Three weeks since you pressed the knife to your wrist again and I put my hand over yours on the hilt, trying to stop you.

(But you did it anyway and I pulled back. My pressure had helped. I didn't mean for that to happen. There was so much blood.)

Three weeks since you began sobbing again, as I cried silently, hands spasming uncontrollably behind my back.

(It was my fault. My fault.)

Three weeks since you threw your phone, key, and smartwatch into those bushes.

(Fucking idiot. I didn't try to stop you though.)

Three weeks since I realized my despair wouldn't help you. Three weeks since I dried my eyes, sighed dramatically, and took your hand again.

(“Come on, let's go back.” And you came, willingly, but I kept an eye on you just in case.)

Three weeks since I felt something break within me. Three weeks since my own words started pouring out, my own fears, my own failures.

(I told you I was alone now. “Hey! What about me?” I rolled my eyes. “You know I didn't mean YOU, you idiot.” But even as I gave the sarcastic response, I knew the truth. What would happen. I saw it all before my eyes, even then. And guess what, [redacted]? My fears came true. They usually do.)

Three weeks since we looked up at the moon.

(I started singing. It was one of the only things I had left to comfort myself and you. You started singing too. A different song, but we sang together anyways as we started walking again.)

Three weeks since it was too dark to see exactly where we had come from.

(It was both comforting and frightening, the fact that we might be lost.)

Three weeks since I found a break in the brambles and pulled you through after me.

(Remember when one pricked me? I said “ow” on instinct and you held up your free hand in surrender. “Wasn't me.” I glanced back at you. “Oh really? Wow. I had no idea.” You laughed. “Glad to see you haven't lost your spark.” I laughed too. “I never lose my spark.” That was a lie, of course. Later that night, after they took you and I went There, I couldn't stop sobbing for hours. They couldn't get me to calm down.)

Three weeks since we emerged, close to the generator again.

(I didn't want to scream this time though. I was too drained. And my chest felt as if someone had stabbed me 20 times.)

Three weeks since we approached the rest stop together, hand in hand.

(“They haven't come yet?” I looked around. “Apparently not. Idiots. They haven't figured it out by now?” I knew it had been over two hours at that point.)

Three weeks since we searched the perimeter and found nothing. Three weeks since we got back to your car and I tried all the doors.

(They were all locked. I looked at you and laughed softly. “Idiot.” You sighed.)

Three weeks since I took your hand again and led you back to our original sitting place.

(You were so quiet. It was strange. I kept a close watch on you, so scared it would all start again. You were still bleeding, and it was too much blood, but I knew it wasn't enough to kill you. Your white charging box was still on the ground. I picked it up, holding it tightly in my fist.)

Three weeks since we waited for them to come.

(And they came. I'll never forget our conversation with them. They were so exasperated with us after that lol.)

Three weeks since they took you away.

(I saw your face through the window. You looked defeated. I almost started crying again right there, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not yet, anyway.)

Three weeks since I watched you go out of sight.

(I was truly alone then, as I realized. It was then that the weight of all that had happened came rushing down on me.)

Three weeks since I failed you.

(I'm sorry, [redacted]. I would never, ever have agreed if I'd known. Not because it didn't work out for me. Because you took the worst of it, and it wasn't even your fault. I'm so sorry.)

i said “fuck you”; you said “never”,

and you laughed as i rolled my eyes.

it started and ended with a knife;

i wish that i could just blame life,

but we both know there's more to blame.

and i try to justify

all the pain i feel inside.

and i don't know how to say

i’m sorry that it ended up this way.

but deep down, i know it was my fault;

i feel it like a wound and salt.

it's my fault that it ended up this way.

I trusted someone who fucking lied,

and because of that you almost died.

i stood and watched as you lifted the knife.

i’ve never felt more useless in my life.

and i try to justify

all the pain i feel inside.

and i don't know how to say

i’m sorry that it ended up this way.

i scratch myself until i bleed,

but that's just not enough for me.

i need to feel when i have done to you.

I see you in the color blue,

in Star Wars, the number 13 too;

in jokes and gyms and drinks that were meant for two.

and i try to justify

all the pain i feel inside.

and i don't know how to say

i’m sorry that it ended up this way.

i’m sorry.

you were desperate, but it was too soon.

you asked me one question i had to deny.

i would not be the reason you suffered and died.

so I held your hand tight and led you as we walked,

and we laughed and we cried and we sang and we talked.

again, you stopped and you held out the knife.

you asked me, again, to help you take your own life.

my hand over yours, i looked into your eyes,

and down at your wrist, which had started to dry.

but you pressed down and slid, my hand still on the hilt,

and i gasped and let go as my world started to tilt.

after everything that's ever happened to me,

everything i've done and everything i’ve seen,

i’d relive, re-do, re-see it all…

just to not be there to watch you fall.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

FUCK.

FUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!

fuck.

and i’m a coward.

i want to run from it.

but if i run, i die.

and i don’t want to die.

or do i?

best not to dwell on that thought.

so i’m a coward either way.

i can escape from this constant cycle of misery and pain,

or i can stay,

and let it consume me.

but leaving means living with the fact

that i wasn’t strong enough to deal with it.

that i abandoned my duty.

that i failed.

and staying means ruining myself

just to prove a point.

i’m a coward.

too scared to go; too scared to stay.

somewhere in between wishing for better

and wanting to continue the pain.

and that’s not even the worst part.

leaving means betraying those i’ve held dear all their lives.

staying means they’ll find my body on the bathroom floor.

so really, it’s a choice between which way i choose to leave.

either way, i’ll leave like a coward.

because i am a coward.

a mask; 

a smile stretched wide enough to hurt. 

happy! 

talk quickly,

and don’t pause! they’ll know. 

happy! 

is it light shining in my eyes,

or something else entirely? 

happy? 

why do you believe me 

when i tell you i’m okay??

happy? 

LOOK AT ME!!

NOTICE ME!!

IM NOT OKAY!!

happy? 

PLEASE! 

CAN’T YOU SEE I’M NOT OKAY?! 

happy! 

sorry, i zoned out for a second lol. 

yeah, of course i’m okay.

the kind of tired that can’t be fixed by sleeping.

unless it’s sleeping permanently.

sleep doesn’t help;

i always wake up.

it’s one of my most guilty wishes:

to sleep and sleep and sleep,

and never ever ever wake up.

it would be so easy;

so simple.

just over.

just gone.

just like that.

it crawls around inside.

it steals the blood from my veins,

and it sucks me dry.

it takes the breath from my lungs,

til i’m gasping for air,

and it’s whispers in my ear

that i’m past repair.

it hangs over my eyes;

a dull, cloudy haze.

it steals the colors from life,

leaving me in a daze.

it burns in my chest,

a small, raging fire,

and it twists ‘round my heart,

bleeding on its barbed wire.

something lives within me;

it’s been there a long time.

it’s seed was planted by someone

i used to call mine.

that wonderful feeling 

when everything is finally going well

for the first time that day. 

eating my favorite food, 

sitting in my favorite spot, 

my favorite song playing…

it all settles cozily 

by my heart. 

it settles in my head;

the knowledge 

that the feeling will soon be gone, 

and i’ll be left 

as i was before. 

cold, and sad,

and alone.

it settles, 

an unwavering, ever-present darkness, 

within my own mind.

always looking for a way to get in— 

reminding me of things from long ago. 

tonight, i feel like going down that road. 

i remember being 7; 

a loved one dying. 

that was the first night 

i spent entirely in crying. 

i remember being 8; 

pushed aside and ignored. 

i started retreating to my mind

whenever i was bored. 

i remember being 9; 

his marks across my arms. 

i bore them proudly

ignoring internal alarms. 

i remember being 10; 

listening to their screams. 

that was the year

i started making my schemes. 

i remember being 11; 

awkward and alone. 

flinching at even 

the slightest change in tone. 

i remember being 12; 

thought i was grown up and mature. 

i thought keeping it all inside 

was certainly the cure. 

i remember being 13; 

getting new friends, 

and putting on my happy mask, 

so scared that it would end. 

i remember being 14; 

wild and carefree. 

that’s what they’ll all tell you, 

but it wasn’t as it seemed. 

i remember being 15; 

angrier than ever before—

ready almost to kill—

crying on the bathroom floor. 

i remember being 16; 

tired of the constant cycle of pain. 

and soon my sheets 

carried deep red stains. 

i remember the words they said, 

that no one wanted me. 

that i was worthless and unwanted;

childish and naive. 

i know most of it’s not true 

but their words echo in my head. 

tell me, is it really my fault 

that i sometimes wish i was dead?? 

that would “heal” me or “fix” me. 

everyone seems to want me to try.  

but maybe I’m done living 

for everyone else. 

tonight, i just want to die.

looking down and wondering 

what would happen if she jumped. 

she does, of course. 

always loved to cheat fate, that one. 

as she falls, scenes flash before her eyes. 

a loved one turning vicious,

fear spreading through a 7 year old like wildfire. 

figures from darkest nightmares

coming to life before a 5 year old’s eyes. 

skin breaking, blood-red rubies forming

a bracelet around the wrist of an angry 12 year old. 

a mother leaving a 14 year old

crying on the street. 

a 4 year old 

hyperventilating alone in the dark. 

a 6 year old

being pushed around by girls twice her age and size. 

“no one wants you”: 

words that broke a 15 year old all over again. 

as she nears the ground, she tenses, 

but refuses to to close her eyes. 

she wants to see herself die. 

she does not. 

instead, an inch from the ground, she hovers,

thick chains wrapped around her like a cocoon. 

she glances up. 

and at the top of the cliff, they are standing,

chains wrapped in their fists, 

determined scowls on their faces

as they haul her back up slowly. 

she wakes up in a world worse than the one she just left.

with a pain so profound it hollowed me.

alone in my bed,

i carved into my thigh,

and watched streams of crimson

seep into the white sheets beneath,

staining them red

with a permanent record of my anguish.

i carved deeper,

skin parting under steel,

as tears burned acid trails down my face.

and when the knife finally slipped from my numb fingers,

i looked down at the jagged, wet wound;

at the blood streaming down my leg in thick rivulets,

and realized i wanted the pain;

needed it to match the howling voices

consuming me from within.