Simple intakes of air

A dank dungeon of despair

Tears of silver on her face

Escape to a happier place

White tiles stained with red

Covered in the blood she shed

Don't be sad, her life's her own

The world is cruel and we all die alone


Moonlight on the Terrace

She looked out into the starlit night sky, just thinking. Not of anything in general just thinking. She thought about everything, but mostly about life. Her life and the life of those around her. Life wasn't a bad thing it was just hard. She always tried so hard around them; around her friends she was a different person. She wanted it that way. Hidden in plain sight she called it.

Maybe if she could make it all wash away, like rain. She opened the French doors and stepped onto the terrace. She could feel the cold wind cut into her scantly covered body. Her dark hair whipped wildly about in the autumn breeze, she didn't care. She didn't feel the bitter cold she didn't feel anything. She looked across the vast blackness of the night and wished she could fly.

Wished she could fly out into that diamond speckled oasis and be away from everything. She stepped closer to the railing and leaned forward. She felt the wind push against her body with such fury that for a moment it felt morbidly sexual. She breathed it in eagerly.

Her breaths were passionate and deep as if they were her last. Who knew maybe tonight it would be.

She wondered how her friends would react when they found her broken body on the frosted ground beneath the balcony. Would they cry? How would they tell her parents that there little daughter committed suicide? Would they mourn, wear black, or would they be too upset to react? Who would present the eulogy? How would her parents take the news?


Early dawn when life is new

Everything's floating in a world of dew

Swallowed up in this perfect place

Life begins to fall from grace

The world peels from the fabric torn

A shallow pool where tears are born

As the day grows older

And Eden becomes colder

All you can do is cry

Flowers forever wilt and die

There is no hope and no trust

The dreamlike garden turns to dust