Shards of glass
crash to the floor
tiny ruby droplets
dust their surface.

Words like knives
cutting,
killing,
blame the victim.

Wrong place wrong time
not true
it cannot be true
there is only one at fault.

Look up at the sky
dusting of stars
go to the place
where all the dreamers are.

There are tiny cracks,
working their way down
his back.

His hands are rough,
as though they
are turning to stone.

His heartbeat slows,
the edges beginning to harden
draining his life one pulse at a time.

He is nothing,
he cannot feel,
he cannot see,
he cannot live.

He has turned into a statue,
forever immortalized,
but never free.

Mirror, mirror,
on the wall,
reflecting back a stranger.
They say I'm supposed to be… this,
what they told me I am.
Boxed up,
labeled,
filed away neatly.

But the edges fray.
The corners don't quite fit.
Like wearing someone else's
hand-me-downs,
scratchy and wrong,
against my skin.

I try on different clothes,
different personalities,
trying to find
the one that feels real.
The one that doesn't whisper,
"You're faking it."

Everything feels like a costume,
for a play I never rehearsed for.
Who wrote this script?
And can I please get a rewrite?
Because this version of me?
It just doesn't feel right.

A stream made of roses,
a house made of thorns,
a forest made of stardust,
and a girl who feels like home.

I miss watching your words,
always carefully chosen,
light up my screen.

I miss your laugh,
the way it was slightly different,
when you were talking to me.

I miss your face,
always carefully controlled,
even when I knew you were itching to smile.

I miss you.

Why do I keep remembering?
Why can I not let go?
Why can't I erase myself?
Why can't I erase the people I used to know?

Eyes that burn with a quiet fire,
heart that shines like solid gold.
You are a light to my constant darkness,
the one I did not know I was looking for.