I like to lift in the morning. No one hears me. No one listens to the clanking of weights. Reality doesn’t exist. My bones don’t hurt. I push, heaving 50, 70, 90 pounds. Past the heaviness and the soreness. My mind is quick and crowded.

A ghost hovers over my shoulder. I can almost hear him breathe. He terrifies me; one day he’ll win. Well, I’m pretty sure he’ll win. Chances are good.

On the outside, I am self-assured Onalee. The Football Girl, isn’t she so fearless? She helps so many be confident like her, so sad about her grandmother, so tough too. She’s got strength written all over her, listens really well, she’s so good with her friends, why can’t all teenagers be like her?

On the inside, I am insecure Onalee, questions everyone, thinks she can save herself, never lets anyone in. Miss Attention, Miss Reassure, annoying, ugly. Appearances can be quite deceptive. She’s going crazy, I’ve seen it before.

Lift more.

Pain drifts along with the muscles of my core and grips my arms. Raising, holding, evaporating… I’m distilling myself in the evening. The ghost is whispering in my ear. Push faster. Push beyond the walls, push beyond my limits. My chest is flayed open; no lungs to breathe with, no heart to pound. My skin is rough. I take it off when I’m unstable.

Maybe there is something left
Inside this piece of charcoal.
Maybe there is one more chance
To burn with another.

Or maybe this is just
The last dream,
Before you crumble and fade
Into the black smoke.

to watch the life drain from your hazel windows made my stomach churn. to see the pain knit your brows together made my throat close up. to hear the slight quiver in your voice made my chest pour.
but i wouldn't have it any other way.
saplings cannot forever remain bound to wooden poles; they must grow on their own and stand tall, grazing the sky.
to let you go, to leave you.
or to stay and lie till the inevitable demise
of what we were never meant to be.
bittersweet, your lips on mine for one last time. to hold you close and to feel your fingers in my hair
you taste the same as the first time i ever tasted you
yet it feels so different
as though the candle had burned through all its wick despite wax remnants begging to be burnt.
and as i walk away, i can confirm
indeed over time, i'd fallen the wrong way.

when you drown, i swim
my guilt does not know where to begin.
you mustn't try anymore
there is no use trying to open my closed door.

It's worse at night. The thought creeps in and my inner demons are knocking down the walls I have attempted to build to keep them out. It's worse at night. Images of your face cross my mind. It's worse at night. I can feel your hands against me and your lips on mine. It's worse at night. I close my eyes and open them, suddenly you're there. It's worse at night. This false reality I am living that you're still around is killing me but it's always worse at night.