I'm praying your soul is resting
but you can't hear me

All of us
caught blind in a lie

were flying underwater
I learned from my mother

falling into a deep slumber

thunder screams
I'm scared of the bird
that flies around my room
living behind three walls
I know they can see it all

somebody
someone
at night
there's a fire in
the sky

six.
small fingers counted the days until I could perish with the wind.
become one with the stars.

mother wept into the arms of her reflection
what life had become, she could not say.
father drowned himself in toxins
what had become of him,

no one could say.






in his love
I found my limits.
in his temper
I found my strength.

and in his absence
I found my voice.

Listen.

-if I’m being honest, your inability to raise me was the best way to let me grow
-Chloe Aldecoa

For ****'s sake.

How did we end up here again?

The soothing, annoying word flickers on my blue-back lit screen and I am ****** back to the tumultuous moment when once upon a time it yelled bipolar.

And here we go again.

My thoughts flick, flit, floss between teeth made for biting and real meat. They need plaque, collection, to grow and accumulate mass to progress. But there my flicking thoughts go, flossing.

I've always struggled focusing, but I just got excitable, got manic, and it would solve everything. Mania was my monster, my red bull, and now that its sated and off to Wonderland...

I'm left here, face to face, with a twitchy white rabbit wondering why I would ever think to use my pretty little head when its such a good projectile into the sky.

I had always wondered, in those whispering nights, when my hands couldn't stop moving and my head wouldn't shut up, if something was wrong. But it was silly, I had two already, full of worry then full of poles. Couldn't be another, could it?

Of course, a Grace of Wonderland always knows best, and here we are. Another bottle to drink to keep me sane.

I wonder if my fingers will thank the capsules when I might stop biting them? Or my toes? Is this why my toes always twitch and dance, why they stand center-stage in so many of my mild fantasies? After all these years, the divas that my lower digits have become may not appreciate losing their star titles.

I just want to be fine. I want to figure out how to move beyond all the strange misfires in my head. How did I survive so long without a notice? Inflates my ego to know I should have been caught by now.

Guess just like the White Rabbit, despite my widgets and worries, no one can stop me from running when I'm madly, absolutely, refusing to be late.

Graces only knows to fight with fire and fists. Tis the state of my Wonderland, and perhaps now things will only get better.