Life; a game of russian roulette.
Each day a pull on the trigger,
each second an eternity of dread.
One day, it'll ****.
But for now, it just amplifies every feeling ever evoked.
Adrenaline.
A motivation to live, to try, to risk it all.
A gamble with whatever gods exist,
and if none, then a gamble with fate.
A gamble with luck.
Relying so heavily on something you can't control.
The feeling of weightlessness,
the suspense,
the relief of a click
instead of pain.
That adrenaline is motivation.
That adrenaline fuels life.
An angry, desperate bid for life,
but one nonetheless.

As the days drag on, the familiar adrenaline wears off,
revealing the common second stage.
Sometimes the last stage.
Exhaustion.
Before it was relief,
sinking into the suspense,
letting it consume every emotion.
Now, it drowns.
Slowly and methodically draining any will to live
until the lasts of it are gone,
leaving only exhaustion in its place.
Exhaustion doesn't react to each passing day,
each empty cartridge lost,
just stares in a weirdly ready trance.
Until the trigger is pulled.
Until the pain consumes every second,
dragging them into days, weeks, years.
And then
nothing.
And then
everything.
done.
gone.

Mundane days
are different for everyone.
Sometimes they're walking into the same bar
every Friday night.
Ordering the same drink
from the same bartender
and drinking to forget.

Sometimes they're jogging in a park every morning
playing the same song
at the same time.
Passing the same people out every day
like clockwork
following their own routines
at the same time.

Mundane days.
Sometimes they're sitting by a window
that's getting pummeled by rain.
With the same type of hot cocoa
that's slightly too hot to drink every time,
breathing in the warm and comforting scent instead.
Looking out the window
lost in the same stormy thoughts.

Mundane days
spent going to school,
talking to the same people.
Hanging out with the same crowd.
Dealing with waves
of perfectly normal teenager-y exhaustion.

They're spent shopping for Christmas dresses
like girls do every year.
The same stores, same disapointment
when the dresses aren't perfect.
The smiles when they find the one.
Priceless yet so mundane.
To be repeated next year.

Sometimes they're people watching
in a crowded train station,
the same one every morning to get to work.
Smiling at the cute couples,
admiring outfits, and sighing at the same commuters
who happen to have the same schedule
and get on the same trains ever morning.

Mundane days spent reading, writing, watching Netflix.
Days spent talking, napping,
eating leftovers from last night's dinner.
Mundane days going about a crystal clear routine
carefully carved by weeks of despair beforehand.
Mundane days born of times when routine was needed
just to feel something.
Just to feel anything.

They look all normal.
All perfectly pristine.
Innocent and mundane.
Until the glass is shattered.

There are moments in life
where we're made of wonder.
Stardust and sunshine
and moonbeams and gold.
Love and passion
and dreams and truths to be told.
Happiness and sweet messages.
Moments where the world itself
is made of diamonds and smiles.
Moments where words are music
and everyday sights turn to beautiful views.
Moments where people seem to glow
with pride and blush at little compliments.
Life is full of those moments
that convince us slowly that we are stardust
and sunshine and good and wonder.
Moments that show us mirages
of beauty and happiness.
And then our dreams,
our sweet sweet dreams of peace,
are crushed by a cold harsh reality.
When we fall and start to bleed,
how then,
how are we pure stardust?
Or when we get angry
and hurt the ones we love,
how can we possibly be
all sunshine and passion?
Or when we lie, when we cheat, when we steal,
how are those truths to be told?
When we stab our own bodies with metaphorical knives
of tears, of insults, of hate,
how can we be pure happiness?
Stardust can't bleed,
Sunshine and passion can't hurt others,
Truths can't lie,
Happiness can't be stained
with the sad truth of self hate.
And so goes our dream-like fantasy
of our own unique perfections.
Because they've been coldly proved wrong
by the sad truths of reality.
And with that we sink back into the relieving,
albeit depressing,
embrace of the actualities in the world.

I call your name,
there's no response.
I ask you why.
You don't reply.
Is it me?
Or is it you?
Your nothing
means everything
to me.

Your eyes,
they catch mine
for less than a second
and seal my fate.
They capture my heart,
yet I see no recognition
at all
in yours.
Do I exist to you?
or am I another face
that blends in with the crowd
of desperate lovers.
I feel empty
without your love.

I know what
could have been
if you saw who I was
before I met you.
Now all you see
is a broken heart
looking at the world,
greeting it with a stone cold glare
and a maniacal laugh.
I'm gone.

A broken heart's replaced me.
A broken heart's replaced
my laugh like honey,
my smile of sunshine,
my voice of gold.
A broken heart's destroyed
my shining eyes,
my love of life.
It's destroyed me
and taken my place.

The world is filled with little moments of magic,
that sparkle and glimmer
even in this dark dark world.
Magic comes in all sorts of forms,
from big to small,
from black to white,
from light to dark,
from chocolate to oranges,
from comparisons that make no sense,
to poems about someone you love.
The magic is everywhere.
There's magic in those dazzling winter days,
where snow coats every tree and rooftop,
and it feels like the snowflakes are just for you.
There's magic in hugs and love and bright smiles.
It's in sweet messages and cat memes.
There's magic in cuddling and pretty girls.
There's magic in space, where the galaxies and planets
find a way to make you stare in wonder.
Magic finds it's way into pretty flowers
that just burst with color.
There's magic in the impressive shininess of stars,
and in friends that tease you when you're blushing.
So look deeper into happiness,
because you'll find little moments of magic as you do,
like a heart flutter or a giant smile
that you'll never forget.

some days, the tears threaten to fall.
other days, they command it.
helpless.
that's how I feel.
not even able to stand up against
mere drops of salt water.
how, then, am I to survive,
let alone stand up against the world
without help?
lonely's a friend.
ironic right?
the feeling of loneliness, my only companion
as I wander through the desolate field
that happens to be called life.
alone.
a word accompanied by laughter
and a fake smile
plastered on to defend the reality
that I don't even want to admit to myself.
how can I be alone?
I have family, friends, love.
yet I am so so alone.
I go through life without anyone by my side,
yet they still ask the dreaded question.
how can you be lonely when you have
everything you could ever want?
and I can't answer.
don't know how to.
so I leave it to a forced laugh and a smile
to say that I was kidding.
I didn't mean it.
how could I?
I have everything, apparently.
so the tears threaten to fall.
and I can't deny them,
just like I can't deny the ones
who say I can't feel alone.
I can't cry, supposedly.
it seems, however,
the tears didn't get the memo.
they want to race down my face
with no thoughts given to the people
who say I shouldn't cry.
Because I have everything, supposedly.
So the tears that once threatened to fall
command their exit.
and here I stand.
alone with my tears.
alone with my thoughts.
alone.

It pains me to think,
that in the grand scheme of things
I am nothing.
I mean nothing, I’ll be forgotten
more easily than I’d be noticed.
If anything,
I am a disappointment.
There was so much potential in me
when I was young.
Too bad I never had a passion for anything,
growing up.
Too bad I never had natural talent in the first place.
We blame natural circumstances like it’s nothing,
because it’s easier than looking
inside ourselves for the real reasons.
Too bad I never tried hard.
Too bad I never stuck with anything long enough
to actually gain skill and expertise.
Too bad I realized all this
way too late.
Now the realization comes like a disappointment,
a shattering heart made of
Hopes and dreams.
The vain but natural desire to be recognized
for some talent we have, for something,
anything.
We search and search
for something we can do.
Some accomplishment we can brag about,
letting our vanity get the best of us,
just like we are taught not to do.
Too bad our desires come crashing down with reality,
taking our hearts with it.
It hurts to know that we really don’t matter to the world.
The Earth will keep turning,
the sun keep shining,
the stars still twinkling,
long after we’re gone.
Truly, it hurts to realize that we are
a disappointment to ourselves,
most of all.