Who are you Sang?
I know the body your face belongs to,
I saw him a few days ago at my brother's school
But you're a different person,
You're born of my dreams
Long black hair
And tall lanky body
In my dream you were my age
Following me around high school
But your real life doppelganger
Was just goofing off with his friends
Why did you so capture my dreaming mind?
And why did I name you?
I've never named a dreamizen before
And so what's up with 'Sanguine'?

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
Your wing-pages flipping quickly
Then slowly, desperately as cars pass
As if your pathetic fluttering can lift
The only thing you can call a body,
A flat, limp *** of paper
Shuddering and shifting when a
Quickmoving elephant runs by

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
The muscles of your sides
Heaving in, out, in out
Gasp for ink and blood
Shudder with need
As if that inhale, intake
Of gasoline soaked air will
Replenish the lack of life in you

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
I saw you die
And flutter no more

I can shake off everything if I write;
my sorrows disappear,
my courage is reborn.
-Anne Frank

When I write and pour out my troubles
I speak to the invisible audience
To the page, to the future
To my friends, and myself
And those things I hate and love
I spill out the ink of my worries and past
My thoughts and feelings and doubt
And for a moment, a handful of planck seconds,
I have nothing, feel nothing, *am nothing,
But one entity with myself
The little trouble I have is voiced and shed,
And I cry, but do not worry so much about it
I lose my gloomy dark thoughts and
Lighten up, and feel... not warmer exactly
Not happier either, but more.
More neutral and more myself, and more happy
And just more
And I again have courage and strength
To continue living without being weighed down

So I've got two new bracelets
One's actually a necklace but who cares

I've got blue and reddish beads dangling
From this necklace, wrapped
Five times around my wrist
And sometimes the bobbles get under
My wrist when I write

I've got five peace signs melded
Together, gold toned and metal
I must admit, the reason I prefer it
Is because of a tiny imperfection
A little spike of metal on the second
Only I know it's there and it's
My silly imperfect secret

So there you have it
My two new bracelets...
I think I'll name them
Pentapax and sanguine
Bet you can't guess why

I think that if you were to look at my heart,
Not my mass of blood-pumping tissues and arteries,
But my real heart, the metaphorical, emotional one,
I believe you'd find a glass bowl
Delicate, thin, transparent and fragile
Carefully pumping not blood, but emotion
And as bowls and vases do, it would have an orifice on top
Into the hole are thrown little pebbles, bit stones, junk, debris
All the metaphorical cast-offs from real injuries
Cruel words and nasty deeds
Enter through the eyes and ears
And along the way from some sort of unwanted material
The larger the crime, the more serious the harm, the larger the stone
Thus it falls into my glass heart
Perhaps chipping an edge or cracking against the sides
And the added weight is a strain on the silicate walls
More and more pile in until it cracks
Let's out a squeal of shattering protest, and out pours
The hurt, the pain, the angst
Unless, some kind and gentle words,
The warmth of an embrace, a kiss, a murmur
Or strokes of encouragement and love come along
Patching up the little nicks and scratches
Pulling out a few of the stones, some new, some old,
And healing the scars that can't be seen

My jaw is aching from clenching my teeth
& with my eyes burning,
I'm swallowing an other pill just to sleep
This year is a current;
Every tired stroke I make
to swim back to my bed only
sends me deeper into a violent sea
Salt water waves flooding over my eyes
This is the kind of night that ends with my insides,
spilling endlessly into my sheets
I will rip every tattoo out of my skin
until I'm just a blank canvas
between tan walls,
waiting to be forgotten

Are there monsters under the bed?
Is this the terror they shed?
Will they rip out your heart?
Tear you apart?
Or eat your flesh instead?

Are there monsters under the bed?
Is this a trap that you've been lead?  
Will they make you scream?
Or is this a dream?
Or simply crack open your head?

Are there monsters under the bed?
Or is it just us eating away
Could it be our monsters are us?
At the end of each day?