Loneliness is painful but that lonely man could not feel any pain.
He lied to himself and it was the most painful experience.

The Nail-biter saw her as his saving grace from a life of lonesome worry
She saw him as a meal ticket and a free ride
He over looked her granny ash
He disregarded her speech impediment
Always holding his tongue when she stumbled on certain words because he loved her and all her imperfections
She had a bullet proof black hole heart and his common sense was stuck in a sound proof cell as they had what seemed to him to be, passionate ***
He worked day and night, coming home with dishpan hands
Saving up to buy her a bouquet of hydrangeas, tulips and baby's breath
She took them and said, "Wow, thank you you're such a good friend"
The Nail-biter left and drove his car into the nearest embankment
She did not attended the funeral, she was too busy having dinner with The man with OCD who didn't have tics but tocks
She knew the routine and loved every second of it

I can promise him
and I can promise her
and I can promise myself
                                           but
i will never forget the warmth of summer sidewalks
and how it feels to lie.

i will never forget the beat of roshambo,
thundering in my ears
rock paper scissors

i will have instead forgotten the truest fact -
                 you came back first.

and isn't that enough?

Perhaps I peered too closely into the abysmal potholes of other people’s souls
of whom I had no business pilfering through in the first place.
Now I ponder about feelings and memories that do not belong to me
some of which are long forgotten, disregarded, or even irrelevant.
Of this information that I have unearthed and processed, I know not what to do with it.
I am perpetually preoccupied with what lies beneath the surface point, which is what pushes me forward, yet could propel me to my downfall.
I just sit here and anxiously ponder this arcane information I acquiesced
through means not noble to my standard of normal morals.
There is nothing else to do.
For I rest here in the realm of reality.
This is no novel of fiction for me to figure out.
I can’t flip through the pages of people’s plights.
Something like that does not fall within my rights.
I am a mere meddling mortal amongst other mortals.
I am no god who sits proudly upon their plethora of others’ secrets.

I am just another human being.

i love too much
fall too fast
assure too quickly
that i'm okay
but the truth is
i'm not
i haven't been okay for 5 years
i ask all the time if people are okay
because i don't want them to feel the way i do
but the thing is
people forget to ask me the same thing
and when they do, i lie.

{KAH}

it was sandcastle cities with you:
careful residing in the threat
of it all crumbling away

with steadfast eyes,
I watched as you made
a fine-grained mess

watching and waiting
for the inevitable blow of
your city-collapsing wave of truth

it was sandcastle cities –
dedicated to you.

I dedicated myself to you,
and it was easy to do.

Today my mother asked me if I was depressed. She proceeded to explain to me that she was worried because I never left my room and I just looked sad all the time. As she was explaining to me her reasoning, I thought about the way I've been feeling. How it felt as if everyday I was walking on quicksand. How it was getting harder and harder for me not to cry. How I would be constantly fighting an internal battle.
"Stay in bed, darling. Stay in bed."
"No I can't I have school today"
"Don't eat that. You're not worthy enough to eat"
"But I'm hungry I haven't eaten in 6 hours"
"Don't call your friends they don't care and they all hate you anyways"
"But I'm lonely"
I am constantly screaming at myself.
I am constantly fighting a battle that I feel hopeless in.
It's getting harder and harder to breathe everyday and it *****.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
Pretending has become a habit of mine.
I don't enjoy lying to myself and others.
Every once in a while I tend to break into my parents liquor drawer because I like the feeling I get when I sip *****.
It makes me feel light and airy, and for just a couple of hours, it makes me forget how much I hate myself.
I don't feel time passing by anymore.
I don't know the difference between night and day because everything is just a big blur.
I've lost all feelings and emotions except sadness.
"Are you depressed?" My mother asks me.
"No."

*(b.c.)