Nothing changed.

Faded red fabric,

stairs to the balcony.

Had I gone to the restroom—

still vintage yellow? 

But

the faces,

the people.

Impermanent.

One recognized,

no belonging,

not there.

How strange to be where you were, but no more.

Today is a moment.

Tomorrow, the steps rewritten

Steps.

Rewritten.

By other

feet in the 

places I was, 

steps replacing mine. 

No longer my experience—new.

 To be a ghost walking amidst the crowd

Not engaged in the chatter and emotion

Observing 

Not part of the stage play

For isn’t all of this just one big show? 

Characters are born, reborn, and die off?

I want a drink. To feel the quiet hum. 

I want to sit on my swing and smoke—

Imperceptible dance 

I’m trying to fit in but I find 

I cannot

I have no dreams

reality became too harsh

And there is no knight 

Just endless day, where we are happy so happy

And it’s the dance 

Between reality and imagination

But my imaginations are vanity 

And I am sad

I am weary

And where is my vision

My hope

My dreams are gone

My child

My child 

This is a cruel world 

Wicked

 You weren’t allowed to be sad

 sad swallowed you

And when you couldn’t afford sad

Rage swallowed you 

i won’t show you love

i won’t tell you i love you

i’ll fight for you

i’ll kill

do my time

for you

he rapes me as he rapes you

and baby, i’m done with the hidden knife 

let me start the burn 

let me paint with ashes 

let me see the fear

wobble in his face 

echo down his frame

we’ll scream 

Victory 

and laugh

you can’t corner

what doesn’t exist

 Dad used to call me pyro

No sweetie, no love 

Opera and pyro

Little Ree 

It started with you. 

Wanting a bandaid meant I wanted attention. Crying was just a pity party. Emotions were smoke, nothing felt real. I needed constant validation that my reactions weren’t fake. Sifting experiences through you to get “reality”. 

You say he has such patience and what a good man. And I feel myself wanting to tear him down because I’ve always been the “dark angel”, “the evil crow”, “the scary witch” to you. But he’s just too good for me. Funny how love and support make a person lovable and supportive. 

I’m just a starved, dried up worm. 

I do this thing now that you do. I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s like all the negatives overpower a person and I sour on them. Or no, maybe it’s picking out truths in order to pull the rug out from under someone.

I fell for manipulators and gaslighters. I craved pain and fear. I delighted in the chaos and the thrills. They felt like the only connection I’d ever had. It felt like love; the love I knew.

And I don’t really blame you. Because you have your own story. But I beg, that I don’t destroy my boy in this way.