They told a story.
About two people. Boy and girl.
Walking through life, just like normal people.
Until one day their paths crossed.
And everything changed.

Houses

I build my houses out of various mediums.
Sometimes I carve out decorative pieces of wood. Calloused hands chopping pieces. Chopping until it's the right size. I slowly shave off slivers. Sanding until it's smooth. Nailing together just the right pieces, so they fit perfectly.
Sometime I wet sand. Two buckets of water for every bucket of sand. Measured out to the perfect amount where sand can stick. I mold it in my hands, it slowly gaining shape and structure in my fingertips. I flatten out the ceilings and floors, and dig out pools and tubs.
Sometimes I build card houses. Bending them ever-so-slightly, I lean them up against each other. Patience. Patience. Patience. I steady my hands and stack the cards--single numbers on the bottom, royalties on top. I imagine Yurtle the Turtle looking down on the turtles below him trapped in mud, or the Tower of Babel growing taller and taller.
Sometimes I stack Lincoln Logs. Previously indented, no work needed. I stack them in order, creating a square of protection. Simple. Sturdy. Common. It makes me feel organized and clean. This house is easy.

I always watch as they fall. Wood being set on fire. Waves crashing over my sand castle. A breeze blowing the kings and queens off their thrones to be beside the mere commoners on the ground. Logs moved to be out of place--having no order or support.
There's nothing I can do to stop the destruction. My walls are tumbling down. My houses falling open.
I'm exposed.

It's late.
I'm watching the numbers grow larger...
trying to take my mind somewhere else.

It's working.

Choking.

Harder than I want it to be.

Harder than I ever expected.

At one point I thought it was okay.

The noose around my neck appearing as though it was completely off my head.

But the reality was that I just couldn't feel it.

That night the fibers were felt around my neck--an itchy twist that couldn't be shaken off.

I hated it. I hate it.

The restraint, the squeezing, the inability to move; it's an overwhelming weight.

I'm dragging. I'm struggling.

I'm ready to make it stop.

A Blink in the Shape of an I.

When for art thou day shall come
I shall be the happy one.
For in my heart I’ll finally feel
The truth one’s mind cannot reveal.
The truth that logic doth protest
Where sense is lost and pride is less.
My folly to be my once closed heart
Once locked up fear, that will depart
No other word is quite described
Than love, no longer petrified.

For class, still in progress

First.

It's just one of those nights.
All I can hear are the bugs and
even the slight hum of the florescent light posts.
Now that I am paying attention,
it's actually quite loud.
Perhaps a yell, or shout in the distance.
But for the most part,
silence.
So silent, it is almost eerie.

A crack over there.
Just someone walking.

I sit and remember you.

And soon I realize,
I'm all alone.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Second.

A sunken feeling in my chest.
Oh, here it comes again. I know this feeling.
An unknowing spirit of darkness looming overhead.
It strikes when I least expect it, but once it's presence is made known, I know exactly why it came.
A shadow falls over me and chills rush through me.
I shiver in the blackness, feeling alone. Afraid. Weak.
The black hole grows.
This strange and uninvited weight is sucking in everything around me.
The light
Gone
People
Gone
You
Gone
My heart
Gone
__________________________________________________________________________________

Third.

I can feel it in my stomach.
Stirring
Twisting
Churning.
It's on uneasiness beyond compare.
A slight movement and I'll be nothing.
If I move, it will be all over
and I'll have nothing left.
So what am I supposed to do?
Just wait for it to pass?
I ride my carousel, spinning without a destination.
Spinning to force it. Spinning to make it happen.
How foolish of me! I think.
My painful decision is immediately a regret.
But it's too late.
I feel it rising and I'm past the point of no return.
Everything is destroyed.
I fall on the floor, my heart and bones like glass shattering to pieces.
I'm broken. Empty. Abandoned. Used.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Fourth.

Your sweet taste is all that seems to satisfy me.
Your thick aroma of troubles, freedom, and lust are intoxicating.
To the nothingness that I am,
this broken shell,
you are all the makes me feel worthy.
So bring another round, bartender.
Fill me up.
This pathetic excuse for a person doesn't need anything else.
Forget the people and the places of before.
Their happiness eventually only caused me pain.
They never cared.
But you, my tall glass of liquid love, you care.
You treat me right, and you never let me down.

So to you I return every night.
Every night until the memory of him is gone.
____________________________________________________________________________________

Fifth.

From the floor I awoke.
My head spinning and my mouth tasting horribly.
I could barely swallow.
The burning in my throat was like fire.
My first attempt of movement let me finally get my head up.
With my mini boost of stability, I made a second attempt to move.
This left me in more pain than I felt initially.
The third and fourth tries resulted in a bruised knee and a scraped elbow.
Upon my feet, I finally stood the fourth time.
The room was spinning, but I made out where I was.
A church.
What happened last night? I thought.
Wallet missing, every body part screaming in pain
But I'm here.
At a church.
Did I bring myself here?
Why did I come here of all places?




From my knees, I spoke.
A surrendering prayer.
Oh God, help me.

Fin

Dirt, dirt everywhere.
It’s stuck in my hair
in my clothes
under my fingernails.
With every bite, I can hear the crunch, and feel the grittiness in my mouth.
I don’t even want to eat anymore.
The dirt, the dirt is everywhere.
I take a shower, expecting the water to wash this dirt off.
But it doesn’t. It can’t.
I scrub.
I scrub so hard I start to scream.
I bleed.
My skin, tearing. My heart, aching.
With everything in me, I scrub and I wash.
This soap and water does not clean deep enough.
I JUST CAN’T MAKE IT STOP.
Please. Someone.
Help me make it all stop.