Your face

I see in the crowd

Your face

Which cannot be

As your heart grows cold

Beneath the earth

I long to hear your voice once more

Your face

The face that fades

Grows blurry in my mind

Shows stark and clear

Framed by the white hair of a woman

A stranger in the street

She is not you

Yet she looks like you

And for a moment

One moment so brief

I forget that you are gone

In the instant that I remember

I grow cold

So cold that I fear I will shatter

So cold that I fear I will never be warm again

In the instant that I remember

I begin once more

To miss you

In the long moments on her own
the moments between miracles
she feels the old pain
the old darkness creeping back
she feels proud
she feels happy
and yet she feels afraid
she feels sad
and she cries when no one is looking
she screams when no one is listening

all these acheivments seem to mean nothing
they mean nothing when there is no one to share them with
they mean nothing when there is nothing to protect her
from the darkness that sometimes creeps back

most days, it lives behind the veil
most days, it stays away
but today
the darkness returns
and threatens to blind her

alone with my thoughts
i try to make the metaphors fit
these words
that are said
over and over
repeated for their beauty

beauty is truth
and i find no truth in these words
no truth for me
no beauty in words

the metaphors don't fit

I still feel hopeful
Things might get better
right?
but i'm no longer optimistic
i'm settling in for a long wait
a long time
just waiting
hoping
but not really believing

The start of a new era
A gathering of souls
What is this new place
Is it safe
secure
Can I trust you
Can I be trusted

I don't know what to say

How do I say
I'm scared
How do I say
I'm angry

There's so much hidden
So many secrets
Will you take the time
To find out what they are
Can you take the time to listen
To understand

If you're afraid
You're not alone
If you want to kick and scream
I'll kick and scream too
If you let me,
I'll hold your hand 
As you walk down that scary road

If I let you
Will you hold my hand too?

My mind has stopped. 
But my heart keeps beating. 
I stare blankly at the walls, 
at the people. 

Sorry, did you say something?
I can't hear you.

I can't see you

I can't think

I can only feel.

There's far too much for me here
Far too much

It's dragging me under
And crashing on top of me

All I feel is this
All I feel is you

This thing that we had
I want it back

Merlin was a woman with strong powers; a modern magical wonder. Any person who needed help could find what they needed in Merlin. She gave money to the poor and her heart was so pure, it could heal the sick. For years, she gave her time and money to hospitals, charities, Scouts Canada, children's fundraisers, and never took more than she needed for herself. She loved to treat those in her family (both biological and extended) to trips and shows and meals, not expecting or wanting anything in return. She taught children to swim and play and fly. She taught me to appreciate and love music. She taught me to appreciate and love people. She taught me a language and a religion.
Merlin always called me beautiful, and constantly reminded me that I am human and entitled to make mistakes. She told me that one day I would have wings and made me believe that I could fly. She gave me a desire to help others and a hunger to make something beautiful of my life.
Over the years, I've slipped up and there were many times when my life was nothing that resembled beauty or something to be proud of. When I think of those days, I feel thankful that she could not see how I was living, but now, I feel sad that she's not here to see how far I've come.
Merlin was my aunt. Her given name was Marilyn, but we called her Merlin, because she truly was magical. She was a beautiful human being, the most selfless, wonderful person I've ever met. She made me who I am, and I am thankful everyday for having her in my life.
She lived a productive and long life, but one day, she got sick. Her heart was giving up and wanted out. So the doctor's gave her a new one. And she was full of medecine and someone else's flesh for 8 years. But she was healthy. I remember those eight years more clearly than any other time we had together. She gave me music and love and many happy memories. But then, one day, she got sick again. Again, it was her heart. But this time, the doctors couldn't give her a new one. She was in the hospital for many months. She didn't want people to come and visit. She didn't want us to see her like that. She wanted us only to have happy positive memories. But I ignored her wishes and I went. I visited her in the hospital. 
I saw how her hair was falling out and how hard it was for her to breathe. I saw how hard it was for her to remember. She didn't even know who I was, didn't remember my name.  Her eyes looked hollow and her cheeks had sunken in. She looked tired and confused, but not scared. She was never scared. But she didn't look like the Merlin I remembered. She wasn't my Merlin anymore. I knew then that she was ready to leave us. She knew it was her time, we all knew it was her time. I didn't want to believe it though. I remember running from the hospital room. I coudn't sit there anymore and pretend that I was okay with it all. When mother caught up with me, I could barely stand. I cried and cried and said that I would never ever come back. 
I never went back there. I never got to see her face again, or smell her hair, or hold her.
Even now, I can remember exactly how she smelled, how her arms fit around me when she hugged me. But it's getting harder to remember her face without looking at a photo. It's getting harder to remember what her voice sounded like when she said my name, how it sounded when she laughed. 
I miss her so much that it hurts, and I want so badly to hear her voice again and see her face. Even now, three years later, I still expect to see her at the dinner table. I still expect her to be the one to bring the dessert. Sometimes, I still pick up the phone and try to call her. Only when I've dialed the number do I remember that she won't pick up.

I wrote this some time ago, one night when sleep was far away. I'm not entirely sure what it is, and I'm not posting it in its entirety. But I believe it was a dream I had long ago, a prediction of what might come of me.


I need to make my thoughts stop racing. I need to make it all just stop. So many things to say and no one to talk to. The world is asleep as it should be. I'm in bed too, but I'm sure I won't be sleeping any time soon.
I just can't stop thinking. I can't shut it off.
I think I might be cracking up again. I've worked so hard to get to a place where I feel safe and stable. What was I trying to secure myself against? I can't remember. Was it some outside force? Natural disasters, angry men? Or is it more important to protect myself from something found within? Something inside my own head. My thoughts and memories do more damage than anyone could do with sticks or stones or even a gun. My thoughts are what brought me to a place where I was not me. I was not human. I was neither dead nor alive - I simply floated along. And no one took much notice. Not even me.
I have a picture of what I may become, what I may have been at one time. It looks a little something like this:
I'm sitting in my closet. I'm not wearing pants and my hair is greasy. My pants, at some point offended me, and were thrown out the window. I rock back and forth, pen in hand. A notebook is spread open in front of me. There are doodles and scribbles and random words. I want so badly to write, but I've lost all concept of sentence structure. After a while, I abandon all hope of creating a masterpiece and seek out Eduardo. Eduardo is the name I've given to my favourite razor blade (it was never used for shaving, you can tell by the fur on my legs).  
After tapping into my resevoir of blood and filling my mind with red, I stand, unmoving, in the middle of my room. I listen for the voices. The ones that are always there. They never make me do things, they're just there, talking to each other. Sometimes, they talk to me too, just to add interest to the conversations. 
Sometimes, they scream and I know they are running.
Sometimes, they are quiet. And I know that they are dying. They are dying just like me.
A sudden wave of something I can't define, sweeps over me, and knocks me to the floor.
Who just tagged me?! Is there a game going on that I don't know about? But there's no one around. Just me. Just me and who ever it is that's laughing. I think it might be the voices.
Then I realize it's me. I'm the one laughing maniacally, hysterically. What's so funny?
I have no idea. But I can't stop.