“Utter silence…
A world without you.
Something so natural.
Something so simple…
Yet here,
where my heart once was,
something burns;
an ache long forgotten.
Here I stand,
lost and alone,
a world fragmented,
a forgotten land.
The source of your heart
and mine.”

i’d like to smile
and tell you
i’m fine.
i’d like to say
that what i feel
is simple.

in a way,
it is.
what i feel is something removed,
torn from me.
see here, and feel for me:
press your hands to blackened lungs,
draw your fingers
along the cracked and burnt arches
of my ribcage.
discover the chips in my spine
from the forceful blast.
touch your lips to the ashen husk
that still flutters,
weak and terrified,
a splatter of red and azure.
see the wreckage of my collision with life
and feel with me.

what i feel
is simple.

… it is the acceptance,
the understanding,
that is so complex for me.
i am too young to handle these thoughts;
i have matured, but i still cling
to what i should have been.

i can’t count for you
how many times
i’ve awoken with these fears.

there are difficulties to schizophrenia.
love is a cure.

i don’t have it here.

my first night in this desert land
was a foreboding one.
i awoke some hours after midnight,
though the watch read six.
not yet have i turned back time
to adjust myself to this new “home”.
pain. that was what i felt, then.
a burnt searing in the back of my head,
and the horror-
to awaken from your nightmares
and believe you are drenched in blood!
and what is worse-
what is worse than this
is when your voice is lost,
as though some wintry spirit of the night
stole it away.
and instead you’re left to cry.
alone, battered. modernized technology?
none of it for you.
the batteries are dead
and the communication is desiccated.

there was nothing and i was alone.

i said nothing.

what right do i have to speak?
to tell another that my fears chased me here
and warn me now
of something that isn’t real but will come?

yet that is not what feeling i was to speak of.

it’s a simple thing-
at the heart of it, at least.

my thoughts complicate it,
branching out,
drawing forth recent moments.
like a hound starved for days and released,
i seek out my terror within an exhausted frenzy.


scrabbling in the darkness for a light that wasn’t there
and now that i have it,
my fears are chased to dark corners and crevasses,
slipping outside. a smile, broken bones creaking against the window,
those eyes. those eyes.
you do not know fear until you meet something
that is born entirely of yourself and manifests
with a busted grin and bright eyes,
watching your every move, criticizing you.
when your anxiety gives itself a body
and takes on a personality of its own,
whispering, gray claws scratching as i speak,
as i write,
against the window outside,
trying to reach within.

you do not know fear.

… what i feel is simple.
it’s simple in the fact that it isn’t there.
if it is, i don’t know it.
i want to.
don’t ask.
i want to feel.
what i feel is simple.
it’s on the brink of my conscious-
i understand it’s there,
but i can’t reach it
without the fear
that it’ll take that last step
and fall into the unknown.

what i feel is simple.