When People Don't Express Themselves, They Die

I Decapitated Dandelions All Morning, Leaving Carnage And Death Strewn Into My Path.

Eating Was Hard. Breathing Was Hard. Living Was Hardest.

I Would Never Be Popular. I Didn't Want To Be; I Liked Being Shy. I'd Never Be The Smartest Or The Hottest Or The Happiest. By Eighth Grade You Start To Figure Out Your Limits.

Picasso.” He Whispers Like A Priest. “picasso. Who Saw The Truth. Who Painted The Truth, Molded It, Ripped From The Earth With Two Angry Hands.

I Know My Head Isn't Screwed On Straight. I Want To Leave, Transfer, Warp Myself To Another Galaxy. I Want To Confess Everything, Hand Over The Guilt And Mistake And Anger To Someone Else. There Is A Beast In My Gut, I Can Hear It Scraping Away At The Inside Of My Ribs. Even If I Dump The Memory, It Will Stay With Me, Staining Me. My Closest Is A Good Thing, A Quiet Place That Helps Me Hold These Thoughts Inside My Head Where No One Can Hear Them.