i thought i saw a light ahead,

a lantern guiding me out of this dark, twisted forest of my mind

to safer warmer better brighter places, where

i do not have to fight the monsters.

(they're afraid of the light, you know)

i thought i saw a light ahead,

the first glimmerings of lovely dawn,

chasing away the monsters on her

golden warhorse, the sun.

(they turn to stone in its eyes)

i thought i saw a light ahead,

the perseverant glimmer of a porch light,

keeping the monsters at arm's length with

a cheerful, hopeful glow -- sometimes flickering, but never going out.

(that is why they hate us, you know)

(because we humans love to hope, and hope is made of light) 

i thought i saw a light ahead,

but it was only a will-o'-the-wisp,

luring me into the deepest darkest parts of the forest

for the monsters to find me

(and they did, and they are

devouring me)

(piece by piece)

i thought i saw a light ahead.

I won't lie

I see the way you stare at me sometimes 

When you think I don't notice 

Or maybe you're just shameless 

Either way

I pretend like I don't see 

Because what am I supposed to do?

Meet your gaze?

Reach out?

No, 

I am not that brave 

My

Soft

Words

Fall

On

Deaf

Ears. 

Indeed, drowned out by the 

Shouting and swearing exchanged

Between to unloving pairs of lips;

Harsh faces, twisted in rage and disgust and hatred.

Indeed, those vows of mere years ago already strained and broke,

Wedding bands a laughable irony-forged cage on caught hands.

My

Tears

Go

unseen,

Eyes weary and blurred

With sleeplessness and sore salt;

Battered hands, weathered by constant work,

Cracked by winter's breath and bitter words.

Words uttered far above by those cursed giants 

Who call themselves adults, who can only see what matters,

Or at least pretend that's the case.

I bury

myself

In a world

Of Dark

And Cold,

Let the ice melt and seep itself in,

Then freeze again,

Coating my broken skin in a sheet of white armour.

Face frozen, safe from those peering eyes

Gleeful to pounce on the first sign of weakness.

Joints welded by cold, drawing no unwanted attention to my nerves,

Pulsing at uneven heavy footsteps, longing therefore to jiggle.

Heart left out to die a stone-hard death, each beat agonising,

Circulating icicles through my veins.

Lungs turned solid by the venom-laced biting of air itself.

All the while the frigid gales race through it all, numbing anything at all.

I am safe in this Cold Place.

I can cry my unthawed heart out under the cover of night,

Whisper words of suffering to the snowflakes that fall, blind and deaf --

Just like my voice on uncaring ears. 

Indeed, this place is a bitter kind of relief. 

Shrinking, shrinking,

I've but the mind of a child;

How can you expect me to understand

What exactly is going through your mind?

I know not of mind-reading methods,

My eyes blinded by infantile incidents of the past,

I cannot read your minute body-language,

Although let it be known, seeing is still not understanding. 

What are the points of the legs and feet, if they can't run faster,

The use of hands and fingers to slow to work,

Mind trailing behind, a game of catch-up 'tween brain and body,

And I wonder why I should possess anything at all

If I can't put it to good use. 

Something I wrote for English class, about climate change.

Asphalt and heat and exhaust -

This place used to be a kingdom

But now it is a graveyard.

Wooden corpses burn on a pyre of progress,

Crystal castles crumble into the sea.

Children once played here,

And looked up to the stars and hoped.

But no more, because

Money is an altar and industry a fickle god.

Its temples are concrete and glass,

Its choking incense spilled through the skies

Like wine on a white shirt,

Stained from mindless indulgence.

It grows and grows, 

Until it is no longer a noble spirit but a twisted golem

Built from ravenous, insatiable hunger.

Roots and lungs and souls are slowly torn from life.

At least waves still gently touch the shore,

At least the birds still sing, at least autumn leaves are still full of color.

But for how long?

Who can stir the night? I wonder,

Fallen leaves glittering, sky itself a thick puff

Of heavy dark purplish-grey lint -- clinging to bare trees

As if trying to warm their fragile bodies.

It seems to ooze, to suck the frigid branches into oblivion

Until I pass beneath, and realise, I too, am swallowed up

By the vast expanse that lies above --

Starless, moonless and sunless; but not lightless.

Indeed, the neon pinpricks of the city stain the ink-black clouds --

Peculiar how rarely we think of light as pollution --

But their colours bleed, blend, end up as an ugly mess

And yet such scars of unnatural chaos, of tears and bursts

Begin to feel beautiful -- natural, even -- after a while.

Eyes bent short with age yield no such luxuries,

Thus I must enjoy these moments while I can;

I let Autumn ripple her cool fingers over my figure,

Let her sing a soft whistle twixt the stillness,

As if trying to drown out the mechanical whir of far-off cars,

The occasion unrelenting skid of a high-up and invisible jet,

And of course let her try her best to stifle these lungs and thrumming heart

That so insidiously prevail through their metal reincarnations and offspring.

Indeed, who asked for such treacherous destroyers,

I know it was certainly not me.