real

it is me now. i am taking center stage. i won't let her rule. she talks less now than ever before. it is because i am here more than she. i sometimes wonder if she would recognize happiness. if i would keep her from it. would she have the courage to tell me to be silent and let her be happy? or would she let me run in circles, making her silent, nurturing despair. she will continue to live as one who is real. one who is plastic. making them all believe it is she and she is happy. they won't know it is me. but that is her job. it is what they expect of her. if she were to let me out on them, they would know it was all wrong. and they would stop loving her. she knows it. that is why she keeps me hidden here.

escape

looking for a pattern
or a break from the routine
to take my mind from all the deaths i wander.
i could choose a self-destruction
or a self-improvement.
in the end, would it matter?
does it matter who i am?
either way i can't forget
the things i'm running from.
and i cannot make my mind be still,
forever dredging up the storms i have hidden.
why won't a mind be silenced by the death of its heart?
the heart is buried but will not cease to cry.