Speak. Silent. Repeat. You let it soak

in; I submerge myself in your words.

we are

Tied, not by blood but by – I do not know:

Empathy? Curiosity? Love? Whatever it is that connects humans together.

All I know is, I can trust you,

to bring me up with your words as I'm

falling,

I can trust you to challenge

me until I'm unsure of myself but determined

To defend myself and reflect

Am I really doing the right thing?

I look into your eyes and see that same determination.

And, the last day, when you told us

(I wish it was only me)

how our time together meant so much more and

you broke me with tears and hugs and handshakes goodbye,

I knew I still spoke your language and slotted perfectly

Right next to you. And when I look up

I see a father. I do not know what you see when you look at me but

I see a father.

I love you.

My hands are painted red and blue and green,

But it's nothing like the outside I've seen,

I sit on grey concrete, kiss the blue sky

But over there is a rainbow that'll die.

"A storm is coming I can feel it in

my bones," she says and brings me into dim

room and I press my hands onto white wall

before she turns on the angel bright sharp

TV then green then blue then red, and I

Cry out because the screen screams the same mix

Of brown that has appeared upon the wall – 

In between, covering, the red and blue

And green. I cannot understand what they're

saying as all I hear is red and blue

and green, but in the wrong order, and it's

scary when the men in the black suits say,

"Purple and brown and black we do today

because the red and blue and green can't stay."

I do not understand purple or brown

or black. So I look outside but I see:

The green of the trees turning warm brown,

The blue sky engulfed in a deep purple,

A red apple rotting into dirt brown,

But I only understand red and blue and green.

Black rain. As black as the night, as black as the Devil’s heart, as black as the future.

He stood layer upon layer of blood-soaked ground. His fractured face glued together like a puzzle with washi tape was a mask of permanent anguish. 86 pieces. A face that had once been the pride and joy of the family, a face that had once been a symbol of hope, a face that had once been whole. Broken, smashed, over and over again, yet he did not die, for he was cursed to live. Cursed to live forever, with his sins painted onto his face, for everyone to see. Not that there was anyone left, but the presence of a thousand soldiers still followed him around, the burden of caring about what they thought was heavy on his shoulders; nothing made sense anymore.

Death filled the long crack which trailed down from his forehead to his jaw - the death of who he was, who he had been, who he could have been. A permanent sign announcing to whoever was out there, probably just the gods and the demons, that he was a failure. A disappointment. A murderer. And the black rain danced down his face, mocking him, reminding him that everything was gone, that all was lost, and hope had escaped Pandora’s box.

The dark water was up to his ankles now, specks of red stars reflecting in it. Beautiful. Deadly.

The rain used to calm him down - it brought him back to reality. But now, what was reality? Exterminating what he had thought of as real and replacing it with the fucked up fantasies in his head...was that reality? All this pain, all this death, it was all self-inflicted; he had caused everything. His memories of the world which had once been, were dying out like fireworks, flying across the sky of his mind fleetingly before they disappeared with a boom. At least they ended with an explosion, a blast of freedom. He, on the other hand, was chained to blood.

And there he stood, eyes blazing, a storm of fire, battling with the rain, battling with existence, trying to set it aflame, waiting for the end. His tears evaporated before they reached his eyes, but that was alright. Tears were a sign of surrender. No, he, Child of The Flame, would not cry. He would not let the darkness overcome him, yet he felt his soul aching to sink into its embrace. Dancing in the dark until we’re twenty-five, they used to sing, Dancing in the rain as the world comes alive. So, he danced. Useless, foolish, but he still clung onto his last thread of sanity.

Time fluctuated as he moved around like a drunk, his locks of hair the colour of lightning glowing obnoxiously. He danced to the silence; his head filled with memories of the insanity he had created his life from before long forgotten. The rainwater rose to his waist, and he still danced, yet he wasn’t sure why he danced anymore. Dancing in the dark he murmured, and his last strand of sanity snapped.

The black liquid rose and rose, and he continued moving to a non-existent beat, listening to the haunting melody of his grey heart as a streak of purple appeared in his right eyeball, spreading like a virus across his face, then his body. Only his hair remained vaguely unpurple, lightning flashes in a field of violets.

I remember when we chose that word - it was a random word we knew we would never use in daily conversation. It was after I had lost it in front of everyone, screamed, lost control. It was scary. I was scared but resigned. You were scared and you were crying.

We chose that word.

I don't know if you remember it

The silhouettes of trees

Ghosts?

They contrast, juxtapose against

The light flooded

Window

I cannot see them

Clearly. Can I trust them?

You know that feeling that you're drifting through life - a ghost - moving on autopilot down the corridors in school? It's so cold inside of you, like there's a literal void inside that is slowly growing and growing like a tree. Like a tree, you hope it will die, but it will probably live for way longer than you will because you don't know how to cut it down.

All you can focus on is the inside. The inside of your head. The inside of your heart. The inside of your soul. Hoping that they won't be engulfed by the void just like how a phagocyte engulfs a pathogen.

The sounds - laughter, talking, walking - they all amplify in your head as if there's nothing in your head and it bounces off the narrow walls freely.

But there's still nothing. Everything is still empty.

I've been in that dark place that you're in right now. Maybe it's not the same place, but I remember the pain. I remember the nights my heart yearned to cry yet my eyes remained dry, and the hurt was kept bottled up inside of me, consuming my soul so that all I could see was darkness.

I don't know if I love you yet. I care a lot about you and you are my favourite person in the world but I don't know what love feels like. It makes sense because I'm so young yet I don't know what this feeling, that is so strong, is. It sits in my heart and I let it consume me but this time in a good way because part of me wants you to consume me. Not in a sexual or romantic way at all, just...love i guess.

You're hurting so much, for so long and I want to help you but I am helpless. I know that there's no way I can actually help you. All I can do is to be there and support you. And it sounds selfish to say, but it saddens me to the core of myself, to the roots of my emotions. And I know it isn't good for me.

I'm scared that one day I'll lose you. I'm scared because I know what it's like to want to give up and give in. I'm scared because I care about you.

I don't know how to help you without destroying myself.

i know you're not listening

stop forcing what you think goes on in my head

like pushing a brick wall directly at me

sandwiching me in between your wall and my wall

but there's other people like you out there

and all i can see

are walls

not my walls - no, mine are colourful and ugly and ineffable

it's not that simple

and you're just hurting me as everything closes in around me

and starts crushing my bones

my will

my wall

because well done, you've made it through my wall - smashed it down

you've convinced me

im broken

i need to be fixed

i need to overcome my anxiety

instead of letting me do what is best for me

instead of letting me embrace it because it's part of who i am now

because you don't know what is best for me - you think you do

but you don't know what it's like

because if i could get rid of it i would have already

it's not normal anxiety. it seizes me and controls me and i can't talk to you anymore because you don't understand

and now im trying to pick up the pieces of a wall that was hideous and beautiful and me

i hate you

i only say that because

you've hurt me

you've left me defenceless

vulnerable

alone

because once a wall starts to crack it falls

so easily. and you all just retract because i pretend

i agree with what you're saying

that i could have handled it better

that i could have done so many other things better

what the hell do you want me to do when all my energy is spent

holding me together

because ive taped my wall back together

it's a million times less strong than before

and im scared that if

i panic again

if i tell you i cant breathe

if i tell you im stuck in my head and im going insane and im terrified

you'll give me one small push

and i'll fall again

I hold the bouquet that is my heart

In my hand. My breath becomes contaminated

With the anxiety that haunts me; I remember

"You're good. You're good. I promise."

Your voice echoes in my head - I don't know why

I always listen to what you say; I don't know why

What you say always works, makes sense.

I relax and give you my heart - I do not love you

Romantically at least. But my trust for you is

As colourful and complex as the bouquet of flowers you now hold,

But unlike the flowers, I hope

It will never wither and die.