I laid out my jeans and t-shirt, brushed my short, but wavy, dark, permed hair, straightened my tie in my vest just barely good enough, and walked downstairs to meet my dad.

When I got home I changed in a hustle and rode my bike to KC's house. My favorite thing about her house, besides her, is her cat. He is very fat. His name is Berry.

KC's mom is a swim instructor, I changed into my swim trunks and swim shirt just before meeting Mel and Nate at the door. Mel gave me a look. She knows how I feel about not having shirt on.

After lessons I got back home, took a few ditch-able selfies and took a nap.

Screams that echo, that scar, but no longer sound.

Pulses beat, but are drowned out by blood stained hands.

On that ledge, I look down, daring myself to fall. From my perch,

Only I see the cries that fill the alleys, only I get the chance to ask myself why? But then again, why breathe down the backs of unsuspecting, stained souls?

Knives rise, but don't deliver, clattering on on ground undeserving of any care or notice, owners already, whisked away, by their own urge to hurry.

Yells rise, thieves race, stopped in a hurry, by my cold, you'll-never-forget-it embrace.

how long till;

a whole Autumn's weeks

when will I

see the days,

when snow fills the ground,

and light shines,

in sparkling rays.

Setting red, yellow, green

on dry tan bark

match flickering in the dark

highlighting the vibrant colors as fire lights rain and smoke pours up up to the sparkling stars scattered,

scaring the sky with it's stunning silence.

I hid the contraband deep in my closet for a later time, hoping my sister would believe her gecko had escaped and was high on free will(again) and not decaying in my closet with everything else I've hoped to forget about. Then I glided out her room and swiftly closed the bathroom door as my sister walked into her room to feed Romie.

Romie who she cared about more than anyone in my family. Romie who was dead. Romie who deserved his fate.

I heard her scream and I rolled my eyes as my mom rushed up stairs, desperate for her to be okay despite my sister being cruel to her just 10 minutes ago. I walk downstairs, grabbed my backpack, told my dad in the garden I was leaving, hoping one day she would learn to love us like she loved every Romie now federalizing my dads garden.

At least the yellow hyacinths and white chrysanthemums always looked extra vibrant.