I ask myself one single question: why do I enjoy blood? Is it something beautiful in the color? Is it the fact that I can literally hold life in my hand? Is it the power of being able to control the enemy's fate? I don't think so. I think I just like blood; warm and sticky, stingy and irresistible. It's taste as soft as the moth's scaly wing.

There is it: the blood, the wound. The truth: we will all die soon. But me, me, no. I don't die, no. I... I sink my fangs into the living flesh of another. It feels glorious. Living flesh, juicy and sweet. I close my eyes and take a moment. Revel in it, the magic, buzzing, building in my brain. Mmm, it is simply delightful. I hear a gasp and am pulled from my sedative state. My target is dying. I watch. I watch as the last wisps of life leave his eyes. I watch as his last breathe is breathed. I sit and stare, clicking my legs, curiosity bubbling over. After a bit I roll on my back, looking at the sky. The stars are pretty. Hmmph, I guess I'm going back to the mansion, I think, after moments of serenity pass by the sacred art of death. I'm going to say good bye to the statue. "Good bye dead man." I sing in a sing-songy voice. Good bye, I seem to hear him echo. I start prancing toward home and leave the body as another murder case to solve. It will probably end up going cold. Anyway, see ya and good night.

"Hey Wren." one of them sneers.

"Are you starving us again? Or getting us stabbed?" they laughed at the cruelty of their own words.

"No! I didn't mean to hurt you. It was a story. It was to be told for fun. I didn't think anything in them would happen."

"But here we are: me, you, Jax and Anika. What did you think you could do? Come into our world and take us from the life we had, just throw us to the wolves."

"I told you! I didn't know what I was doing! Please, you have to believe me."

"You should know better than anyone; stories are truth disguised as a lie." Said Anika. "I'm going to ask you one single question. You answer and we let you go. You panic and Tinzin will be your guest." I stared at the red haired demon in front of me. I knew what he could do. I had given him that power after all. "I'll do anything. Just ask the question."

"What is happening and where can I find him?" She shook me into a heap on the floor. Now Jax spoke. "No, this is another demission. We're not going to find him." I nodded. "This place we're in is the only thing that exists." I whispered.

"You have the will to start to build a world bigger than what you have seen in your entire life yet when faced with something truly dangerous you don't even lift a finger." Said the Demon, Zin.

"Go away, you're just my imagination."

"No." they said in unison.

"No what? No to you being my imagination or no to giving my life back."

"I can't give your life back." replied Jax.

"Why?"

"Because you have taken your own."

"What? I'm dead?"

"No, you gave your sanity away in exchange for us." Anika, suddenly calm, answered, "tell us the end. What happens? You gave your life for our stories. Now we want them back. Let us live out our fates."

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because then I will be lost."

"We don't care. You are insane. We aren't. Give us back our will and stories so you won't have to wonder about the voices. You won't have to question fate. You can know everything is real and nothing is a mistake. Give us our own place to be and you, in turn, you will gain yours."

I took a breath. I opened my mouth, but I didn't know what to say. How could I bring them to life? Who was I to write a book of anything? Why would anyone want me to be their author? I wasn't good enough. "I can't."

"Then we stay." The demon whispered and disappeared. I never saw them again but they are always driving us forward. They crawl behind me eyes and confuse their universes with my own. They beg me to tell them the end but I don't know where to start or where to begin. I struggle through the dark, not knowing what is real and still, the voices are here.

My mom was being a bitch today

I buried my feelings inside

Cool, calloused

That's what I've become

Don't care if I'm OK

Just want to see your pain

Be nice and you'll be rewarded

Never happened

But maybe I can trick her

Maybe she can be nice if I don't cross her boundaries

Maybe

Let's be real

I'm not allowed to be a kid

I can't do what I want

My mom tells me she works for me

Do you remember the last time I said I hate you.

It was a few months ago

I almost fell asleep in therapy today

I was bored, heard it hundred times before

Be nice

Be kind

shut up and do your time

I'm only here cause I couldn't shut you up with a rhyme

My poems feel like rapping:

Emotionless

Rude

Profane

Insane

I like to listen to rap

Mostly cause it helps me focus

But I started because of you

Started because I related more with someone who said they hated the world

than someone who loved it

I'm awake in the morning trying to meditate my pain away

Why couldn't you do the same?

Why do I have to pay for your pain?

Never mind

I've thought every sentence here before

And when I tell you I'm bored, listen

Cause everyone told me if I didn't care I'd feel better

They said your words wouldn't hurt me anymore

If I tell someone you are the problem they say, fix yourself.

So I'm done

Done waking up to listen

Done paying attention to you

Done trying to fix myself so you don't have to fix you

So fuck it

Can't make you listen

But I can stop blaming myself

"Never trust a survivor unless you know what they did to survive." reading the quote my heart jolts. I remember my friends and their horrified faces. My throat tightens. It had been so close. I had done so much yet it was never enough. My shoulders sag and I think about just how true that quote is. I am the one you should be wary of. I lied and cheated and wanted to kill. I chose myself over my family. I did it to survive but it is still a part of me. I wouldn't trust myself and no one else should either. Yet, I don't tell a soul. I walk like I don't want to break the bones of... anyone... just anyone. I just want to hurt something, to make them pay, for everything. Years. Its been years. Friends come and go. The new ones don't know what I've done, where I've been and they care about me. I don't want that to break... I don't want that... But, its there: the lie, creeping up on them until they know the truth. I see fresh faces in my minds eye: betrayed, distrustful, scared, desperate, their whole world turned upside down. "Never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive." Or maybe, just don't trust anyone.

I see a knife blade pull accross the table toward me. I imagined its bloody side soaking my throat in new found glee. "No... " I whisper, but it's too late. I close my eyes and see the bodies of cell mates scattered and torn. "Don't... " but it did. I hear a scraping. It sends shivers up my spine. I open my eyes. My hand trembles, poised above my wrist. "Don't..." I whisper, but it does. I am the last one to die. At least I deserved it.

I pull the blade accross my wrist. I wince, but before I can turn back the blade is in my other hand and coming toward my uncut artery. I feel a sense of warmth dripping down through my finger tips. Losing control, this second cut is not as clean. It becomes a twisting stab as my arms start failing. I end the night with one question echoing in my head: what went wrong? It doesn't matter any longer. I'm gone.

Ok, so recently I told one of my friends that I meditate every night. They opened up their eyes like hot air balloons and jumped up and down in excitement. "Wait, you meditate? How did I not know this? That is amazing!" They said, and immediately, I regretted mentioning anything. I don't meditate because I want people to think I'm cool. It isn't something I do to achieve my best life style or be "at peace with myself." Its something I do because I have no other choice. This is my way of stopping myself from obsessing over murdering some one as I go to bed. I learned breathing exercises so I could calm down at school instead of breaking down. I did all this because I have to. I did all this because I wanted a life that wasn't me convincing myself I still deserved to live. I do these things because they have proven to be the most effective measure against every horror the world has to offer. Reducing it to anything except that is just cruel. I didn't do it to please you. I didn't even do it to please myself. I did it because it brought me some peace. I did it because after years of drugs nothing seemed to work. I did it because there was no end to the madness in my head. I did it because I had no where else to turn. I do it still because it keeps me sane. I do it still because it taught me to focus my attention on a sound so annoying I can barely think. It taught me to make that sound my entire reality. The whirring of a machine becomes the vast intricacies of the cosmos. The ticking of a clock becomes the fabric of time, set in motion by mortal hands. Then, before I know it my head isn't spinning. My thoughts, if not whole, are just a little bit clearer than when I left and the everything makes sense. For one fucking second it makes sense.

The voices in my head keep talking. The conversations among my peers keep going. I look up and I am among yet distant. I am not outcast and yet I will never be a part of the group. I'm different. I spent years learning breathing techniques so I could survive a single day at school, only to go to bed at night and do everything I can to learn something more, something permanent. At the same time, I know I could never be happy with ordinary. No matter how many years I spend learning to fit in I will still be me. And, that will never be enough, not even for me. So I keep going, hoping that one day I will be ok with not being perfect, but simply existing and knowing, that that is enough.

I was in the worst place of my life when I was around eleven. It was horrible. Now, whenever I get down, I start hearing voices. It is how I know to get help. When the voices start answering I start to tell the truth.

Today I noticed the voices. They are kind and respectful (mostly). I think I am more ok with it now. It doesn't freak me out anymore. I started talking to a tree. He told me to go inside and stop singing. Apparently he doesn't appreciate my singing. Anyway, I sang one song accompanied by my ukulele but he was still annoyed. So, I put my instrument to rest and went inside. The next set of voices I heard were in answer to me telling my own mind to stop thinking. A very calm voice, almost like a wiseman (except it was a woman) said something. I can't remember it now. I just remember it that it seemed to come from long days of knowledge and made everything make sense.

It used to make me worried, the voices. Yet, looking back, they haven't done anything harmful to me. The only voice that has ever done that is my own; that may be the most concerning thing of all.

In conclusion, I think the voices are different now. I like them. They start singing songs and tell me if I forget something. Interestingly enough, I have no idea where they came from but I hope they stay. I like them, they keep me company even when I want to run away.

I can't breath, can't break

can't be controlled but I'm burning at the stake.

Pull me free, gods above, swirl me tonight and fill me with your love.

Thank me for my gracious gifts

and give things back as you see fit.

Wandering wander over the skies. Bring me blessing when you come by.

Store me honey in your pot of gold.

Bring me treasures and fortunes untold

bring me, burn me, burn me here and I will be with Hell my dear

Fuck! It's eighty degrees outside. It shouldn't be that hot this time of the year. It's fall! We have acorns, leaves and halloween.

Yes, I know I live in Midgaurd and yes, I know Midgaurd is beautifully warm and always has been but I want it to be crisp and clear for one single morning, then we can be done; I'll be happy. But, no! No! Instead we have eighty degree weather and a snow storm. Fucking whether! Whatever norns are controlling this need to step down! And if its the frost giants... by Thor's hammer I'll have their heads.

.

.

When anger is come

fear comes undone, undone

Time for you to run

.