#1- I take a breath. One, then two. But the air is not coming in. My lungs are like plastic, broken, weak. Where is he? Where is he when I need him the most? Where is he when I am losing my grasp on the world? Two steps forward. One step back. I can taste the blood in the air, I can feel it on my lips, which are cracked and bruised. Who will love me this way? Who can love me this way? I'm up, and I am down. Somewhere to my right is the golden escape but to my left is my addictions, my obsessions. Pulling at my broken body like cracks in rippling water. The edge is close. Do I jump? Do I stay? Do I fall to the ground? Only one way to find out.... Cracks- I see cracks in the sidewalks everyday. They remind me of the world's imperfections. We try so hard to be wholly whole, but never can be. The world is full of hurt, and full of hate but so much love to contradict it. I watch the cracks as I walk down the sidewalks. One, two, three, four, many many more. I wonder where my cracks are? Plastic- Fake. She's fake. She wears the same clothes every day and spends an hour and a half on her makeup. Why can't she see how much better she'd look without it? Hair. Long hair, like barbie's. It stems from her head and falls down to her knees. Long and black, sleek and straight with products. Does she see herself in the mirror? Does she really? Cause I do. Addictions- Need. Need... NEED! The need to continue when everything is bad. The need to keep going when your body tells you to stop. The need to fill your heart with a cheap distraction. Free from the pain of the outside world. I need you to see me. I need you to stop. The rocks down at the bottom of the cliff. No. That's not where I want you to go. Not where I want you to go...
#2- I never thought Christian of all people would end up as my friend. The guy's one of the "cool kids" who like to spend their time laughing at immature jokes and bullying unsuspecting pears. I was never one of the ones they picked on, but I never wanted to join with them. I spend most of my lunches sitting outside on the large football field alone instead of trying to brave the high school cafeteria. No, fuck that. I'd tried to make friends, but one way or another those friendships didn't last. Today I sit on the field near the bleachers like I always do. It's a beautiful autumn afternoon, the weather just degrees from being too cold, and far off from being too hot. The leaves here are always reliably beautiful during the Fall. There are red, orange, green, brown and even purple tinted leaves that sit precariously on their branches, float down as they fall, or lie in a pile on the ground. Benson Walker the football coach has been upset about this lately. The trees surrounding the field are quickly littering the field and covering it up quicker than anyone takes them off. I think it's beautiful. I think it's great to see the palate of colors swallow the bare, sweaty, fake grass of the footballer's under its unrelenting grasp. But then again, I am an artist.