When the demons come out to play

It is not what you may think

They don’t wait for darkness or rain

But can appear when the skies are pink.

The demons can hide so easy

Popping in and out of her head

Showing her these crazy images

And telling her she’s better off dead.

These demons are very sneaky

They seem to make a bargain or deal

To make her think what she is feeling

Is all starting to become real.

But these demons can go to waters

That have not been stirred in a while

Even if the pain grows older

It still starts to affect her smile.

These demons live in everyone

Their destruction knows no bounds

But our only hope of surviving them

Is to remember help can be found.




You cannot rush healing. No matter how much you want out of this fucking nightmare, the only way out is through.

Her soul is shattered. There is no maybe’s about that. She no longer sees the rebirth about this – feeling the pain from the edges of the shattered glass stabbing a little deeper each time.

The difference between chosing to get better and actually becoming better is an immeasurable gap. Trying and failing time after time.

Feeling like a failure with every criticism. A lost feeling like you missed your stop on the train.

And she feels so fucking shattered inside, but outside she smiles while her fire slowly loses spark. Hoping someone will see past that – but she remembers she is alone in this.

No one is coming to save her. She will put her own damn pieces back together. Than she pauses, sits down and cries. Holding the pieces of her shattered soul; not knowing if they can ever fit together again.



Why is it…

We try and we try,

To fit in a box

Without knowing why?

We strive to be normal,

But what does that mean?

Pretending to be someone,

With our true self unseen.

Forming a persona,

That seems picture perfect.

When we should ask ourselves,

Is this all worth it?

Keeping our demons –

From coming to play

Because of the worry,

That we may scare you away.

Inside we are cracking,

Exhausted underneath.

If only more people noticed,

The split in each piece.

We try to pretend,

That it can be true:

Our life is “normal”,

We can be just like you.


Lost Girl.

She was lost. Her thoughts turned to mush and any form of clarity had left her.

She tries to write but lacks the inspiration to express her own desolation.

She is a lost girl. She relies on no one to reach out to catch her as she falls, she accepts her bed as it vibrates from absorbing her weight in the embrace that is all to familiar.

She can no longer stand the sound of silence. So she stands at the sink, listens to music, and tears stream down her hollow face.

Someday this will be behind her, at least that’s what she keeps telling herself. But right now – she is lost. If only someone would notice.


The Part that Died.

She has been searching for herself. Tearing open the inside shell of her exsistence. Coming back to the surface empty handed time after time.

In the complete re-evaluation of her being, she has become self destructive. The reflection of her image is unrecognizable. She hears her voice but does not identify with it.

She knows now that no matter the depth or extent of her search she will never find what she is looking for.

She will never retrieve the part she wants. It is lost forever in the abyss of the universe and, maybe, it is supposed to be that way. But it wasn’t until now she could comprehend the feeling she will never get that piece back again. The part that died within herself that day. She will never be the same.



People are like trees.

Some big, some small, some worn from bearing the weather, others slowly dying from the inability to adapt to their environment for lack of support or disease.

But, when you see the trees that are worn, growing slanted from the harsh conditions they faced – refused to give up. Instead, they accept the situation. They push on and grow in a way that is unlike the rest. This does not mean they are broken, not at all, it shows the drive for survival.

These are the traits to look for in people. In special instances, these leaning trees are able to find another tree to lean on.

The beauty surrounds the leaning trees and people alike for overcoming deterioration.

When you have this support, they don’t care if you are an evergreen, a birch, a maple, or a Scottish pine. No, they only care that they are able to help support you until you can grow on your own again.

Hold on to these people. The people who appreciate the beauty in the broken. These are your people – they are your home.