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Some Fictions

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Existing as a Pessimist


i am not in the mood to exist today.


there's no rain screaming outside these


windows, and there's not even one


sickly grey cloud floating in any sad way.


but I am just not in the mood to exist today.


the grass isn't crying out from the


ache of a drought and the sun hasn't even


been slapped, hard with a stinging pain


from today's dreary thoughts or noises.


there is something hiding behind the trees


and it sits on its knees but it isn't danger.


it's a lone stick of emptiness, trying to


find the center of its body, it may come


from behind its shadow, it may until then


 it'll sway--


still, I am not in the mood to exist today.


the rock on my chest sits heavy, yes...


there is nothing strong enough to lift it.


ghosts parade on each sides, I've seen in my eyes.


to breathe, or to die in September lies.


to eat the dirt from September's floor because


it is all I am offered, and nothing more.


I may awake, or at silent rest I could stay.


though it will vapor and twist away.


I am still not in the mood to exist today.


I rummage thoughts and pain and fear.


I muffle the strained doubts I hear.


attacks crawling beneath my feet like


scuffs, streaked thin and mean on the tile.


i'm sorry I don't mean to consecutively cry.




i'm sorry I don't mean to consecutively die.

i'm sorry I don't mean to eat the letter "y"

and spew out the word "why" afterwards...

but it happens, day after day, because of these

noiseless sounds--

and they play with the strings of my heart

like a harp, so perfectly and majestic.

when has it ever been okay?

they say, and I have no answer.

when? when has it ever been okay?

but my heart keeps skipping, and my body goes numb.

when has it ever been okay?

pessimist, pessimist--



I can hear them say. 


gather the diminished breath lost on the way:

pessimist! I hiss

but i am just NOT in the mood to exist today.








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I am Not Enough

Even though I said I'd love you more than anyone else you still like to grab my words and throw them over your left shoulder. You do this because you don't want to listen but you say you believe it. If you do then why would you continue attaching yourself to someone who wouldn't give up their own heart so that you could live. I am that girl. But you cannot see it. You are too busy watching the others and trying to befriend all of the others. You are too blinded. You cannot see through the thick fog of cloud and perfume and all of the shitty stuff floating about your head that makes it difficult to hear me. Listen, please. I am not being a paranoid psychopath, I am not being a selfish bitch. I am not being stupid or irrational. I am not. I am just being me, and I am contagiously imperfect. Why can't I just be the only one? Because I am not enough.