It trickles down her hair and across the cheek,

Leaving a stain.

It falls from her eyelashes down to her arm,

Creating a splatter.

It creeps down her leg and lands by her feet,

Dripping into the crimson abyss.

Betrayed

I laugh at my thoughts:
"She wouldn't leave me,"
"He would never do that."

They try to trick me into thinking that I'm not alone.
that I'm surrounded by people.
People who "love" my company.
People who "love" me just the way I am.

And when the people around me betray me, trick me, desert me,
I don't question them.
I believe that it wasn't their fault.
That it was mine.

They don't love me.
They never cared.
If they were never at my side, then how is it possible for them to betray me?

I laugh at my thoughts, which trick me into thinking that I was once loved.

Am I, Do I?

Am I needed?
Am I loved?
Do I serve a purpose?

I would leave this world now, but that would be far too pitiable.
I don't need anyone's pity.
I would leave this world now, but I wonder, "Would anyone miss me?"
I don't know anyone's love.
I would leave this world now, but I feel that my existence would be wasted.
I don't have a reason not to go.

But do I deserve to go?

Dissatisfaction

What exactly is it that you want?
I do not want all the money in the world.
I can't and don't want to live off or on of my hobbies.
Music bores me...

...I'm too impatient for drawing

Even writing is a long process.

I guess that answer would be...happiness.

And what is happiness?

To me, happiness is not sure bliss.

Sitting on a quiet, breezy hill would be boring as hell.

Happiness is not with my friends, as much as I enjoy it, as it can be suffocating too.

Happiness should be exciting, not normal.

Happiness should be in the future.

And where does your future lie?

My future...

It could be where I am now...

...It could be halfway across the universe.

But my future...

I...do not know.

I don't know.

The birds start to chirp.
Water from up above stops.
Mirror on the ground.

All birds stop singing.
The first snow starts to fall down.
Color is erased.

The clouds are parting,
returning light to the world.
Arising darkness.

Peaceful and quiet.
In the forest, nothing moves.
Waterfall crashes.

My Name

My name is a
cool breeze sweeping through a disturbingly peaceful grassy hill overlooking the shining abyss of an ocean.
My name is a
shining sun floating in a pond of baby blue.
My name is a
swirling tornado of blacks and grays amidst a thunderstorm of flashing brightness.
My name is a
rainbow that stretches across the sky after a deadly storm.

I am ME,

and my name is mine alone.

warmth (wôrmth)

noun
1.  The bright colors of the sun sinking into the ocean.
2.  Storytelling by the fireplace on a snowy night.
3.  The five minutes before performing on stage in front of hundreds of people.
4.  A smile from a stranger.
5.  Being together with your friends, father, cousins, sisters, classmates, mother, aunts, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, teachers, grandmothers, school staff, friends' friends, granduncles, cousin's wife, grandaunts, etc.

A Light Drizzle

Another day
At school with them.
It is warm, humid, hot.
They talk, never stopping like a blazing fresh fire.
I don't mention the packing...

...I'm in a new place, home, school.
Here, I'm invisible.
I move around from group to group of people.
Like the wind.
What have I done?
I sit.
It is raining.

Then they come.
At my door.
Why?
They are drenched.
They drown me with questions.
But I can't hear a thing.

The sun has come out of hiding, and the rain is but a light drizzle.

Decisions

One by one, they disappear.

They are swept away, like the waves of an ocean or a leaf in the breeze.

Should I shine brighter, so that my light can reach them, feel them, warm them?

Or should I slowly fade away, retreating into the darkness, away from their own lives?