A Thousand Tiny Pieces

In the tinniest fraction of an airless gasp, her soul was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

Her panicked mind doesn't quite register the words when her, now bloodshot, eyes identify every curve and twist of tortured, black letters.

The floor beneath her feet slips away leaving her suspended like a lifeless puppet that's held together by dainty stitches and cotton wool ideas. Her body dances, moved by an unknown puppeteer, guiding her through an onslaught of people, noises and bodies.

Shoulders collide with hers in a fantastic display of grunts and exclaimed words, scowls find her direction as she rushes forward hoping to leave her heart somewhere far behind. She bursts through the doors of the dinning hall and runs.

Her body feels weightless as her feet carry her in heavy footsteps towards her little one man room. Her heart is pounding in her ears and her breathing is becoming erratic. Flames lick and bite at her lungs and muscles but she barely feels anything as her mind slowly shuts down.

Before she can hide away in her comfortable sleeping bag, she trips on a lose stone lying hidden against the tar. With a skid and a bounce her body suddenly stops moving leaving her stuck belly down on hot, black tar.

A group of kids making their way towards the freshly prepared chicken and veggie dinner stop and laugh at the spectacle only a heartbroken girl can offer.

A thousand tiny shattered pieces of her are lying scattered across the road. Twinkling in the overwhelming sunlight. Her blue eyes overflow with emotion as the merciless jesters point in her direction and with a hasty collection, she's up and running again - this time making it all the way into the dark confides of her oddly empty cupboard. Tears from her eyes resemble the blood on her knees, fresh and flowing.

Her heart is bruised and her body is battered but her sobs don't cry for rescue. They speak of hopelessness. Hate. Hurt. Heartbreak.

Inconsolable, she sits and cries her heart out. She sobs until it feels as though her eyes might combust and her throat crack. Her lungs heave and her chest falls.

Just like a mirror, she is shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

Goodnight

A sudden surge of electricity jolts her petite body upright. Cold tears stain her face and glisten like diamonds against her pale white skin, a tiny snowflake lost againt the harsh grey mountains.

Her ribs feels as though they might be bruised as her frightened heart pounds relentlessly against her feather-light rib cage. It takes her eyes a while to adjust to an overwhelming darkness at first that seems to be waging war against the light. At last her eyes adapt, just like a teenager trying to fit in with the "cool" crowd. She identifies her surroundings as her bedroom. Cold grey walls greet her with lifelessness and a hard tiled floor littered with socks, shoes and silk reminds her of the late night.

Memories of alcohol, boys, alcohol, music, alcohol and more alcohol fall into place in her spinning mind. Her feet begin to throb as her eyes pass over the 10 inch stilettos that were a good idea before 9pm.

Her small body slides back inside the warm, comforting duvet wrapped around her and a peaceful breeze whispers through her room enticing her back to a world where her subconsciousness will be king.

Less than a fraction of a sigh escapes her mouth when her mind begins to call her name. She sees the reason for her ungodly wake up call unfold in her mind and it ain't pretty.

The nightmares had started about a week ago and every night they plague her. Taunting her, tormenting her and torturing her with their nasty voices that call in the night. Some nights she wakes up shaking, completely devoid of sanity and control. Other nights her soaking pillows serve as a reminder of the wet tears of fear these nightly performances provide, but one thing is for certain. She will be woken.

Images of bodies. Halves of bodies crawling towards her appear behind her eyes, like the quick flashes of Hollywood paparazzi. Blindingly and then blind in an instant. Eyes devoid of souls, hands outstretched towards her replay, and replay and replay. Blood stains her floor and nails scratch at the tiles, like animals in captivity, as the monsters approach her bed, eyes constantly fixed on her. The prize. The meal. The main attraction.

Shivers race through her body as she sinks lower into her bedding trying to hide from her mind but the one person you can't escape is yourself. Cold sweats dampen the air and a fleeing heart rate doesn't make her feel any more comfortable.

"It's just a nightmare. That's all. A nightmare." She tries to convince herself in a strong authoritative voice, a voice that's trembling in fear.

Overcome by night the room snarls at her from dark corners and growls at her from over sized bookcases and wardrobes. The colour scheme of night, grey black and charcoal, attempts to convince her of evil. They try to persuade her to come out and play.
Tonight, even the moon has a sinister smile painted red across his face.

Tears streak her cheeks with silver and her heart shows no mercy for her delicate torso. The blood rushing through her ears sounds powerful and pronounced and installs a grave boldness inside her until a scratch at her door sends her tiny frame straight up. The fear like a bolt of energy running along her skin.

"It was all just a dream..." Her tiny voice seemingly echoes through her moonlight room.

"Or was it?"

baby, it's you_

baby,

i would rather have

a simple brush of skin 

from you

than a million

kisses from anyone else.

sweetheart, 

i would rather have 

a single hot cup of tea 

with you

than travel the world

A thousand times.

my angel.

i would spend an 

eternity 

holding your hand.

forever looking at you.

and silence my restless heart
for the rest of my life

just existing with you.

Gasping.

I'm sitting in my room. It's cold and my skin is dirty with a long days rubbings of dust and hate.
I'm alone. Mybedside light is softly glowing, but the fading light can't keep the darkness out of my thoughts, and doesn't reach the far corners of my room either.

Lyrics are pounding in my ears and I'm trying to wash away all the words filled with loathe and anger  from them because today they seemed to follow and find me wherever I went. The next song that tears at me is the one song I was hoping to avoid, my trigger song.

I hear it start with that crashing sound. Those drums and guitar that play the melody of my past. My mind flashes and my breath catches in my throat.
"Really Life? Have I not suffered enough today already?", I angrily think to myself. Fuck. I can feel it. It's creeping up on me, stalking me. Waiting for just the right moment to pounce. As I'm about to run, it jumps and goes straight for the jugular.
I'm both the predator and the prey.

My heart races, my hands clench into white fists. My skin close to tearing as it stretches over my bare knuckles. I shut my eyes tightly and wish it away. I push and struggle against it with everything inside me.
"Not tonight!" ... I wish those words had actually come out, but they are trapped, pinned in my throat as a claw pierces my flesh and rips at the soft tender skin that's keeping my pulse intact.

I'm bleeding out, gasping for air. Suffocating on my own life force as it's desperately trying to keep me alive. Oh the irony. My life is slowly killing me.



There are signs of a struggle and they are painted across her skin. The darkness smiles at her from the darkest corners of her mind and the monsters hide in the shadows of her bedroom. She can't catch her breath and the more she runs, chasing as fast as she can, the more it swiftly eludes her grip. Her hands are shaking with sobs of pain as the broken pieces of her heart stab at her from the inside.

Her pillow is soaked, and it's not tears that are falling. She pushes herself up in an attempt to get out of here. A hot shower. Yes! That's it. But she only finds her dinner being splattered across the drowning floor, a burning sensation from the flame like water kissing her skin. There is no relief but at least she can breathe. At least for now, she can breathe.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.
As steady as a heartbeat she takes in as much oxygen as her tar stained lungs will allow, it's a relief to find she's still capable of staying alive.

It's a short trip back to the den of darkness and nightmares and she find no peace in the restless slumber that comes slowly and painfully to her tired mind. Her swollen eyes are shut and her body is numb but there's no peace in a place promised to be her own mind, because when you're running from yourself, there's no where to hide.

And tomorrow, she knows, it will all start over again.

Forsaken Thee.

I am fallen from Grace
Exempt from Mercy.
My skin bleeds sin
And my God has forsaken me.

No Angel will usher
My stained soul through
Gates of pearly white.
Nor will my name be heralded
Through the heavenly skies
When the diamonds leave my eyes.

My being is tarnished
And my halo was broken
One night while out rebelling.
My tongue spills hate
And my body shouts neglect.

I am fallen from Grace
Exempt from Mercy.
My skin bleeds sin
My God. I have forsaken thee.

Bailey Jacyne and Walls.

Walls: And as every single bad feeling I thought possible came crashing down upon me all at once like walls of the purest black upon an already injured animal, I saw a light in the darkness. It was a voice. The voice chased away all of the monsters creeping out of the walls and brought me back to the light. I owe this voice and the person behind it everything, even if they don’t believe they’ve really done a lot to help. She really has. I am her angel, and she is my wings.

Hullo! I'm Bailey. This is difficult to start, so I'm just going to write it as though I am writing personally to each of you who may read this. I guess I should start by saying that I live around Seattle, 10,230 miles from where Chay lives. The poem that I wrote (I know, it's crap) above is about the panic attack that I had in early December. It was extremely bad. I won't even go into detail because it's honestly painful to think about. Because it was at around roughly 2 am, Chay was the only person awake at the time. We were messaging on Whatsapp when it started and the only reason why I didn't simply run outside until I passed out on the sidewalk was because I needed wifi to talk to her. She was able to keep me relatively calm by sending me voice messages. I guess I'm kind of writing this for Chay to read as well... I just want her to know how much she means to me. She doesn't believe that she's helped me as much as I've helped her, but she really has. Without even trying, honestly. All that she's done is shown me that I'm worth caring about. That's all I've ever really needed. At the moment, I'm just typing whatever pops into my head. Um.. I guess that I could say being with Chay has made me want to be a better person. I was never really a bad guy, I guess. I just had issues with.. control. I lost myself to my anger much too often (mainly with my family) and I would slip into a state of depression almost every night. Being with Chay, though, I'm honestly pretty happy most of the time. I'm still just writing whatever comes to mind so I'm sorry if this sounds like I'm an idiot or whatever. I also want anyone with depression or who is suicidal or who intentionally hurts themselves or more than one of the above to know that there are people out there who care and who are willing to try to help you through this war we've named life. I'm just going to end this here because I could write on and on and on about everything, but I don't want to bore you. So uh.. Goodbye, I guess. Thanks for reading.

Youth - If You're Still Breathing...

Broken stars and
Broken skin happen
Under the guise of night.

Your youth are filled with tequila ideas
That lurk inside corrupted minds.

We spend our days smiling,
As blue skies whisper our names.
But we spend our nights fighting
Different levels of the same game.

We darken out our eyes,
And pull on inky cloaks
To hide ourselves away,
So that no one really knows
We're relapsing again.

Young tongues slur
Their words,
Through gritted teeth and
Hate filled eyes,
With minds drowning in
Icy water, until the loathing dies.

A generation of non conformists
A generation hiding scars,
Your beautifully broken youth,
Want to frolic between cars.