Sleep

He leaves his house dishevelled.  His sister didn't sleep all night again because of her... sadness.  He stayed up listening to her crying.  Knowing that he couldn't make her stop.
He goes to school, the teachers speaking are background noise.  They ask him a question, remark about how he should get his act together.
He wonders if his sister got out of bed this morning.
Did he see her in the kitchen?
Is she eating?
No, no.  He doesn't think so.
She's been too frail.
And cries.  She cries so much.
The teacher yells at him.
His tired eyes blink.
He doesn't have energy to speak.
His tired eyes blink.
He slowly falls asleep. He can sleep here.

She lays in bed shivering.
There aren't enough blankets to warm her up.
Her puffy cheeks are squished between several pillows and layers of sheets.
But she's still freezing.
Her alarm is still going off, but she doesn't have the strength to raise her arm and turn it off.
Why does she still set her alarm?  She knows she wont respond to it.
Her stomach growls.  When did she last eat?
She can't remember.  Her memory is failing.
She starts crying.  She doesn't like not being able to remember things.
She can't even remember her brother's face.
The last time she really saw him, he was starting to have a shadow of stubble.
She thinks.
Did he have stubble?
Her tiredness pulls her under.
Her breathing slows.

His classes go by slowly.  A few of his friends knock his shoulder, call out and joke around beside him.
He feels his fatigue lift a bit.
He eats a sandwich he bought with his change.
He gets to joke and smile with his friends.
They ask about his day and make fun of their teachers.
He thinks about how they're people too.
He didn't like mocking teachers.
A teacher walked by and calls him aside.
The teacher asks what's going on with him.
The teacher says that his grades are plummeting.
He can't tell his teacher it's because he can't do his homework.
Because he has to go straight home.
If he stays at school to do it, his sister is alone.
But when he goes home, he has to clean the entire house.
When he goes home he has to make dinner and try to feed his sister.
Sometimes she eats.
But then she goes to the bathroom.
And sleeps.
Then she will wake up and cry.
He blinks at his teacher and apologizes.
He says that he just has more important things to do.
His teacher takes it as he's lazy and doesn't want an education.
He just wants his sister to be here to have a chance at an education.
He walks away from his teacher.

Her breathing stops.

He walks home slowly.
His limbs feel heavy.
He wonders if he would have time to take a nap on the couch.
As he gets to the front door, there's an energy shift.
Suddenly he is awake and alert.
His parents aren't home.
He takes out his phone and sees that they should've been home already.
He opens the door and sees that everyone's shoes are gone.
Even his sister's.
It's odd to think they all went out.
He goes to the fridge, but freezes.
He should check his sister.
He walks upstairs, and knocks on her door.
"Amalia?"
No answer.
He swears and walks in.
Her room is a mess.
There's a pungent smell.
The bed is empty.
He heads downstairs and opens a can of olives.
He takes out some chips.
Cheese.
He microwaves the nachos.
Just as he sits down he gets a phone call.
It's his dad.
His dad tells him what happened.
His dad says his mother and himself came home.
They checked on his sister.
She was cold.
Asleep.
Shallow breath.
They took her to the hospital.
Her organs have failed.
They're doing surgery.
But she's not healthy.
She isn't okay.
They don't think she will be.
He hangs up.
He pushes away from the nachos.
He's very tired.
He looks at the couch, and slowly, slowly, slowly walks to it.
He sits down, and slides to lay down.
His eyes close.
And he falls asleep.Sleep

Falling Back

The simple fluttering of eyelashes
Turn and become that of a dream;
Inescapable.
The easy going reassurance
Turn into that of a sewing seam;
Shapeable.
In a flick of the wrist,
A delicate twist,
There again
To be pulled away,
Falling back
Into the day.
Birds.  Birds are singing now.
Green. The leaves are green now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
Why is the sun setting?
My heart is holding dear.






But.. The silence is speaking.
My veins are creaking.
My thoughts are peaking.
In a moment my nails are going to my arms.
My doubt is leaking.
My words are shrieking.
Silence.
There is a warmth within now,
Full of potential.
My hands retract from my arms.






The simple fluttering of eyelashes
Turn and become that of reality;
A beauty that can't be described.
The easy going reassurance
Turned into that of a zipper;
One that is open and untied.
With a single motion,
Tugged to the ocean,
Back again
To run from sight,
Falling back,
Into the night.
Waves. Waves are crashing now.
Noise. My thoughts are restless now.
When did the season change?
How am I here?
The sun is rising.
My heart holds no fear.

To My Mother

I don't know when I started to see you hurting so much.
I remember when I was younger, I would be downstairs with your best friend's daughters, and I don't remember you sitting with us.
I don't remember you coming downstairs smiling, in a soft t-shirt with a nice pair of jeans, nor do I remember you wanting to go out much.
But I remember your door being closed a lot, and when you'd come out you'd try to smile and pull my head to your lips.
I remember how you used to make me and my brother that hamburger helper almost every night because you couldn't cook.
I remember you gaining weight, then suddenly losing all of it.
I remember feeling the waves of sadness that you radiated, even though you would wear that red lipstick to emphasize your smiles.
But I didn't realize when I was younger that you were sad.
I was used to coming home to a babysitter, or staying at a friend's house.
I was used to not seeing you very often.
It felt normal.
And I wasn't mad at you for it.
When people asked me what was going on with my mum I would say
"She's sleepy, is all."
Or
"She's had a long few days."
But they weren't a few days.
They were years.
Mum, you've suffered for years.
And I didn't know when I was younger that you were depressed.
I didn't know until recently that you were sick.
I didn't know that it took you the majority of your living life to get the help you deserved.
And I am so, incredibly, terribly sorry that my younger self couldn't see.
I am so, incredibly sorry that even now I can't help you very much because we're trying to push each other up when we end up pushing each other down.
And I am so, terribly sorry that I make you worry.
I just--
God.
I just, I care so much that my heart hurts.
And I care so much that I can't not cry while I'm trying to explain what I've been wanting to say.

I remember,
when I was around fourteen or fifteen, when you told me about how depressed you got.
How you wanted to hang yourself.
But you couldn't because you know I would be the one to find you there, lifeless.
And you knew that would shatter me.

I remember,
when I told you about what happened
very recently,
and the fact that I had been living with the information for four-five years
and you began crying.

I remember so much, mum.
I am so sorry for so much.

And I 'm sorry for when I get such low energy, and such a low mood, that the few times we see each other,
I'm not really there.
It isn't you, mum.
It's my head.
It's my emotions.
It's the pressure in my chest.
That I've placed on myself.
That I inadvertently placed on myself.

I just need to say that I love you.
I love dad too... but I can't talk about him now.
Just like I can't talk about my brother.

Because we keep bruising each other,
whereas whenever my mood gets low around them,
it's like they're wearing a bullet proof vest, allowing my bullets to ricochet.
Our bullets don't ricochet.

Another Secret

She walked down the dim road, arm wrapped around the girl whom she was best of friends with.
Her friend held her waist, and they laughed about nothing as the last light shut its eyes.
As they walked, they spoke about the future.  They spoke about the past.
And in a moment, the light from both of their eyes became solemn, and the girl let her arm drop off of her friends shoulders.
She tied her long curly red hair up into a bun, looking at her friend's deep brown eyes.
"Is it okay, that I don't tell you everything Sammy?"
Sammy brushed her black hair away from her face, letting the brisk air lick her cheeks pink.
After a few minutes, she nodded once.  "I hope you don't tell me everything.  Because if you did, you wouldn't have anything that was truly yours."
The red haired girl felt a wave of sadness slam into her gut, and she decided to simply sit on the cold cement sidewalk.
"I don't feel like anything is truly mine anyways."  She sighed.
Sammy sat down across from her, bringing her gaze to her friend's.  "You do.  It may not seem like it, but you do.  All the feelings you get when you see the boy you fancy?  That's yours.  The inhaling of icy air when you run?  Yours.  And the way you smile when you remember something that made you happy?  Absolutely yours.  Cris, you have so much that's yours."
Cris allowed doubt to cloud her eyes.
"It just seems that whatever I want doesn't matter.  A tattoo?  My mom promised it a year ago, it never happened and now she's getting one.  My friend got one before me when I have been wanting one for seven years."  She punched the ground, "Seven years, Sam."  Her hands clenched into fists.
Sammy fiddled her hands, unknowing what to say.
"Your hair is unique."  Sam ran her hand through Cris's icy red hair, pulling it out of the bun.
"It does nothing anymore."  She brushed away her hand.
"Your eyes are stunning."  Sammy was sounding exasperated now.
"They make me look placid."  Cris snapped back.
Sammy stood up, ruffling her own hair.  "Your clothes are so different and beautiful compared to others."
Cris stood up too, crossing her arms.  "That doesn't mean anything.  Everything I wear is baggy and black.  I look like a murderer, but I can't wear other clothes that girls wear! Like crop tops, or skirts or dresses or shit like that!"  Tears were pooling in her pale blue eyes now.
Sammy screamed now, shoving her friend's shoulders, "Well I can't tell you things you want to hear until you feel better, because you won't Cris!  People can tell you you're beautiful, it doesn't make a difference!  People can tell you you're talented in art, it won't help you feel better!  I can't do that for you!  I can't help, even though I wish I could!  Do you think I like seeing you so sad that you can't hold conversations well?  That you can't eat in front of people without feeling fat?  That you can't stop comparing yourself to other people?  I can't help that!"  Sammy was sobbing now, "I can't help that."
Sammy hugged Cris tightly, crying into her shoulder.
Cris didn't speak.
Sammy whispered in her ear, "That's what you need to do.  Somehow.  Remember the little things that are yours.  That make you happy.  That will help.  You can help you."
They were silent for a long time.  Letting the cool air wrap around them.
Letting them give themselves each another moment that was truly theirs.

To a Pessimist

Her ashy ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk.   Her little hands gripped the cottony rose bag that held her school kits.  As she made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school.   She stepped on cue to each syllable, giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme.    Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky, chasing the birds that glided through the air.  She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one of them felt like a bird.

     Her thoughts walked home with her, until she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy.   But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped through the door.   She slid off her small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door.  She turned, taking in the dust filled cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor.  Although she barely blinked as she hobbled into the kitchen.  Pots and filthy dishes filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare.  All except for a rotten apple. 

     Her feet danced over the glass as she pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim lips.  She spun into the living room, holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn couch.  She sat there for a bit, listening to the dead clock that hung on the wall.   The big hand stuck on three.  She imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click.  She crunched the cereal melodically, humming as she kicked her feet.   Her eyes scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.  The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy yellow filled the shades.  She placed the box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo.  She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the current eighties mix.  She twirled and jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson.  But as she jumped against the ground, the stereo silenced.  Her cheeks flushed as she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became clear that the technology was fried. 

     Slight creaking sounded from the wooden staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the stairs.  A woman who looked older than she was placed her frail hands against the railing.  Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s, and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.  

     “Lynn dear, how was your day?”  Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she pulled the child into a weak hug.  Lynn smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living room.

     “Oh, mama I learned a new song today!  And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he tore my music sheet into confetti.”  The woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama.  I used the confetti to throw into the air.  Everyone was having so much fun with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.”  Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the woman’s response.

     Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she sat down the couch sunk with her.  She patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did.  He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for it.”

     “But he did-“

     “How could you know he meant it?  No one means anything now a day.  They’re all just a bunch of liars.”  The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through Lynn’s curls. 

     Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s ribs.  Her mother frowned thoughtfully.  They sat there with Lynn’s head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains.   Finally her mother spoke.

     “Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s today.” 

     Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the couch.  Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch though. 

     “They told me I’m getting worse.  We are going to have to find you a foster home soon.”  Lynn tilted her head.  

     “But did they tell you when you’d be at your worst?”  As her mother shook her head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we still have time.”   Her mother dropped her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.  But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.”  She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying.  I know we won’t be together for much longer, but with the time we do have… we can make everything special.”  Her eyes glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn.  Her face was solemn.  The wrinkles creased around her eyes and mouth as she parted her cracked lips.  Lynn’s mother took in her daughter.  She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her curiously.  Usually when her mother spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative.  She expected her mother to say something about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die anyways.  But instead, her mother lifted herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort.  She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never fully leaving the cold ground.  Finally, she reached the door.  With all her strength she pulled the door open.  She lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off.  As she turned back into the house, her eyes caught Lynn’s.  Lynn watched her mother move more than she had in the past six months.  She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and place the wreath in it thoughtfully.

     And then she smiled at Lynn.  Ever so slightly.

 

Covered

It clung against the wall as his large frame shuffled as far away from it as he could.
The opaque figure seemed to stare at him with an eye-less face.  He didn't know what made him more frightful- the fact that he had been seeing this... 'thing' for the past four weeks, or that no one else seemed to see it like he did. 
He blinked.
The figure didn't fade. 
As he loomed on, his legs became the same heavy weights that they usually became.  His arms didn't sway as much compared to other people.  And it felt as though a shadow veiled his mind, as though a tree blocking sunlight.
But he couldn't figure out what the tree was created by.
His eyes flicked to the figure walking closely to the wall. 
He glanced at the other people around him. 
There was one woman there with a child.  She was cradling her sobbing son while kissing his cheek.  With him in her arms, his tears faded rather quickly, and he felt a sudden slash in his side.
A gasp escaped his throat as he gripped his side.  But there was no mark.  He looked at the figure, and he could feel the grin enveloping its dark face.
He could feel what the slash left behind.
Almost an emptiness.
As though a void of where love should be.  He looked again at the woman and son, and felt the slashing feeling again.
Jealousy?
No, he shook his head roughly.  He didn't want children.  But as he walked by the small family, the digging in his side grew harder to bear. 
He could feel the endless pupils grazing his skin.
The figure still seemed to go unnoticed.
But as his eyes scraped over the being, he noticed how it seemed taller.
A sharp shiver ran down his spine, his steps increasing with speed. But there, in the corner of his eye he could see the being keeping his pace. 
He began sprinting, filled with an internal pain he couldn't comprehend.
Everything seemed to become grey.
Gray skyscrapers, grey cars, grey families that were holding each other.
He cried out, collapsing to the cement, and the figure seemed to sit beside him.
Waiting.
He stared at it, as though he expected it to attack him.
Just like how it attacked his side.
And how it had blocked his colours.
And how it blocked his sun.
He blinked again, and he looked up into the cloud covered sky.
Grey.
A person walked through the being.
He staggered backwards in shock.
They walked through the being.
He looked at the black figure, and slowly reached his hand out.
But no matter how far he reached, he couldn't touch it.
He couldn't feel it.
He scanned around him again and fear ripped through him.
Every where there were black beings.  All of them were staring at him. He could feel their icy gaze scraping down his skeleton.
He jumped up from the cement, screams erupting from his mouth.
But no one saw him.
He was alone.
Only the shadows around him paid attention to him.
The shadows of his own being.
And the shadows of other people.
They clung to him, blocking out the light that illuminated around him.
But he was in the void,
too deep to see the light.
And it hurt his heart.
It hurt his heart.

Thump

The laugh was caught in his throat as his eyes met the deep brown ones before him.                
What a stupid thought.                                                              
To laugh at.
To think that a simple stray hair could be funny.
But it was out of place.
That was funny.
But the eyes weren't laughing.
Or giddy for that matter.
They were filled with a boiling rage that-
held something.
Something
Funny.
He blinked and for a second, the eyes were black.
But the blue rings below them framed them smoothly.
Leaving little else
but fatigue
and stress
and worry.
What a stupid thought.
That he hadn't changed.
The nose in front of him was thick but pointed.
Not up
nor down.
Just. Pointed.
But the pale glow he saw
was troubling.
He turned his head with curiosity.
The face before him didn't shift.
It instead seemed to laugh.
What... three days?
Weeks?
How long has he seen it.
The look before him.
What a stupid thought.
He's seen that look every day since he could...
remember...
But remember what?
In which context did he want to remember?
Did he want to see?
Of course.
Of course.
What a stupid thought.
But those eyes did not want to see.
But he wanted to see.
HE wanted to see.
He hushed himself.
Twice.
Again.
He leaned closer.
No.
Further away.
He took the nail of his thumb
and dug it into his palm.
But as the blood formed a small pool
And he rose his hand towards those
dark eyes
there wasn't a mark on their palm.
He dug deeper.
Screaming with rage.
But this time he dug to his wrist.
He lifted it.
Nothing.
No.
This isn't right.
What a stupid thought.
Of course it's right.
If he can't see it
it isn't there.
But it is.
He sees it.
Right there.
He dug further
up to his elbow.
Nothing showing.
To his neck.
Another agonizing scream.
To his chest.
Cries of fury.
To his heart.
And he dug there until he felt the solemn
thump
thump
thump
And he dug.
He looked into those eyes.
They were laughing.
At him.
What a stupid thought.
He couldn't be laughing at himself.
He wasn't even grinning.
He was shrieking.
In hatred.
But then he fell.
To the marble underneath him.
thump
thump
But he could still see him.
The look he's giving him
as he sits in front of him calmly.
thump
As his eyes shut
he saw
Those brown eyes
Happy.

The throbbing in the shadows never ending and constant hold my eyes exposed to the stars the wonder of the abyss gentle and heart breaking in the most lovely way the breathless sighs that envelope my lungs dance within the roaring sea below and my stomach lurches and my heart is screeching and my mouth is sewn from words. the wind is cutting my face as it tugs me with fire wailing at me not to fly but I see the rocks' fins and I see their frozen teeth and I push away from the white speckled void and I don't feel the ice nor the shattering agony that pierces through my gut because my head was wrecked too long ago to feel anything else

-e.w