Elucidating Questions

I am told I was good, but these days it doesn’t stick. Just another kid, nothing new.

Piano or singing or languages.

Ran away with the youngest now second eldest in hand.

They were fighting, certainly something to do with who was at fault

For causing the fever or the seizures, or whatever they were fighting about then.

They family is worth most, yet I wait still for it to be true.

It was then, as some point, once upon a time I believed my parents loved me

And I was often wrong. But back when we pretended everything was fine.

How many times must I burn?

I don’t remember.

I remember being afraid.

I remember that awful feeling I remember being sickened by things I had never seen that existed inside anyways.

Afraid of the fire, afraid of the vehicles, afraid of everything that wasn’t

Then home.

Taken away for whatever reason, tricked by a cruel old woman.

She’s dead now, as time will.

Three years, school at home and forests to play in and places where it felt like love existed.

Singing outloud never brought anything, singing inside only brings silence.

Didn’t understand, people when they were. Had some friends they all disappear.

At the point.

When there were hands touching and places unseen. No one came to the rescue in the box, and no one ever will.

The memories live playback playback playback.

No.

And it hurts.

And I can’t breathe.

I feel sick.

Total shut down.

Hidden away one year, the sixth.

Met a person who knows, who we haven’t seen. Faded away, cursed his name, tried to pull us back, back to the box.

A good person, surely, who knows these days.

Three

It seemed like friends after we were thrown out the first time for not reaching her bars

Two perhaps, one disappeared.

That’s how they go, slipping away every time.

Every time like the waves on the shore, except the shore is always there.

The first time the place was left, for a place that always called, the stones and the castles and the thousands of years.

Who wants to debate, the sun is the one who sings in the music and screams it loud.

And the ones partying are the ones playing the parts, the melody is in this song too.

Cold.

The thief who tells every secret to get ahead in the game. Thief, the feeling of the secrets being told

A summary of twenty.

The joke is that some of it, but I don’t know what, until it happens.

Seven thousand steps, the upward climb to what could be.

Five thousand promises unanswered, called, dragged into the other, the below.

In the under, over my head, under the feelings of drowning.

Hold out your hand, or use words taken by every person who silenced and cut out the tongue.

How could we ever write half of it? Never again, because we thought safety was on the list.

Write a story of a life, forgotten.

Write what was done, when it merely doesn’t matter.

Be brave, twice?

When it was already unwanted once. To restart from the beginning back to before.

Back to the beginning again.

Why are you making me do this?

Let’s start a fight, let’s talk about the past, let’s go back.

Hahaha.

Hahahahaha.

Sick.

Let’s point more fingers when words will never be said. Let’s talk about all the things taken away and away because no we did not but let’s pretend

We did this to ourselves.

See she would rather us dead, was it not expressed?

All these people who know

The person who was my first call when everything fell and I wanted to be that person too,

But always kicked out and pushed away.

One safe haven on a tightrope that burns at both ends.

The words of a rose, but others would smell nicer.

Or sweeter. Or something.

I went to the place that was once home and wished them peace and happiness even though

They’d rather me dead.

When all I wanted was to keep alive, regardless of taking away and the questions it made

That one more light going out in the sky is never a wish

For any, but I.

No regrets felt if you just reach out every time it’s a lie.

At the end of the line spoken like these things that never mattered. Meant it or not as soon as the heart gets what it thought was real,

It’s just right back down here.

I felt the hit I didn’t hear. The words of the lyrics the feeling of the music it’s just this beating, it doesn’t but it could help

Someone who isn’t me, if you let it in does it really?

Would be a nice thing to know, someone who cares.

After all they ignore it, the internal struggle every day, to try to stop it from happening again.

Just didn’t want to lose anymore, keep hearing about scores and like it’s a game when it wasn’t supposed to be.

I suppose the words of encouragement were goading to make it worse.

Just keep trying.

Every day making a fool of myself, while they continue to shine.

As if I wanted anything else.

I may hate it all, but it doesn’t change the work done or the taking.

If we notice them we wander. How to keep them out of our pounding heads.

How come?

Wish to the sky for them. Yes I hear it, it’s the same song, if I walk into the thoughts of them,

The words of every song lead back. The words connect.

I wish I had scissors for every line, so that I could separate, in silence.

Wanting stories of reality not the stars when it’s my one remaining place to hide, but yet master of course what can I do for you

Wake up, for nothing.

Dreaming up how many ways to die.

Dreaming up how many ways they can benefit.

Wake up in the morning thinking about how there is never home.

Wake up in the morning knowing I could never trust anything.

Wake up in the morning and once again I have been forced to remain alive.

Held breath, broken hearts, every breath taken hopefully hopefully.

But the story’s not over gleeful bullshit.

And make a wish to the sky and the wish to the sky is nothing.

The jack and the queen of spades, and yet they think I made it up.

It’s the same every day and off with it. Does it really need to happen every single day like the same the same the same?

And, naturally, it goes quiet once it’s too late.

The queen of love sits above looking down. The lawful, the just, watches as it breaks.

The whisper from the horizon, hidden away in the field so no one can see or hear the despair, the desperation, the need, the want.

Fingers pointed in ten directions, ten truths that cannot be denied, ten truths proven and their families of hundreds of watchers.

Surely someone has noticed that the toy is broken, that nothing fixes it, that the remedy is not at fault, but the remedy no longer works.

Fooled into thinking there was no such thing as a caste system, that anyone had the freedom to speak to anyone.

This casm that was not even noticed until it was too late and something which to this day still makes me sick,

A strange and deep disparity, and I believe those on the bottom have been fooled into thinking equality ever applied

To the nothings below, the elite have fooled us. The puppeteers pull the strings, and we aren’t the players, we are always the audience.

We are inconsequential.