**update**

I havent abandoned this. I honestly am working on new entries. I love how this story is unfolding. more to come soon, I promise.

Entry #5 How To Disappear (but not completely)

Absent is he that burned my seek.
In my light he shall keep.

Entry #4 Wake Me Up When April Ends

Sickened by the sweet scent of Lavendar breeding in the air this spring has neared. My eyes dance about the nothings in the black. Up all night without a rhyme or reason for the pitchfork that jams itself in the back of my head. Tiptoe out of this church that keep me prisoner and out onto the unconscious lawn and underneath 3 AM. The dampness moists my bare feet.
Sitting curbside I falsey inhale blue smoke dancing beneath my nose. Who is he that stands so near but is too blind to visual me? Suits me fine - for now. This could lead to somewhere I need to be- or shouldn't be. I wont take the gamble of my acute curiousness. He is not for me and I am not for him. How dare he turn and ask of my locket dancing from my neck; offer a drag of his cigarette that he raises calmly to and from his lips; allow the moonlight to rape his skin, kissing its shadows and stars shine in his eyes? Go back to your cell of your nightmares, its alot easier to face. Or digest. I can't decide. For me or him.
The lavendar snakes my throat. He sees me. He's alive. So am I, even if its for a moment. These four walls wont make me fine.

Entry 3: The Opposite Of Stars Is All I Ever Are

I cannot be anything else but other than what I am. If that makes me lifeless and empty to some and useful to others then here I shall stay. Here with the worms in the earth or with the birds in the sky, take your pick, I'm still deciding on mine. What's left of me shall be yours for the taking. Or dissceting. Whatever fascinates you the most. No pages of wit or reason can fufil the need for others to compare me. I am not them; never will be them; nor like them. They are vermon that fills my veins unwelcomedly. If I am never that girl of your dreams, your enemy, your wife, your one night stand, your confidante, your lifeline, drug of choice, sunshine, I will not hold that against you. But I may hold it against myself. If I stay here. Alone. But I'm not that girl either.
I am not perfect but I am perfect for being me. Inside my head, with the living. Outside with the dead. From my own private prison that I created and only let you in when I feel like it. When I need it. Need to. But you don't nuture me. I don't need you. Or do I.
I like your smile. It makes me smile. If I didn't see it everyday, somehow, I may sufforcate. I want to lie under the stars with you if you want to lie under the stars with me. I'm not perfect but this is all I have. I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me.

Entry 2: Little Children

There is no pill to take that will suffice the awful void that occupies my every pore. I want to be a child again when all the world is yours for the taking, instead of the world taking you. Bright eyed and tiny fingers pressed against the window watching the world exist on the other side of the looking glass. I wonder.

Children dancing in the park is romantically reminicent of my youth, when my days were filled with nothing but hope, instead of dissatisfaction and the taste for something more than what life has fed me.
Children that have yet to be heartbroken or broken by a lack of heart; known to war in and outside their homes and themselves; that have yet to find out how lies to others and more importantly, themsleves, become first nature, upon securing their identity. Instead they dance carefully inside the luminous glow upon the perfect grass as the evening breeze parts it ever so slightly.
Their mothers and their fathers keep them safe at night until its time for them to leave home and then the world will unleash its tongue and eat them of everything that once was pure and innocent and made some sense. The way it did once to me.

I relish in the fact that one day someone will wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be okay. The way a parent nurses their child upon a fall and scrape of a knee or an elbow.
But today is not that day.

Neither will be tomorrow.

Entry 1: The Melody Of A Broken Wing

The ticking clock rapes the silence that has befriended me into the current state of which I exist. It is not enough of the cherry blossoms dangling from the tree branches; the crisp in the air creeping through the window, nor the sunlight dancing across the walls or the twittering of birds between one another, that can lift the pregnant dark shadow that skins itself deep in my thoughts.

I have exercised the ways to deafen the words that sing in my ears like a broken needle kissing a vinyl record. But I am human, alive and all things otherwise prone to linger on the past and that torture oneself slowly into an incredible abyss of self pity and despair.

The words swim from your mouth, rolling effortlessly off your tongue, with no recognition of remorse or regret. “I can’t be with you’s and “I need time for myself’s” are wonderfully orchestrated like an accomplished symphony. Your once magnetic green eyes look so empty and straight into mine without the life or hope they once did. With my heart ripped from my body, held in your hands, the blood drains from my veins as you walk away and out of my life.

Lifeless in this place, unable to move, breathe, sleep, eat, remove the increasingly romantic disease from the depths of my thoughts, you are never far behind as I want to wish nothing but good things when I know that’s not what is impregnating yours.

I forget sometimes why I am here to endure what is left of my very being. My feet firmly on the ground instead of the ledge, but the ledge is never far from my thoughts, or temptation. A ceremony of a new beginning is always at arms length, just not mine. Deformed by crippling fracture of the unknowing and unexplained, I print on the sheets of my journal. I’ll press the needle down and wait for the wind to change its direction to stand on the ledge once again.