The Cycle Of Pain I. Innocence and Naïvety. That was my name. A soft smile. A painted blush On a round face. And spray of freckles. Deep blue eyes seeking beauty in shadows. II. Exposure. That was what happened. A tight-lipped smile. A startled blush On a hollowed face. A flurry of freckles. Darkened eyes franticly searching for that beauty again. III. Aftershocks That continued long after. An absent minded smile. A shameful blush On a tear stained face. A smattering of freckles. Blurry eyes staring dead at the beaded lines. IV. Recovery...? That's still being worked on. A pensive smile. A brighter blush On a hardened face. An array of freckles. Deep blues eyes trying to focus ahead. V. Repeat.

Fire In Its Forms A small house and A scarlet room full of fireplaces. Some large, some small. Each unique. A creme frame with delicately carved fluid designs is one, the wood painted over many times. Maintained for appearance. A constant flame that dims rarely. A sturdy red brick and mortar, built and rebuilt over time. A weathered crucifix sitting still on the mantel. Warmth filling the room from its comforting tendrils. A deep purple with splatters of white and yellow. Not your everyday, but still beautiful to see. A piece of art within itself. The deep orange hews change constantly and drasticly. Bright blues to rich reds. The passiom of the flame never ceasing. And then that grey furnace. Small. Unoticed in the room of grandiour. Dead ash lay in the grate. Its been cooled for many years, The fire long gone. But recently a spark there... a deadly flame threatening to grow. The potential of a roaring fire was always there, just left looked over against the others. Its an obvious piece but of little significants. Or so I thought... That dead ash caught the flame, and then burst forth into the room from its grate. It licked at the other fireplaces. It devoured hungrily all it could find. The whole of the room was consumed... and then the whole of the house collapsed in, being also dominated and and ingested by the fire. The onlooker walks by, through the deep forest and all they find is a pile of black ash amognst the charred trees.

I Didn't Know I didn't know That What you did to me Was wrong; So I let it Happen Without so much As a word. You Said it was Normal. I didn't know It wasn't. You Said it was Fun. I didn't know It would cost me my #life. And now Because of You I'm stuck. I could Have made it Stop. Why I didn't? I wanted your Approval. I thought that I would get it Through your Twisted ways. But after it's all Said And Done, I still sit here In my puddle With new scars Made from old memories I had forgot Existed.

Have you ever played in a garden, stuck your little fingers in the red dirt, felt it squish in your hands? Probably not since you were little. I lived in that place. That shining garden. My toes were rooted in the soil, along with a variety of foilage and flowers. I had my place amongst the swaying trees and tall grasses. But then I got too old for that garden. I was uprooted and thrown into a forest of cement and concrete. It was crisp and clean, but I couldnt sink my feet in. The earth was too hard. It was easier to just exist on the surface and tumble from one place to another. Now im back in that garden. But when i was gone, a flood came. A flood of Noise Deadlines #life. The deep tunneks my roots had made were filled in. Only an indent, a small dip in the earth represented my home. I cant fit there anymore. I back away, trying to let my roots burrow elsewhere, but I'm reminded over and over That it never can be.

Sometimes (gasp) I start (gasp) Spiraling (gasp) Because I believe (gasp) That others (gasp) View me (gasp) The way (gasp) I view (gasp) Myself.