Mistakes Deep in a hole where no one will find All of the memories you left behind All the friends you refuse to miss Mask it with another meaningless kiss Hate, hate, love and hate Beating erratically Out of time I worry for you. I wonder why All these scars will never heal Sleeping around for your next meal Why didn't you listen? I wonder why I hate to say this but I'm glad I left you behind

Rain Rain Go Away Little droplets of rain And little droplets of blood Both mean the same Both leave mud Can anybody hear me? Will anybody help? Nobody understands Me. I reach out to help you My darling dear Your fort's up so strong And you refuse to hear I blame myself I know it's wrong I long for your health You just have to be strong

The rarer something is, the more beautiful we perceive it to be

The Pretender She sighed and continued toking on her cigarette. Once again she had failed to even reach 200,000 on a game where her friends brag about reaching 10 million. It wasn't really the game that bothered her; more what it represented. Her inadequacy. Her failure to achieve what her peers could. Her hatred for not fitting in. That's what her #life was, more than anything - a constant battle. A battle to wear the right clothes, say the right things and be the right person. She tried again at this game that had become so serious to her. Less and less like a game and more and more like her entire #life. She didn't enjoy playing this game but, she tried again. A thought came over her and with a wave of self hatred she sped herself off the edge of the wall - into the lava that awaited beneath. Still playing the game, of course. The lava was like an abyss; ready to drag those unfortunate, lost human beings down; where their disguises were no more and they were revealed as fakes. She looked down at her bright pink, flowery 'rara' skirt and sighed once again. Her muscular legs did not suit this style, neither did her person. The truth was, she didn't know who her person was. It's not as if she was a Tom-boy dressing as a girly girl. It wasn't that simple. No, she had no idea who she was: what she was. All the categories of people that there are in the world and she couldn't fit herself into any of them. She didn't belong anywhere, she was a fake. Her whole #life was a game- a game that she hated and couldn't wait to end.

Scarlet Zinnias If an overgrown garden needs to be mowed or weeded, what's the damned point in doing it? The grass shall grow again, the weeds will make their murderous way to your beloved scarlet zinnias and undo their very meaning. Nothing can be perfect forever and therefore, nothing can be perfect. I envy those who have the motivation to keep their lawns mowed, bushes trimmed and flowers blooming; for my garden is unrecognisable. From the tabula rasa gardens that I was born in to, I have nothing to be proud of. No asters, cattails or palm trees flourish in my garden. I am swamped and trapped by the masses of deading pine trees, sickly yellow roses and the occasional begonia. Maybe I could do with a few more begonias. When I was born I had a lovely fir tree that I thought loved me; even that is crumbling from the tension and emotion and thoughts that escape over time. My garden is now inhospitable to any other flower, of that I am aware, and of that I am heartbroken.