0 to 79, to 83,

Christams Eve in a field.
In the shower.
On a pool table.

Only two years away.
Is that what I'm supposed to be?
How I'm supposed to act?

I don't understand,
How do they not feel dirty or unclean?
Was it love or even affection?
Or was is just lust?

I cannot understand their desicions.
Why would you do that?
Act that way?

Passing others around as though they were toys?
Shouldn't you at least be able to remember who they were?
Names?
Faces?

Is this the norm?
Are you all like this?
How am I supposed to feel comfortable with this?

If this is how I'm supposed to be then I refuse.
I don't know how to start,
but I'll wait a little longer.

I refuse to behave like I don't care.
I saw your face,
you were embarrassed, and I don't want that.
I don't want to feel that regret.

The cold envelopes me,
pushes in from every side;
surrounding me, overwhelming me.

Feelings akin to fear and dread rush through me,
filling my veins,
flushing out any stable mind set,
spiraling me down into unease and something greater.
Something worse.
Making me tired, weary.
Breaking me down.
Pushing me farther away from shore.

Reaching out, holding on,
hoping for the passing that will bring the light.

Numb.
Eyes unfocused.
Head throbbing.
Ears ringing.

No, there's real sound.
Answered.
"Hello?"
Tentative voices.

"Sister?"
I voice I haven't heard in months.
"Brother? What time is it?"

"...9:30 my time. So. Oh, 12:30 your time."
First greeting in months.
Emotions running haywire.

I give up.
I give in.
No anger, only happiness.

Quiet.
No music.
No sound.
No creaking floorboards.

Contentedness overflows my veins.
The silence is overpowering,
Too loud for my ears,
But I embrace it.
Joyful for the feeling.
Joyful for feeling at all.

No fear.
No apprehension.

For once it is welcome.

Morning Visitor

He barges in.
Loud.
Obnoxious.
Childish.

It's his way of saying,
"I love you little sister"
and
"Have a good day"

He doesn't know how to share.
Feelings bottled up.
Scars reopened.
Addictions continued.
Until he overflows with grief.

How long?
How long until he's better?

No one answers.
No one knows.

I'd help him if I could.
I try to tell him.
He's too proud for that.
Hiding from me.

I wonder

I hate what I've been reduced to.
Forced to hide behind these masks.
Cowerdness overtakes my very being.
Shaking me senseless.
Forget the confidence I relentlessly project.
More masks.

But I force it upon myself.
It is I who hides the hurt. Who hides the pain. And the want of something better.
You would too. I think. Who wouldn't?

I don't relish in the events of the past.
I wish they would rewind themselves.
I wish I could forget.
I wish I could forgive.

I wish...
I...
I wish this.
And I wish that.
Fully knowing my wishes are in vain.

But I still hope for that day.

When the pain will fade.
When forgivness will come.
For myself? From myself?

I wonder.

So here I am agian.

Another try.
Does it matter?
I like to think it does.
I know it won't.

So much hope.
So much faith.
So much will.

Forgotten.
Betrayed.
Thrown away for so much less.

Why do I even bother?
It's not as if he even tries anymore.
I just want him back.
I just want him home.

"No more"
I wish to say.
Yell at him. Yell to him.
Beg of him. Beg of them.
Make them understand my pain.

But I know I won't.
I know I'll stay quiet.

I know I'll pretend I didn't hear them screaming.
Yelling.
Cursing.

I'll pretend it's all a game.
That it doesn't embarrass me.
That it doesn't make me cry.

I'll pretend I matter.
That they care.
That they'd listen.