The Clock Is Winning. *ding*

June Sixteenth, Two Thousand and Eleven -

Words I want to say.
That you want to hear.
A whole part of me broken into pieces.
The pieces are sharp like blades in my chest.
If I try to create a word picture for you
to let you see what's there,
to let you inside...
the Blades get angry.
they tear me apart from the inside out.
If you could see the bleeding scars.
If you could see the battle wounds...
You wouldn't hate me for my silence.

June Eighteenth, Two Thousand and Eleven -


I want to grab these flying moments,
like a runaway train,
with both hands.

I want to set my feet in the dirt 
and not give a single inch.

Not until I'm ready.
But I'm not!
I'm not ready.

I don't want to say
all of these heart twisting Goodbyes.

Not now.
Not ever.
I'm Not ready.

I want to fight time,
fist to fist,
second for second on the clock,
and win.

I want it to STOP.
Now.
Right Now.

It's all like sand running though my fingers...
I can't close my fingers.

I can't.
Not if my life depended on it.
Not Now.
I'm not ready.
Not Ever.