Collecting Scars

The rain is supposed to wash away.

To render the dirt and leave the earth new



























My mystery lies within my soul.

An untouched area I yet to behold.

I know not what lies within this box.

A secret treat covered in locks.

Ticking goes the clock to bold.

Always do what you are told.

Following the lines, so neat and wary.

Many of us a burden to carry.

We walk along the folds so close.

Embrace the bitter wind.

The shallow breath that begins the end,

Behind the veil is the path we seek.

Away from the shadows that cut deep.

A twisting road that travels deep.

Into the back of the soul it creeps.

The shimmering waters of the abyss.

Upon the lake, my box sits.

I cannot fathom why,

But the emotions that did rise.

Longing for the cool embrace,

Of the forever lakes.

The silver tint of the swollen moon.

If only I could get across,

To hold that solemn box.

Wrap it within the warm.































A haunting melody echoes somewhere in her mind. A lust for a new path. A desire to flee burns within her breast. It is a road of loneliness. A way of destruction. There is only but a smattering of diamonds across the velvet sky. A world of sorrow that one cannot escape. Fire fuels her steps. A dance that is a weary tango. Driving her between the two paths. Flushed with excitement she begins to take a faltering step unto the dark road. Hips in tune to the rhythm of her heart, It is a desire to become someone else. An escape from the past. The crys that torture her sleep. The pain that echo’s hollowly in her veins. Too many tears have shed. This is a world where power is within her grasp. Where the shadows cling, rend and tear at pallid flesh. It will strip her bare. Peel back the flesh to expose the naked bone.

No fear.

No doubt.

She can be free.

The voices that whisper shall spill.

Blood that oozes down into the crease, swallowed by the damask earth.

Halting.

Plagued by grief.

Still….there is sorrow. This time it is only hers. The molten lead fills her veins. Pain from memories.

There is no escape.

There is no rebirth.

A dreamer forced to awake.

Her heart no longer beating.

There is no pull towards the heavens. She has seen too much. Felt too much. Stained in black the world is now purged a bone white. She cries for the forlorn God. Forgiveness is not granted.

The black sheep.

Whisper…whisper.

Sliver blade.

So thin the pain is bright.

Where is the sweet sleep?

Where is her dreams?

Welcome….

Welcome..

Reach to the sky…

Welcome…

Bring forth the knife…

Carve the acceptance letter into the trees.

break the limbs and set yourself free.

Deny me.

Deny her.

Forgotten.

It will end in silence.

The echo of breath.

This is the beginning…

The end…

The middle…

The fallen..

The risen…

This is the whole…

empty

spilled

Save yourself.

There is none.

Fairy

love

Pain

Death

Lust

Lost

Upon

Time

























Today I found out a truth that stuck with me…



“The moment you begin to believe in something; the moment you give it power over you.”



This is a simple line from a book I was reading, “The devouring” Good book, even if it is for young adults, it also gave birth to a slew of thoughts.



Fear exists when you believe in fear, if one believes in nothing: nothing can take hold of yourself.



Which leads me to a few different ideas.

First one that came to mind is this:



God

Maybe the reason that so many ‘experience’ godly things is because they simply will it to be. After all even in high school, I did have a class where we learned self-fulfilled prophesy. After all they do tell you that you can do anything if you put your mind to it.



Which is where I have an experiment lined up for this.



The second ties with the first.

Perhaps all is in existence. Everything you read about, monsters, ghouls, magick, ghosts, demons, fairies, ECT. Exist. The mind is able to process and block out things we don’t want to believe in. What if that is the case? Things just leave us be until we look first.

For this I would need a child. They have clean minds.

Free and open.

Perfect to test my theory.



Last but not least: we are just beings in primordial soup. (Taken from an episode of Neon Genesis Evangelion) We are here because that is how we perceive us to suppose to be. Colors do not exist in reality, we create it. Colors look different to each of us, but we are taught that they are this and that.

This is a thought that has crossed my mind since I was little. A complex thought for an elementary school isn’t it? For this I have an idea, but I have to be on board 100% no doubt or else it wouldn’t work. So I will save it for last.



The power of the mind…

Beautiful and deadly…

The most powerful thing in the world.

And I am about to put these to the test.



-K.L































Often, as humans do, we ponder upon the point of existence. Who am I? Who is Kaylee? Is it comprised of how others perceive me or how I perceive myself to others? What am I? Flesh, bone, blood…love? Am I to exist to love others? To serve? Am I a vessel to be used as a tool to give others self-purpose? That is how I viewed things. My value. My voice. My freedom. True freedom is something to be feared. Too many possibilities none but one’s self. Isolation. Humans are not built for isolation. I am not built for isolation. Though I try. Alone. No fear. No one. But to help. To show love to another brings self-worth. Is it because when I love others I allow myself to love me? But what is me? What is love? Do I truly believe in love? I did once, or at least I believed it to be true. Was that my thoughts or another’s? I was taught to love. So was it programmed into me?

Does he love me?

Often plagued I am by this. Thought that I fight, I die to protect those who love me. For those who love me give me worth. But I fight. I die because I love them.

Which is true?

Which started the chain? The more I love, the more I hurt. The more who love me, the more I feel.

To feel nothing.

Walling off the inner self. I am one, but am I many? I wish to exist in the minds of others. If I don’t. Do I really exist? That is why there are gods. If they love you then you must exist, you must have value.

Humans exist to feel.

Selfish. We are selfish. We help and come together to give us a value. We invent idols to fill the void. We exist to know we exist. We are simply here because we will it to be.

This is so.

So shall it be.

Because I am human.

And I will it so.



-K.L















Kaylee



• Afraid of being alone

• Afraid of being close

• In love

• Afraid he will leave me

• Find out that I am unworthy

• Afraid of not being needed

• Afraid of being left behind

• Trying to change self so he won’t leave

• Afraid Tyler’s true self won’t want me

• Afraid of the dark

• Afraid of myself

• Hates self

• Just want to be OK

• I just want to be loved

• Want to feel what it’s like to plan a wedding

• Want to be proud of myself

• Want a family of my own

• Want to wake up in the arms of someone who loves me

• Want to feel free

• Want to feel safe

• Need stability

• Needs to know someone cares

• Needs to feel like someone is proud of me

• Need to find self-worth

• Tired of feeling hurt

• Tired of keeping my pain



• Afraid to let go of my pain

• Afraid of being forgotten

• Want to let go

• Need to find who I am

• Want to travel

• Want to know what it’s like to have a child call me mom

• Need to belong

• Want to make those I love happy

• Want to enter the room and know that the one I love only has eyes for me

• Want to make him smile

• Want to have someone to call my own

• Need to know that there is a warm embrace for me to fall into

• Afraid of losing everything

• Hate pushing people away

• Hate feeling so small

• Want to find new people to show off my love

• Want to make silly faces while taking photos

• Want to dance beneath the stars

• Want to kiss in the rain

• Love the feeling of butterflies before I call him

• Love the way his eyes smile when he is happy

• Love lounging around with him, saying nothing at all

• Hate feeling like I don’t deserve him

• Hate finding others who seem perfect for him

• Hate/Love the way it feels right after he leaves

• Only guy I don’t mind having fuzz face

• Love the smell of him after a shower

• Feels lucky to be able to call him mine

• Scared he will never love me like I love him

• Want to spend the rest of my life with him

• Willing to die if need be

• Love doodling our characters

• Wish he never has to leave

• Want to fall asleep in his arms

• Want to break out and do something crazy and fun

• Want to pretend I am not who I am and just have fun with no regret

• Tired of trying to be someone I’m not

• Want to receive a rose for no reason

• Want to write a book

• Want to dance and sing as if no one is watching

• Want to go on walks, hand in hand

• Want to sit on a roof and gaze at the stars

• Needs to be comforted

• Wants to comfort others

• Want to hold a mini food fight while cooking

• Want to feel beautiful instead of ugly

• Hate that guys yell rude and hurtful things at me

• Want to learn how to sword fight but not as much as I want to be an archer

• Want to have a snowball fight

• Want to dig a tunnel through the snow

• Want to learn how to sculpt

• Want to live in a place with my love and my friends

• Suicidal

• Pain

• Angst

• Depression

• I want to not exist

• I want to not die

• I want to fall back into the light

• I miss my best friend

• I feel so scared

• I feel so alone

• I want someone to save me

• I want to not need anyone





























I can’t find my razor. I guess that is a good thing but I want it. I crave it. My flesh demands the familiar routine. Why am I back here? I was better. For three years I was better. I was happy. Now I am sliding. I hate everyone. Everyone is leaving. It hurts so much. I hurt so much. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to exist. I thought I was better but it was a lie. The pain is still here. I am feeling lost beneath old pain, fear, and loneliness. I am so scared. It hurts so much to admit that. God it hurts. I’m trying not to break down. I just want to shove it down and forget it. I don’t want to exist. If I don’t then I won’t feel. Where is my numbness? Please tell me I don’t exist. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel. I’m tired. So tired. Suicide has come to mind more often than I’d like. Knowing how close those stupid pills are. It’d be so easy but I can’t. There is still a glimmer of hope. But I am not worthy. Piece of shit. I hate myself. Each tear he shed shattered me into dust. Make me disappear. Please. If there is a God then he would strike me from this world. I want someone to see. I want someone to notice me in pain. Stupid old pain. I thought it was gone but I never let it go. Why? I’m a coward. I’m too afraid to let it go. Who am I without my pain? Nothing. God. Pitiful, vicious, manipulative bitch. I don’t want pitied though I play the part so well. I want something real. Something solid. I want comfort. I want to be free. I’m scared. Please don’t let him leave. He’s going too. I know because it hurts. Hurts so fucking bad that I can physically feel my heart pulse. Stupid tears. She is not too far away from me. Already the questions. I just want to break down in her arms, but I won’t. I can’t. I’m supposed to be strong. I listen to her. I comfort her. I comfort them. That is how it is to be. I want to bleed. I need to bleed. I want to sleep, need to never wake. Dirty, confused, cowardly. All those things I feel I am. Unworthy. I want to scream. This is how I felt most of my life, but these past few years. Oh my. The amazing days I had. So much joy and happiness. Nothing hurt like this anymore. I was normal. I felt normal. Now I broke it. I destroy everything. Forgive me. Someone forgive me. I am mean and viscous. My words bite to the bone. I am murder minded. I want to kill everyone. I hate everyone. I hate myself more. I feel calmer. Either this journaling is helping or I shoved it back down. I wait for a time where I am alone, hopefully then I can release some of it. Make it stop. I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live either. I feel as if I am being left behind. I feel so far away. I tried to become indifferent but I feel so much. I don’t want to feel. I can make a new razor. It’d take the edge off the pain weirdly enough. It helps. I can make a new one. Just like the old. Just melt the plastic off the pencil sharpener. I want to. My blood goes cold and I feel a rush when I think about it. It is my crutch. I need it. Can’t. I’ve done so well but I need to. Just for a little bit. No. It’s so addicting. But I need it. I crave it. At least to hold it in my hands. I need to at least touch a razor. I don’t need anything or anyone but it. I know I need someone. I want Tyler. I want to break down and know he will be there to help me back up. But I can’t ask that of him. I could never. Why should I? I am the helper. Tonight I will make a new razor if I can’t find my old one. Don’t know if I will use it, but I need it. Please someone just let me hide inside my corner. To fall away from everyone’s memory. Then……I don’t know. I’m done writing. Might add more after mom goes to bed.

-K.L











It’s been awhile since I last wrote. I didn’t find/make my razor blade last time, but I have now. It’s been weeks since the fight with Tyler. Since then we seem fine but I don’t really know. Since then mother went nuclear on me and told me I do nothing but sit on my fat lazy ass and that if I don’t find a job I have to find another place to live. That came up today err well yesterday. After she had a mini freak out because I made noise while she was watching a show. I ended up crying for an hour and a half until I happened upon my razor. I made four slashes in my arm. Didn’t feel a thing, well not pain. I felt ashamed and relieved. My streak has broken and I don’t know if I want it to stop again. She also must have felt some sort of guilt for she came home a bottle of cheer. So my thinking is she had it bug her all day, but she’d never admit it. It even bothered her enough that she looked through my texts to see what I’ve said. She came out angry, but guilt ridden. That I know because she didn’t fly off the handle as she usually would. She tried to deny that she told me to find another place to live, even tried to alter it a bit. The ultimate sign that she DID say it. Seems I might need to record her insane outbursts for future evidence. She wonders why I paint her as a monster. Thinks I make up a bunch of lies to make her seem worse. Doesn’t she understand? I paint her how I see her and last night she tried to keep her rose colored glasses on. She doesn’t want to see her as she is. The false niceness of last night was to reassure herself that she isn’t a bad person. Mother has built up a little fixed mirror of what she thinks or well wants to be. Her mind settled on the fact that she’s not perfect but close enough that she can’t still be a bad person. Yes, I have a home. What’s the point of having one when it feels more like a prison? I can’t have people over when she’s getting ready. Ends at two thirty. I can’t have people over on her days off. The week days anyone I see either has to be home by dark which is four now that winter settles in or has to be home early cause they have school. That leaves a tiny window of time but she doesn’t care. If it interferes with her in any tiny way it has to be destroyed. Nothing matters to her. If it’s not her way of doing things then it’s wrong. I can’t even be myself at home. Only when she’s gone can I breathe. Can I relax. Yes, I have a family. Who I don’t connect with. I suppose she would say it’s my fault, something about not trying. I try, but they don’t want me as me. The want the candy coated keep my mouth shut me. But I am not complacent with playing nice to their faces when they start up with the complaining and bitching right after one leaves. I find their hypocrisy annoying and rude. But they find my brashness rude. But I rather be me than them. I rather have people know that I don’t agree with them on points so that we can either part ways or find a way to fix it so we don’t offend each other. Mother says I don’t have it bad but how would she know? She’s never here nor do I want her around. I don’t need her ‘help’ never did. I can keep myself afloat, barely. I feel like I’m falling. Shackled to my mother’s way of life. I can’t be myself. How is that having a good life? I can never be me. My thoughts, my feelings are cast aside! They don’t matter.



I’m not happy. If I can leave I would but I have nowhere to go. I would be surprised that once I’m out I hardly talk to her. Either I leave as soon as possible or I go out in a body bag. How often have I thought to take the bottle of sleeping pills and ending it? Too many times. That’s not normal. Why can’t I just be normal? I’m different from my family. I don’t agree with them on much of anything and its not teen angst. I really believe what I say. I’ve wanted to die since I was in 5th grade. I hate myself so much. I hate my life so much. I just want to never feel again.

-K.L





























Too much to take.

Where are these feelings coming from? The song from my cd, number 3 disk two. It plays in my head soo much. The first two CD’s are haunting in anger and in pain. Need to clear my head. SO today I guess I will walk around.

Don’t know when I will return. When I feel better…

At home all I see is those sleeping pills next to the glass….Too tempting. So with (nonworking) phone, cough drops, and music.

I head out.

-K.L



































This is a world of want. A world of need. This dirt I walk upon is nothing but ashes of a husk that is filled with broken bits and sorrow. So much that dwells within my head it’s on the verge of breaking. Swelling to the point of disaster. There is nothing here but cold. An empty world.



“Go on and fight me. Go on and scare me to death. Tell me I asked for it. Tell me I’ll never forget. You can give me anything but love.”



Music has stolen my words. Nothing to dwell upon now as it plunges these dreams beneath the waters. So much water. To drown out the pain. The sighs. Condemned. I am dead. There is nothing left of me. I know I think too much. Did as a child. It stole my ignorance. Greed. It stole my passion. Need. Has taken my identity. There is only blood beneath my flesh but whose blood do I bear? Part mother; part father. Creates a whole? There is nothing I can be that someone else hasn’t already been. Genetics mean naught. Seeing a girl whose face resembles my own but alas she is not I. But easily could be. I am nothing.



Music and dreams. Both planted.



“Condemn me to live. Condemn to lie. Inside, I am dead.”



Is there a way to freedom? True freedom is behind cages for that is where we feel safe.



No purpose. No passion. I want to write but they are not my words to tell. As long as I need. I shall want. As long as I want. I shall covet. As long as I covet. I feel hatred.

Hatred.



A hallow word that is not meant for anyone. So much that we drown. Dying to see how it feels. Nothing. So small. So insignificant. I make no dent. Forget. Forgotten.



A small child sits upon a hill. Crickets chirp to remind her she’s not along. Night creeps in as time seems to not be moving yet slipping by faster than she remembers. Solemn eyes watch a ball of fire sink. Thoughts on nothing and everything. A cold chill settled into bones. She is no one and she knows it/ But one tiny body in a mass of faceless beings. There is only but her. They don’t see. They can’t. She is the same. She has no eyes. A robot among the trees. Nothing fills her. Just a hallow ache. Broken. Never to see, the frayed wires beneath. A gentle voice calls her back from far away and looking around she feels out of place. Surrounded by nothing she is truly alone. A shaky sigh she turns away from the star spattered sky. Away from the girl who still sits upon the grassy knoll and into a stranger’s home. The objects feel familiar yet they fill her with cold. So much cold she thinks that she is to freeze where she stands. A woman urges her further inside. Unaware that the child does not belong here. The small face that reflects back upon the glossy mirror. Eyes, twin pools of nothing. She see’s nothing. Yet it is her. That blank face was her. That is her identity yet it feels so foreign. Quietly. SO quietly she is put to rest. Knowing she will forget soon and she did….





Why does she smile?



-K.L