The shattered glass of the mirror
scattered across the floor
is the only true sign
of struggle.
well,
and the blood on her fist,
spreading to her cheeks
as she sobs
uncontrollably
into her hands.

She never meant to make such a mess.
She was provoked,
by the hideous monster
that stood before her,
staring back with glowing eyes
the same shade as her own.

It would seem,
that the monster had
a ferocious bite.

- c.n.

I am from deep masses of never-ending ocean.
From crisp brittle air
that envelopes your body.
From screeching winds
that make your ear drums scream.

I am from slow, glacial movements
of time’s slowest pace.
From below-zero water
that makes your tongue break.
From the highest and brightest sun
that clouds your vision with color.

I am from drifting ice chunks
of the glacier’s original form.
From the sound of waves
that slap together in a storm.
From bitter flavor
of the air’s pungent taste.

I am from nature’s vast cavern.
From humanity’s homing ground.
From planet Earth.

- c.n.

I have felt cold all my life.
There is no flame in this world
that can thaw my frosted soul.

- c.n.

Often,
my thoughts
are that of a storm
on the eastern seaboard.
waves crashing manically,
unknowingly sweeping up
jagged rocks
and broken glass,
slicing through the calm
that had once been
in its place.

- c.n.

the lavender oil
seeps into my skin,
meant to relax,
to soothe,
yet,
I’ve never felt so tense.

- c.n.

The road to the stars is built in hardships

The pathway to hell is a gravely strip

Walk one way, and pry open your eyes

Strut down the other, and sew them closed

Glistening light, a distance away

Heartache and fire at an arm’s length

Toughen yourself out, and trudge to your destiny

Or take the easy way out and fall to your knees

A swell in your chest makes you lighter than air

Or a heavy metal heartbreak clenched with despair

Between sunlight and moon

Amongst shadows and souls

Two roads intertwined and unwoven

Two paths to be chosen

- c.n.

Thick strands of dirty blonde locks

Sliding through the plastic bristles

Of my floral hair brush.

Stroke after stroke

Breaking through tangles,

And pulling out knots.

Scratching my scalp

With each tug of the brush.

From my light brown roots

To my fraying, blonde, split ends.

A daily routine that admonishes

The webs tied up in my hair.

Leaving a smooth, silky sense

Of a day start anew.

- c.n.

Everything has fallen apart. She is turned away from him, looking away- filling him with more anguish than that of which he began. The grey walls look as if they are melting, morphing into piles of ash. The ceiling feels as if it is caving in on him- engulfing his sanity. Eventually, she turns to him, and there is a blaze aflame in her eyes. She is blaming him, he knows, for everything. Even though, she is the one that hurt him, the one that had betrayed him, as always. He does not want to look at her, for his aching heart and blossoming hatred fuels his vision. She looks like Medusa, with her snake-like locks and fiery eyes. He is merely waiting to turn to stone. He cowers in the corner, staring at his hands, his vision blurring as he tries to control his thoughts. As he stares at his fists, he imagines them turning the same shade of grey as the walls. He knows, that no matter what terrible doings she commits, no matter how often she hurts him, he will always be trapped; as if, he were a hunk of rock in her sculpture garden.

- c.n.