From the pages of my journal

this is what it means,
to no longer exist
when only fragments of the previous self remain
shattered thoughts,
carefully hidden behind a painted face
sometimes it is the soft pink hue artificially painted across my cheekbones that reminds me of younger days
sometimes it is the gold shimmer across the eyelids that fills me with the illusion of a summer afternoon
the resounding echoes of my hollow heart lull me to sleep
some nights the silence is dense,
and weighs heavily upon my being
on these nights the word “sleep” loses its meaning
I want to dream the dreams of a sea horse,
and experience life through its eyes
I want to feel abysmal darkness,
and reach the heights of an exploding star
I want to transform into a blade of grass,
and in my new form,
experience the elements: rain, water, fire, wind
...to piece oneself together
over, and over again--
this is the remedy