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Description
The only lighting is the thin line of street lamp from the crack in the window shade.  The closet’s creepy-crawly things have come out to play in the shadows under the desk and chair.  There is no moon; clouds cover stars.
Night means sleep.  And before sleep comes the worst time of the day.  They let down their guards, waiting for sleep to carry their minds away.

Blood seeps in her mind, and she can’t breathe.  She sees broken wrists and razorblades.  She squeezes her eyes tighter, trying to block it all out.  She rolls over, faces the wall, and tries to think of happiness as peppermints and candy canes.  But her wrist tingles, thoughts oozing through her ineffective red and green stopper.
This one thinks of the drinks he wants to down, but his parents are the wall between him and his lover.  He wants to empty the bottles they leave around, carelessly half-empty, never half-full.  He covers his ears against the annoying buzz of his parents’ bees.
The other girl dreams on skin and bones.  She twists around in baby-blue blankets and wrings her thin fingers.  She wants to be left alone; that’s all she wants.  But her stomach rumbles and her psyche screams.
That boy fights of images of guns and ropes. He buries his face in his pillow, gritting his teeth, but the war rages on in his head.  It’s so easy to ignore the thoughts during the day, putting one foot in front of the other, but they rampage insistently when the sun sets.  He buries his face in his pillow, gritting his teeth, but the war rages on in his head.
And all she thinks of is lost love.  She rolls the volume forward, higher, fighting herself and him.  Tears flow.  She doesn’t want them, and she doesn’t fight them.  She curls up on her side to wait for sleep to come, attempting to distract herself with thoughts of coloring books and playground swing-sets.

Description
The only lighting is the thin line of street lamp from the crack in the window shade.  The closet’s creepy-crawly things have come out to play in the shadows under the desk and chair.  There is no moon; clouds cover stars.
Night means sleep.  And before sleep comes the worst time of the day.  They let down their guards, waiting for sleep to carry their minds away.

Blood seeps in her mind, and she can’t breathe.  She sees broken wrists and razorblades.  She squeezes her eyes tighter, trying to block it all out.  She rolls over, faces the wall, and tries to think of happiness as peppermints and candy canes.  But her wrist tingles, thoughts oozing through her ineffective red and green stopper.
This one thinks of the drinks he wants to down, but his parents are the wall between him and his lover.  He wants to empty the bottles they leave around, carelessly half-empty, never half-full.  He covers his ears against the annoying buzz of his parents’ bees.
The other girl dreams on skin and bones.  She twists around in baby-blue blankets and wrings her thin fingers.  She wants to be left alone; that’s all she wants.  But her stomach rumbles and her psyche screams.
That boy fights of images of guns and ropes. He buries his face in his pillow, gritting his teeth, but the war rages on in his head.  It’s so easy to ignore the thoughts during the day, putting one foot in front of the other, but they rampage insistently when the sun sets.  He buries his face in his pillow, gritting his teeth, but the war rages on in his head.
And all she thinks of is lost love.  She rolls the volume forward, higher, fighting herself and him.  Tears flow.  She doesn’t want them, and she doesn’t fight them.  She curls up on her side to wait for sleep to come, attempting to distract herself with thoughts of coloring books and playground swing-sets.