Letters From A Stranger This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

   My hands shake as each of the ducks

stare viciously from their posts on

the screaming whiteness they are chained to.

A selfish man tells me that he doesn't dream

while I know very well that he has to.

Maybe he dreams of you like I do.

The cruel whiteness arranges itself

on the floor amongst the chaos of my thoughts,

that are sketched all over the walls

in the penmanship of a madman who has

little respect for the written word.

The brightness of these lights tears my

fears from my head and smears them on paper.

I claw at my chest for the words to tell you.

I can't ever find anything in the void of

my body, which bleeds only dust because it

hasn't been fed enough pain to yield blood.

This metal coating in my throat causes me

to talk with a tin accent that pierces his ears.

A piano groans at the smoke around it,

but I deliberately blow more toward it.

I like the way it sounds when it chokes.

I smile with the thought of your eyes,

burning with my memory impacted inside of them.

Another painful note closes itself around

my aching shoulders trying to crush me,

but I just blow clouds in its direction.

The man begins to say goodbye, but I

can't hear anything but the lingering song

that is playing in my head.

Thinking only of you and the way you looked

when I showed you my dreams, perfectly tuned.

The ducks swim inside of my mouth they

make me glad i stayed awake so long.

The hours of your life stretched before me,

I wonder where I pushed my way in.

The piano finally stops, it has given up,

on regaining my attention.

The last note still echoes on my bones.

With my hands shaking I place the ducks

back into their sea of confined whiteness.

Closing my eyes over yours, I go into obliviousness.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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