Mount Mansfield Union High School

…“You are free to leave,” says the man, the man with the sinister fingers and the black cloth pulled over his hair. “But…oh, let’s see how long you can last, shall we? ‘Tis a mighty shame that comes from cowardice, my lad…” I hear his callous giggle mingling with the creaking rasp of the door.

I see you've grown wings, my angel of death. Beautiful, invisible, raven-black demon wings, long with glossy feathers. They suit you, love, helping you to glide in your steps, hover in silence.

I see you tearing yourself apart, my perfection mercenary, ripping down the walls that are holding you, trapping you, in limbo. I can't stand to see you fall apart in your desperate attempts to escape this, your loneliness. No, seeing you breaking before my own eyes brings me to tears, watching as the cruelty-drops fall down your face.

I want to save you, want to save myself, so I offer you my heart and you take it, bleeding, in your hands. I close my eyes and suggest you cut my heartstrings and tie them to your own, and I hear you swallow and slide out the knife. I hear the agonizing snap-snip sound of the strings severed and then I feel your spectral body pressed against mine.

I lay sprawled out on the green carpeted mud room floor, helplessly covered in large chunks of sharpened glass which seemed to paralyze each and every part of my body that they touched. On a warm sunny afternoon in early July about 11 years ago, when I was 5 years old, I remember the time my family barbecue in the small countryside neighborhood where I lived left me, to this day, with a memory that I will probably never forget. Filled with a plate of kiwi, watermelon, and half of a hot dog I carefully skipped over to the green picnic table which I had loved to jump off pretending it was a diving board and began to eat my idea of a gourmet meal. Soon after I practically inhaled my food, which left a pink stained hand print on my white dress from my watermelon treat, I ran over to the pool not caring that I had just stained yet another one of my dresses and ripped off the dress onto the ground and hopped in.

Orange flames grow taller as the twigs are thrown on. The flames lick the air around them like arms grabbing at the sky. I look around and see a campfire surrounded by my family and green grass and dark trees and happy dogs and the starry sky. Sticks with white puffy delights on the end of them go to the edge of the fire. Mmm, how I love roasting marshmallows by a campfire. I patiently hold a marshmallow in the fire while my dog Pepper sits by me loyally and waits for a sticky treat. Are we camping? No, the house is just beyond the light of the fire, yet it seems we are in the middle of nowhere, absorbing the heat from the magical yellow-orange source. The sound of crickets, murmurs of people, and the cracks of the fire surround me. Enjoying this night I am in complete peace. I don’t want to leave; I don’t want it to end. But the flames will calm, and then there will be only embers.

The door
the room
the walls
the Red.
The corners
the darkness
the desk
the papers
the ink
the blackness
the book
the candle
the flame
the grief.
The chair,
the man.
The eyes
the pain
the sadness
the shame.
The floor
the stone
the cold
the Red.
The ceiling
the black
the perch,
the wait.
The man,
the tears.
The knife,
the Silence.

Moth
makes attempts,
trying to get in.
Sees the light,
bright.
Might mighty moth
break the screen and reach the
light?
Trying so hard,
so inviting,
but screens of
metal
are not broken by
wings of
cloth.

I lay sprawled out on the green carpeted mud room floor, helplessly covered in large chunks of sharpened glass which seemed to paralyze each and every part of my body that they touched. On a warm sunny afternoon in early July about 11 years ago, when I was 5 years old, I remember the time my family barbecue in the small countryside neighborhood where I lived left me, to this day, with a memory that I will probably never forget. Filled with a plate of kiwi, watermelon, and half of a hot dog I carefully skipped over to the green picnic table which I had loved to jump off pretending it was a diving board and began to eat my idea of a gourmet meal. Soon after I practically inhaled my food, which left a pink stained hand print on my white dress from my watermelon treat, I ran over to the pool not caring that I had just stained yet another one of my dresses and ripped off the dress onto the ground and hopped in.

I lay sprawled out on the green carpeted mud room floor, helplessly covered in large chunks of sharpened glass which seemed to paralyze each and every part of my body that they touched. On a warm sunny afternoon in early July about 11 years ago, when I was 5 years old, I remember the time my family barbecue in the small countryside neighborhood where I lived left me, to this day, with a memory that I will probably never forget. Filled with a plate of kiwi, watermelon, and half of a hot dog I carefully skipped over to the green picnic table which I had loved to jump off pretending it was a diving board and began to eat my idea of a gourmet meal. Soon after I practically inhaled my food, which left a pink stained hand print on my white dress from my watermelon treat, I ran over to the pool not caring that I had just stained yet another one of my dresses and ripped off the dress onto the ground and hopped in.

I lay sprawled out on the green carpeted mud room floor, helplessly covered in large chunks of sharpened glass which seemed to paralyze each and every part of my body that they touched. On a warm sunny afternoon in early July about 11 years ago, when I was 5 years old, I remember the time my family barbecue in the small countryside neighborhood where I lived left me, to this day, with a memory that I will probably never forget. Filled with a plate of kiwi, watermelon, and half of a hot dog I carefully skipped over to the green picnic table which I had loved to jump off pretending it was a diving board and began to eat my idea of a gourmet meal. Soon after I practically inhaled my food, which left a pink stained hand print on my white dress from my watermelon treat, I ran over to the pool not caring that I had just stained yet another one of my dresses and ripped off the dress onto the ground and hopped in.

I lay sprawled out on the green carpeted mud room floor, helplessly covered in large chunks of sharpened glass which seemed to paralyze each and every part of my body that they touched. On a warm sunny afternoon in early July about 11 years ago, when I was 5 years old, I remember the time my family barbecue in the small countryside neighborhood where I lived left me, to this day, with a memory that I will probably never forget. Filled with a plate of kiwi, watermelon, and half of a hot dog I carefully skipped over to the green picnic table which I had loved to jump off pretending it was a diving board and began to eat my idea of a gourmet meal. Soon after I practically inhaled my food, which left a pink stained hand print on my white dress from my watermelon treat, I ran over to the pool not caring that I had just stained yet another one of my dresses and ripped off the dress onto the ground and hopped in.

some day they will realize
we were right from the start
and amidst the rubble
and falling stars
they’ll find the pieces
of my broken heart

this world belongs
to you and me
and when it’s strewn
across the sea
we’ll take with us the light
and leave a world
of dark

one day
some day
they will see
all that our
good world could be
a glimpse of silver
a passing plea
fading
just for you and me

some day when
the sky shines black
weighted sheet
of ash and smoke
and the sirens clash
and death in all the heat
and we’ll be right
but have no glee
for someday
they
will see

Summer skies
Melting down on me

Silently watching
Time pass by

Suspended in a moments breath
The sound of music's
Farwell dance

Sweet tangerine kisses
Of innocence
Passing swiftly by

Deep breath,
A sigh.
I don't want to do it.
Adjust myself,
A forceful remark,
What are you waiting for?
I'm not doing it.
A smile returned,
You're beautiful,
Definetly 40%.
Another no.
Hands shaking,
Tears welling up,
And it happened.
It's over with.
Don't ask me why.
Eyes shut,
Watered down.
Take a glimpse.
There sat his silhouette,
One I will never forget.
Another remark,
What are you waiting for?
It never ends,
Always in my mind,
His forcefulness,
My regret.
He doesn't remember
And I always will.

My feet stood in a shroud of dust,
And my eyes were pensive
In the melancholy sun of an August afternoon.
Nestled in among the pebbles
On the side of the road
A brilliant sapphire,
Dropped from the finger
Of some foreign noble lady,
Lay gleaming amidst the earth and stone.
I flipped it over with a stick
And wondered, as it scurried away,
Whether it would ever know
That I saved its life

Change
Better
Worse
Better
Further
Special
New
Great
Sad
Behind
Future
Memories
Truth
Ahead
Paths
Different
Experiences
Growth
Learning
Rising
Falling
Together
Apart
Regrets
Happiness
Excitement
Laughter
Tears
Fright