James Fisher:

My name is James, James Fisher. My life’s been good up till now. I’ve recently broken up with my girlfriend, and I’ve honestly haven’t felt much better but, not a day goes by that I don’t think once about it. But for some reason, I’m here in my bed crying. I just can’t understand why I just keep crying. I can't stop crying. It's like part of me wants to explode. But the sad fact is, I don't know what. What is there to cry about when I'm happy now? If asked a philosopher or a therapist, they'd say it's probably happiness; while on the contrary, I don't see it. My eyes are which the flood that God warned Noah. My eyelids, being as useless to stop this sensation. Like that of fan blades on a ceiling that's spinning without any cold air. But why? Why do I feel so, melancholy? I then look to the side of this bed of which I lay. The emptiness. At first, I think of her, soon enough my heart beats stops. As if my heart knew it was the reason to cry. Hereafter I turn, staring into this clear ceiling, as the tears become my blankets. I'm unable to move, the tears consume me. I am but a sponge, soaking in the reasons to cry. Although the heart knows best but does it really? I question, through the drowning seconds here... My tears create a catafalque for me. I then realize it's time to swim. I leave from my bed, almost drowning, arriving toward the mirror. I see a kid, and he looks at me. His eyes red, his face florid, with bags under his eyes. Seems as if he couldn't sleep. Soon enough we wave at another, with a snarky smile, we turn about, walking away. I sit onto this bed. This sanctuary, as I lay back into this catafalque made of tears. I want to never wake up again. As those who were to come before me will sing me to sleep. Through the tired and weariness I have, I just want to be left alone. Wanting to not awake on my own is a new ideal I'd want. But I shall drown here in this tomb. Dreaming of a better world; because there must be.

Ramona Jay May:

Two days ago, I’ve gotten disturbing news. My boyfriend just broke up with me, and I didn’t see it coming. Not at all, I’ve honestly assumed we were happy. In love, and prepared to take on the world together. But, that’s not what happened. For some reason, I wish I could’ve prevented this but I guess it was all out of my hands. But now I just sit here, crying like a foolish girl. Crying oh crying. Oh, why am I crying? I feel like I'm dying without really trying, oh God. This catastrophe it seems, to mean a lot more to me, as they bury it down to the ground. Deeper and deeper it buries itself through this hole. The hole in the ground, but which hole? The hole in the deepest depth of my heart. Washing away the pumping blood with my fears and tears. To get me to smile, but all for a while, as it's burning and burning, melting the crevice of where I just began. A girl with a dream and a woman with a song. I was told, "Hey girl you better push it along." But I snapped back not wanting to be told what to do, but recklessness of me fell right in love you and I was torn. But was it just love or the epitome of it? Did I love him or just the thought? Did I even care for the thought of him or the thought of all my friends? The peers that stood while I wept with tears, breaking apart the chains in my head, hearing voices and voices, and all through the noises I'm dead. Dead, oh really? Just look. With bloodshot eyes, a button nose, and bags that layer aplenty. Each bag layers the levels of stress I receive. Like an onion. Crying you away as it breaks its layers of tears, but smiling as it cuts. If an onion should be cut, then why shouldn't I?

James Fisher:

I’ve heard the news, she’s killed herself. A swipe of the blood and become a ghost. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. But can it not be? I didn’t mean to break our bond but I was afraid of hurting her that roamed my mind for days but what’s the point? It’s my fault yet again. So this bed I lay to die, my friend. Crying away the mess I've made. The onion's cut, I'm so disrupt. This catafalque repressed what I've obsessed. This tear to cry was made to die, a swisher child to be kind from the wild. I'm so upset with what is left. Who am I to think I'm special? To be left off to die like a broken vessel? The future I sought was all too opaque. A fracture of time felt like a big crime. To think we could stand and share how much we care, but to stare at each other and laugh at another. To really think you're all my brothers. I stand here to share how I dared to care. This catafalque to me became washed away to see. Sinking through the remnants of my bed. To have smelled away the onion decayed, it was hard to fade away. From Mr. James Fisher, I really did miss her. To cry away my pain leaves me with such disdain. The onion became what I wanted to protect. To the boy, I've seen in the mirror. That boy was me, and me is he. To my sisters and brothers, I call forth another. To end my life in spite of another. To cry then die is to be my smallest reply. Ramona Jay May, oh why'd you have to decay? Leave me to die, without saying goodbye and to leave sorrow cries. From the first smile receive to the future you've have yet to had seen. I'm sorry I'm dying, just forget that I'm crying. Because I wasn't trying. You've left me, and I miss you while you're gone. Now I'm all alone with no one in the world but me. I'm sorry, but dreams aren't just meant to be.

Someone Who Cared:

Love never lasts, as for this be exampled. This didn't go quite well, a lovely tragedy that went on to hell. A man with a tear and a woman made of sorrow, both gave each other love that was never meant to be borrowed. I stood here, out in the background. To see them fight, and it was really such a fright. To fight and deny, and to even love another! How dare they mistake their lives as they rid of each other! Fishing in May is quite odd how others see be, but these two were surely dead in grief. Whether it was to be, or not to be, who am I to say..? That is the question. To have moved on and claim sadness as a phase, while life had much more to sell, well may it be farewell. Mr. James Fisher, we all knew how’d much you loved her. Romona Jay May, you could have had at least something to say, before you had rid of your surface and jumped into the catafalque. But who am I to judge? Oh but a bystander, and a one-man audience. Romona Jay May, James Fisher … What dreams could be made for me? When you cut out the tears and dream of worlds without me, well you're wrong! Dreams are meant to be and onions reek of tears! If you were there, only you'd see.