Comments and critique are appreciated :) I know the poems are kinda depressing (and very un-rhyming. Haha, I doubt that's a word), but I was kinda depressed when I wrote them.

The third entry is a piece of my novel, and I'd really like some comments and stuff on that. Please?

I hope you enjoy :)

As night falls

I watch the sun slip through the clouds

Like time through a clock’s hands

And water through clean sand

Tick tock

Iife slips through my fingers

My time is spinning, draining fast

The glas.s is only half full now

But someone could come and drink it down

Tick tock

Life slips through my fingers

The glas.s is almost empty now

Someone else is thirsty now

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the last day but the pictures will never fade

Every night I dream, they come right back to me

I know that you can see right through my lies

I just want to let you know, I tried

I’m not gonna let you see me cry

It’s the last day

Soon I won’t have to keep up this charade

Everything’s okay and my life is going fine

I’ve got blood in my mouth

And tears in my eyes

A few rips in my clothes

But it’s all okay

Pour some vinegar on my cuts

Pour your words onto my heart

It’s all the same

It’s all okay

Soon I won’t have to keep up this charade

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I dream of him every night. Tonight, as soon as my head hit my pillow, he was in my head:

He is dying. He is in pain. And I am helpless to save him. I run as hard as I can, but the harder I try to run, the slower I go. My breath runs out too quickly. My eyes and nose sting with tears that blur my vision. I don’t want to see anymore. He is sinking faster. The girl is torturing him. It looks like she is stroking his hair and caressing his face with her hand, but he yells as if in agony with each touch. I grow closer at an excruciatingly slow rate. I see that her hands are hot, they are burning him. I see that her lips are blood-red, and she glances at me with a smile on her face. She draws her face closer to his. He tries to cringe away. She kisses his mouth and he stops fighting her. He stops breathing. I know somehow that his heart has stopped and that it will not beat again. I keep running as if, if I reach him, he will reach out his arms for me to pull him out of the pit, out of the girl’s grasp. But the girl leaps up with unexpected agility and lets his head loll to one side. His eyes are closed. He looks as if he could be asleep. The girl runs toward me, her eyes glinting menacingly, her feet barely touching the ground. Her feet are bare. Her body is clothed with a dark satin that seems to change color depending on how the fabric folds on itself. She runs right past me, surprising me. I had expected her to come right to me and kill me too. But apparently she has a different target.

My alarm clock buzzes, and I wake up. My cheeks are wet as if I had been crying. I wipe my eyes and contemplate my disturbing dream. I have the same one every night, except for last night Connor actually died. The girl is the same one every night, and he’s always trapped in a pit in the middle of the woods by our school. A shudder runs up my spine and makes the back of my skull tingle.

I get dressed, brush my teeth, shower, and eat breakfast. It is still only seven o’clock. Nobody else in the house is awake yet. I wonder what I should do until school. My lunch is packed and my schoolbooks are arranged in my backpack. My backpack is by the door, ready to go. I have my coat on and my shoes are on my feet. I don’t really remember putting them on. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my chair turned so that I’m facing the door. A few trance-like movements later, I have my backpack slung over my shoulder, and my hand is on the cold doorknob. The coolness partially wakes me from my dream-like state. My eyes are still unfocused. I decide to walk to school, even though it’s close enough that when I get there it will be about forty five minutes until school starts…

It’s seven thirty now. I wonder how time pas.sed so quickly when I was barely doing anything except sitting by the door…

I am outside, walking up the hill. It’s cold. The sun hasn’t gotten a chance to warm the surface of the earth yet. I see it peeking through a stack of ominous-looking clouds. The clouds are moving quickly across the sky. They’re moving too fast. I stop to watch them.

I realize that my hair is no longer whipping around my face. There is no wind where I am standing, and I remain here a little while longer, enjoying the quiet, cool solitude.

I hear gravel crunch behind me. A car rolls up behind me and pas.ses me. It’s unfamiliar to me. It must not have been from my street. Soon I hear more crunching gravel, but it’s softer and more like a shuffling noise. I decide to keep walking.

The shuffling gets closer. They’re footsteps.

“Liz?” I hear Connor’s deep voice come from behind me.I turn to face him. He’s closer than I expected. “Hi.” I am glad my voice is intact.

“Hi.” He smiles as if he is truly glad to see me, and then walks beside me. His presence at my side makes my stomach tingle strangely and it takes much of my willpower not to reach over and touch him to make sure he’s real. He’s mine for the moment, and the moment won’t last forever. I wish that time wouldn’t work that way. I wish that it wouldn’t wind forward so quickly and that the paths it took wouldn’t be so impossible to go backwards on.

I realize soon that I should be wondering why he’s walking to school so early. It’s not even eight o’clock yet and school starts at eight thirty.

“Why so early?” I ask after a short silence.

He looks a little surprised, maybe it’s feigned. “Early? What time is it?”

“Almost seven forty five.” I answer. I looked at the clock before I left the house.

“Huh.” He makes a thoughtful face and then turns to me again. “Why are you so early?”

I shrug. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, and I couldn’t stay in the house.”

He has his hands in his pockets and his elbow almost brushes against mine. My arm tingles with the same jittery stuff that makes my heart run way too fast and my stomach twist into a knot. I’m almost unable to form coherent sentences. I wish I can control it, but I give up soon, letting it run its course. It doesn’t let up. I almost can’t breathe. It’s getting worse. It’s like his presence is soaking in, and the more I’m drenched in it, the slower my brain and body work. It’s a strange but good feeling.