The days go by so slowly, but the weeks fly right on by
Echoes of you everywhere, and all my heart knows is to cry
The emptiness without you is almost too much to bear
With a pain this intense, my best and only tool is prayer

It takes all that I have in the morning to just get out of bed
I keep thinking of all the regrets and other things not said
They say that time heals all wounds, but I do not think this one will
The world just keeps on spinning, when it feels like it should be still

Every night I go to sleep, thinking I will see you tomorrow
Then reality hits me when I awake, and I struggle with the sorrow
This was not supposed to happen, and certainly not this way
But if I were to see you again, what would I even say?

We stayed so distant because we both needed our own space
Yet all I feel are hurt and regret, now that you're in another place
Are you looking down on me, watching me from above?
If all I feel is grief, does that mean I feel your love?

I have so many questions, the main one being, "Why?"
Why did you have to leave us, and why could we not say goodbye?
Did you think that you were sparing me, to take away my begs and pleas?
I still want more time, and for us to make new memories

The house feels so empty now, without your presence around
I listen for your voice, and your heart in every sound
Can you come stay with us, and sit with me for a while?
I would do almost anything, if I could get to see you smile

These are the words that came to mind, and they don't feel like enough
But it is too hard to think that clearly when dealing with something this tough
I keep expecting you to come back, to say it was all just a scheme
That it was some secret plot, or even just a dream

You would walk up from your office and sit down in your seat
I would hug you tightly and just listen to your heart beat
I would yell at you for leaving us, and bury my head in your chest
You would say that you just needed time, because you were so stressed

But since that is not reality, no, just my wishful thinking
Instead I look to the night sky, and notice the stars that are twinkling
I will pick one of those, and choose to believe it is you
Because as much as I am hurting, I am sure you miss us too

So I will do my best to be a man, and soldier on without you
For no matter what anyone else may think, I will always talk about you
I will never stop hurting, this just means we had a lot of love
I cannot wait to embrace you, when we join you up above

Mom and I will be okay, you do not need to worry
The love of God is with us, the author of our story
For although this chapter hurts, and there are tear stains on the page
I will remember you in every sentence, and with the coming of every age

For to have had a father in this world, it truly was a blessing
You are no longer in pain; there is no more hurt or stressing
We may have had our differences, but I was lucky to call you dad
I see it all too clearly now: you were the best I could have had

I was ever most faithful to my labour,
A duty that I never paid to man:
And even now, I am stripped of this favour,
No more am I my workplace's loyal fan.

I wish I could say our romance has cooled off,
That I'm not stirred by spreadsheets' disarray,
Alas, those items firmly must be ruled off,
And here the reasons be for this decay:

I was profoundly lucky in employment:
I worshipped bosses justly - they were gods.
I worked hard, in this toil I found enjoyment,
Because my contract listed all the odds.

I did not sign to slavery, dear Master,
I did not sign my health and bloom away,
I did not sign that you could be a b@st@rd
When things were simply not going your way,

I did not sign to poverty and worry,
I did not sign to papers gath'ring dust,
I did not sign that you cannot be sorry,
For I have rights, and note this down you must:

I did not sign to shoulder all these burdens,
Because they are not written on the page!
You cannot simply smile, and draw the curtains,
You cannot make us objects of your rage

When you yourself do run the ship so poorly!
I pity you, but pity is not love;
And thus I sign myself, proudly, and sorely,

A woman pushed to crashing by your shove.

sometimes I̲ wish I could
go back to the time of late childhood & youth
not that that tI̲me was real good (overall)
but those days bY̲gone were some—
—what pleasura[—]ble years
less stress, bother, more fun
while last several years
have been, like a vengeance by a psychically mU̲cked up per-son
[for example: Jennifer Hills; Beatrix Kiddo; Arthur Fleck]
a mental nightmA̲re (kind of)
[adult life is burdensome & this world is terrible, for the most part]
it's been felt like being stuck inside a **** loop
not the tY̲pe some would choose
there's been some deli̲ght, but the blues
and other negatives have been piling up tO̲
a qua[ɑ]ntum that you'd find somewhat tough to consume
as far as p[ɑ]ossible, you try to rU̲n from the gloom
but, in the end, the dismals hunt ya
down, like you're Beatrix Kiddo fro[ʌ]m the
Tarantino's "Ki̲ll Bill" drama
targeted by the Deadly Viper hit crew
["The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad"]
[the 6th chapter of "**** Bill" called "Massacre at Two Pines"]
and the main thought that I̲'ve been pursued
by lately reminds me of
tragical vigila[ɛ]nte-turned guys, because
it says "nigh on nothing to lose" (nigh on nothing to lose)
besides, it seems li̲ke I have a sick psychopath inside me that
could use a punching bag, like a guy that has
to get prepped for a fighting match
that devil'd be satisfied to have
a mean au[ɑ]tocrat or another black
hat as a hostage to get the spleen dU̲mped on at
times when I'm ******, like sO̲meone af—
—ter having an alco binge; but, in fact
I'd be sO̲mewhat glad
if I̲ just smack or fling sO̲mething frac—
—turable so that the thing wI̲nds up smashed
it'd be nice to have a long-lasting bout of that
as far as possible, I satisfy this app—
—etite for demolition with vicious-sounding tracks
and rhyme-heavy lyrics with evil-minded crap
try to keep that sick **** sE̲rved with
so to speak, loco motifs (loco)
like rail vehicles; I've gotten a mI̲te sidetracked
["locomotives"; "like rail vehicles [,] I've gotten a mite sidetracked"]
let me rewind a tad
the thought that I've been pursued
by saying "nigh on nothing to lose"
as for saved-up money, I would
say there ain't much someone li̲ke me can do
with it; since we can't buy different realities to
live in, I've been thinking... (thinking) of buying a new
PC (for a long while)
[not "new" in the sense of "recently developed"]
as if I were some ****** tycoon
dealing with private military company bull—sh#t
["PC" stands for a number things, one of which is "personnel carrier"]
[hence "tycoon dealing with private military company bullsh#t"]
a PC, for games are something I'm used
to & that can make hI̲gh someone who's
got pro[ɑ]blems with mood (problems with mood)
neither drown so[ɑ]rrows in *****
nor get high on dO̲pe when I'm low
get lifted up by music listened to by me bO̲th when I'm home
and when I'm outdO̲O̲rs for a stroll
and as someone sometimes
spending some time on O̲U̲tdoor strolling, I'd note
one downright downside
regarding U̲rbanized zones
which is go[ɑ]ddamn mO̲torized road
vehicles: much noise evoken by those
started; that's so much provoking you hope
to find a grenade launcher with a whole lO̲t of
respective rounds to throw a fine show (hell yeah!)
what about drivers &, maybe, passengers present
inside? well, those are so-ca[ɔ]lled
"collateral da[ɛ]mage"
[just in case, I'm joking]
[I just hate motorized road transport for annoying noise it generates]
that's like a GTA-like game come
to life; music ain't one, but the main love
on this dark track to nO̲where I go (track to nowhere)
we're together till the moment I croak
(unless, of course, I̲ end up placed)
(into a mental asylum someday)
————————————————————————————————
since I've brO̲U̲[ɑ]ght up this subject (music)
what should've been dO̲ne's to place mo'
lines with cO̲[ɑ]ntent regarding
it inside this O̲ne; mid-paced so
called "dark clubbing" & dA̲rk synth
some slowed phonk, complextro
trap & hip-**̲[ɑ]p beats & ro[ɑ]ckish
electronic stuff from Zardo[ɑ]nic
or I can use some lines from a prior-writ pro[ɑ]ject
of mine; went from somewhat generic electro[ɑ]nic
sh#t, both ba[ɛ]ngers & melo[ɑ]dic
ones, to heavier & dA̲rk sh#t, however, I, regardless
still dig some graves, like a fellow with boneY̲A̲rd shifts
[Christian Mochizuki, better known as graves]
[the last 4 lines are from "a depressive rhymefall"]

I'm mad at God
I've never been mad at him before
Always understanding and patient
I never questioned the purpose of the pain

The purpose of pain
I'm sure there is one
but I am tired
It is the same thing and I find myself trapped in a cycle of insanity
What is the purpose? What is the lesson? What am I missing?

I'm mad at God
Maybe mad is the wrong word
Frustrated. Hurt. Exhausted. Angry.
But not mad.
Its not so much a place of casting blame
but rather "what do you want from me!?"

How much longer will I have to endure?
How much longer will I have to cry out?
When will I see an answer?
You don't play mind games
and yet I am currently unconvinced of this

Unconvinced I have received any sort of healing
only led to believe so
"I don't know" has been a phrase I've said the most

So yes perhaps I am mad at God.
I don't know what else to feel when one is falling apart, even if they are falling into place.
The pain is still the same.

I lost my mind ,
Or so it seems.
Doused in fear
Of uncertainty.
The mind is small
Yet we think so big.
And here I lay
In the grave I dig.
As one small nudge
And I’m ready to blow.
Losing myself ,

Now out of control.

when I was angry, I was unstoppable
with fire in my veins I felt like I could move mountains if I just believed it hard enough
I was so capable
and so delicate
I was so scared
and so strong
when I was mad, I was motivated
with pain came beautiful triumphs
I was so ashamed
and so proud
I was so embarrassed
and so confident
when I am not angry anymore, I am incapable
without fire in my soul, I don’t believe I can get up out of bed
I am so happy
and so sad
I am so comfortable
and so confused