Finally doing laundry,
It’s been two months.
As I sit and I fold,
Careful not to leave wrinkles,
I can’t help but think,
How many more times will I have to pick up the pieces?

As I drive in my car,
Careful to go the speed limit,
The wind caressing my face and arm
As it blows through my windows,
I feel the melancholy sink in.
How much longer will I ache for what has been?

It’s sunny and the warmth radiates downward,
Embracing my body as if to say “Welcome back”.
I can finally feel it again,
My skin is a part of me,
Something I can feel.
How many more times will I lose this feeling?

I’ve spent weeks in a chemical haze,
But not one of my doing.
My brain had once again said “Too much”
And shuddered to a halt,
Spinning out on its way to a restless place.
How much longer will I suffer this fate?

Everything is different,
But it all feels the same.
I’m coming back now from a tiresome journey.
A blast from the past,
I am still exactly who I was four years ago.
How many more times will I lose my sanity?

As I pick up the pieces,
I can’t help but wonder,
How long will I exist in this cyclical race?
When they gave me the pills,
They gave me a life sentence.
How much longer will I last in this unstable state?

Unfortunately, I know.
This is a life sentence.  
I will always be at the mercy of these highs and those lows.
There will be reprieves from time to time,
But it will always crumble once again. So I ask myself…
How many more times can I pick up the pieces?

A heavy weight lay upon my chest.
But then I gave a sigh. Of both, pain and of relief.
The pain of coming to an ending.
The relief of it all being over.

In the pain, I felt grief.
Of what was.
And of what could have been.

In the relief, I felt comfort.
Of letting go of expectations.
And the breaking of a long-held silence.

With that sigh, the weight was released.
In its place, peace took over.

The root of my pain,
Every stretch of communication,
Breaking my own heart ten times over,
Drowning in misinformation.

Which story to believe,
He said this, she said that,
Some dice have many faces,
Who wears the true hat?

A storyteller spins many stories,
Embellishes to add flare,
Who is telling this story?
Should the reader be aware?

We come back cause its easy,
I know this to be true,
Alas, the road less taken calls me,
This chapter ends with you.

Are you familiar with that feeling?
The one you get when you finish a good book,
Or when your favourite TV series ends?
Or even, when one chapter of your life closes,
And you have to step through the threshold of a new page?

Well that threshold, for me
Has always been a great towering wall.
I'd always have the means to climb,
But never will I want to or feel like I should.
It seems that I'm needlessly clutching at straws,
While the guns of change point to my temples, drawn.

Somehow, I eventually had to scale through the fears,
And just nick a few pieces from every threshold I pass.
You know, when days are looking pretty cloudy ahead,
I'll just reach in my pocket and look at them
To see how much has moved, and smile.

the pain must be
becoming more and more
unbearable each day,
and we have to continue
walking away from each other
when all we ever wanted
was to run
towards each other's arms.
so how about
we do this, my love?

how about we go on
with our day,
pretend we're going
to see each other
the very next day,
and face things
with excitement today?
how about we go on
with our breakfast, lunch,
dinner, and snacks in between,
and pretend we're going
to dine together tomorrow?
how about we sleep tonight
without crying our eyes out
to the memories of us
and pretend that tomorrow,
when the sun rises from the east,
we'll wake up
to see ourselves
next to each other?
how about we repeat
being hopeful every day,
looking forward
for the tomorrow
that holds you and I
in one page,
until we can
no longer remember
what we are ridiculously
holding onto
and we're just truly happy
with our lives
without each other?