Oh when will I

Be normal again
Smiling every day
Not worrying about
All this shit I'm worrying about now.

Oh when will I

Be happy again
Not depressed,
Dreading every day of
School,
Of
Home,
Of going anywhere,
Leaving my bed.

Oh when will I

Believe my quotes,
Like how I used to
So that when I encourage people
Maybe I'd encourage myself too,
Keep up the faith
Keep up my spirits.

Oh when will I

Go back to how I used to be,
Sure I still might have been
A Lost soul,
But at least back then
I could still see the light
At the end of the tunnel.

Now I'm just alone
Stuck in a pitch dark room
Alone.

Or maybe
With a boy
A boy I don't know
A boy I worry for
A boy I'm scared of,

Who is he?

Heart Bleeding, Silence Stinging
    The days drone on forever
The silence between us is too much to handle
        Do you even care?
Everyday i wish you were near
    But it seems like we are growing farther.
It hurts too much to even think about losing you...      
     The one i truly love.
But inthe end, you didn't care;
you didn't want to try.
You said your done, now i am broken and
  I've lost you forever

I am right, I am crazy. I just want it to stop it from ruining my life. Its just stuck with me forever, there is nothing I can do about it. I fake a smile, a laugh, a moment of true happiness.
  
There is no true light. Clouds of denial, I don’t remember how to smile a real smile. I just share a blank stare forever. Forever hungry for a way out, but I never find it. It manages to slips through my fingers like crystal sand falling through MY own hands.

I just scowl away from everyone, the people who are my friends are fading. Why cant I stop. Why cant I stop myself and as well as time, so I can just catch up with everyone so I am not crazy anymore, and take back all of what I lost. I want my life back. I will do anything for anyone I just wanna wake up with a real smile and share a few real laughs. If maybe manage a happy ever after.

Whats the point if it anyway. I know I screw up all the time. Well at anytime.
My dearest friend is dying and somehow I feel like its my fault. Like everything is my fault. I feel like a beat down being who just gives up all the time, because not ONE thing will give a chance at what I'm good at.

I cut at my wrist to see that I am still insane. I want help but I fail at it. Just a young woman wanting just a little sanity. I lost everyone. I want everyone back. I lost my loved one, he was everything to me. The way he laughed and smiled made me smile all the time, laugh all the time. He made me happy. He kept my insanity in its cage, when he left, it broke free.


I don’t wanna be crazy anymore.
          It is destroying every last bit of me,
    and of my lonesome heart.

To get lost, like when all the earth goes black, sinking into silence
stars tumble into darkest seas, hidden from love's moon
that cannot shine alone

Many the deserts, dust covered roads
with wind to blow a path of love
toward home

The rains will come with songs and Spring
gathering clouds and lovers
your days will float - high
on dreamy waters

This remembrance somehow still makest me guilty;
in every minute of it I feelest tangled, I feelest unfree.
I loathest this less genial side of captivity,
but still, 'tis ironically within my heart, and my torpid soul;
ah, I am afraid that it shall somehow becomest foul,
and I wantest very much, to endear my soul to liberty,
but so long as I hath consciously loved thee,
My confidence remaineth always too bold-
But I promisest that this shall becomest my last sonata,
Should thou ever findest, that thou desirest it to be;
whilst my incomplete song shall be our last cantata.
Ah, this series shall but never end,
Should I approachest and befriendest it,
but to confess, more I thinkest of it, the more my heart is pained;
No coldness shall it feelest, nor any beat of which, shall remaineth.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still restricted, and left within thee,
And amongst this dear spring's shuffling leaves, still blooms,
And shall bloomest forever with benevolence,
and even greater benevolence, as spring fliest and leavest
Just like thy sweet temper, and ever ostentatious laughter,
Thy voice and words, that are no longer here for me,
But still as clear, and authentic like a piece of gospel music, to me.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My pleasurable toils, and consummation still liest in thee-
as forever seemest that I shall trust thee, and thee only,
For the brief moment we had was but grand-and pleasant,
All the way more enigmatic, though frail, and exuberant
than I couldst perhaps rememberest,
But as I rememberest them, I shall also rememberest thee,
For those short nights are always fond and stellar to my memory,
As thou pronounced me lovely-and called myself thy lady,
As thou lingered about and placed thy sheepish fingers on my knee.
Ah, thee, whose heart is so kind and ever gently considerate,
From the moment thou stared at me I knew thou wert my unbinding fate.
And thy scent-o, thy manly scent, too calming but at times, poisonous;
Was more than any treasures I'd once withheld in my hand.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My enormity liest in thee, and so doth every pore
of my irrevocable, consolable sense;
Thou awakened my pride, thou livened up my tense,
Thou disturbed my mind, thou stole my conscience.
And with thy touch I was burning with bashfulness,
meanwhile my mind couldst stop not
ringing within me, unspeakable thoughts.
Ah, thee, thou made me shriek, thou slapped me awake;
And thou steered me away from any cruel dreams, and lies
these variegated worlds ought to make.
But still I hatest myself now, for leaving all of which unspoken,
Though plenty of time I had, whilst walking with thee, by the red ferns;
And every now and then, their branches ejaculated terrific sounds-
But not loud; benign and soft as heartfelt murmurs in our hearts.
And those dead leaves were just dead,
Over and under the gusty tears they had shed,
And their surfaces had been closed,
But as we stormed busily with laughter, along their dead roots,
All came back to life, and polished liveliness, and guiltless temperance.
Ah, thy image is still in my mind-for it is my ill mind's antidote,
With all the haste and loveliness and ardour as thou but ever hath,
Thou art loved, by me and my soul, more than I love myself and the earth,
Thou art more handsome even, than the juicy unearthed hearth yonder.
Ah thee, my very own lover and drowsy merriment at times,
Thou who keepest fading and growing-
and fading and growing over my head,
Thy image hauntest my sleep and drivest all of me crazy,
For justice is not justice, and death is not
death, as long as I am not with thee,
And I shall accept not-death as it is,
for I shall die never without thee,
For I am in thy love, as thine in mine,
And dreams shall no longer matterest,
when thy joys are mine-and fiercely mine,
I am blinded by urgent insecurity,
That occurest and tauntest and shadowest me
like a panoramic little ghost,
Massively shall it address me,
Painstakingly and, in the name of justice, ingloriously,
And shall them address my past and destroy me,
For I hath carelessly let thee fade from my life,
And enslavest and burdenest my very own history,
For in which now there is no longer thy name,
ike how mine not in thine.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Still thou art gentle as summer daffodils,
Thy image slanderest me, and its fangs couldst kill.
Thou owneth that sharpness that threatens me,
Corruptest and stiflest me, without any single stress,
And charming but evil like thy thirsty flesh.
Ah, still, I wishest to be good, and be not a temptress,
though all my love stories be bad, and
endest me and shuttest up in a dire mess.
I feelest empty, and for evermore t'is emptiness
shall proudly tormentest and torturest me,
Stenching me out like I am a little devil,
Who knowest but nothing of love nor goodwill,
I needst thee to make everything better, and shinier,
In my future life, as later-in my advanced years,
As death is getting near, for more and greater
shall my soul hath accordingly stayed here.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Thou art my summer butterfly and beetle,
I shall cloakest thee with sweet honey and sun,
And engulfest thee safely and warmly
under the angry sickly moon.
I am thankful for thee still, for thou hath changed me,
For thou made me see, and opened my flawed eyes
Thou enabled me to witness the real world;
But everything is still, at times, beyond my fancy,
For they keepest moving and stayest never still,
Sometimes I am, like I used to be, astonished
at the gust of things, and the way they grossly turned
Their malice made my heart wrenched, and my stomach churned
What I seest oftentimes weariest my bosom, and disruptest my glee
And still I shall convincest myself, that I but needst thee with me,
Thee to for evermore be my all-day guide and candlelight,
Thee who art so understanding, and everything lovable, to my sight.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
If thou wert a needle then I'd be thy thread,
If thy rain wert dry then I'd makest it wet.
But needst not thou worry about my rain;
For 'tis all enduring and canst bear
even the greatest, most cynical pain.
Ah, and thus I'd be thy umbrella,
Thou, whose abode in my heart
is more superfluous, and graceful-
than my random, fictitious nirvana;
Oh, thee, thou art my lost grace,
And everyone who is not thee-
I keepest calling them by thy name,
How crazy-ah, I am, just like now I am, about thee!
Ah, thou art my air, my sigh, and my comfortable relief,
And in my poetry thou art worth all my sonnets, my charm,
and forever inadequate, affection!
And only in thy eyes I find my dear, effectual temptations,
As under the hungered moonlight by the infuriated sea,
Who standeth strenuously by the peering strand of couples,
Thou evokest within me dangerous eves, and morns of madness,
Thou makest me find my irked melody, and vexed sonnet,
Thou made, even briefly-my latent days gracious,
Thou made me feelest glad and undistant and precious.
Thou art a saint, thou art a saint, though thy being a human
intervenest thee and prohibitest thee from being so;
ah, and whoever thinkest so is worthy of my regrets,
and the worst tactfulness of my weary wrath;
For thou art far precious, more than any trace
of silverness, or even true goldness,
Thou art my holiest source of joy,
and most healing pond of tears;
Thou art my wealth, virgin trust,
and my only sober redemption;
thou art my conscience, pride, and lost self;
Thou art indeed, my eternally irredeemable satisfaction.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I adorest thee only-my prince, my hero, my pristine knight;
Ah, thee, thou art perfect to my belief and my sight,
Thou who art deserving of all my breath and my poetry;
Thou who understandest what kindness is, and desires are,
Thou who made me seest farther but not too far.
Thou who art an angel to me-a fair, fair angel,
Thou who art beguiling as tasteful tides
among the sea-my courteous summer sea,
Thou who art even more human than
our fellow living souls themselves;
Sometimes I think thou art courage itself-
as thou art even braver than it, the latter, is!
Thou art the sole ripe fruit of my soul,
And my poetic imagination, and due thought;
Thou art the naked notes of my sonata,
And the naughty lyrics of my sonnet,
Thou art everything to nothingness,
As how nothingness deemest thee everything;
Thou makest them shy, and dutifully-
and outstandingly, changest their minds;
Thou art a handsome one to everything,
Just as how everything respectest, and adore thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
By whose presence I was delighted, as well my breath-dignified,
Ah, my love, now helpest me define what love itself is;
For I assumest it is more than fits of hysteria, and sweet kisses
Look, now, and dream that if death is not really death
Than what is it aside from unseen rays of breath?
For love is, I thinkest, more handsome than it doth lookest,
For in love flowest blood, and sacrifice, and fate that hearts adorest
But desiccated and mocked as it is, by its very own lovers
That its sweetness hath now turned dark, and far bitter;
Full of hesitations engulfed in the best ways they could muster;
O, my love, like the round-leafed dandellions outside,
I shall glancest and swimest and delvest into thy soul;
I shall bearest and detainest and imprisonest thee in my mind,
But verily shall I care for thee,
ah, and thus I shall become thy everything!
Let me, once more, become obstinate-but delirious in thy arms;
let me my very prince-oh, my very, very own prince!
Doth thou knowest not that I am misguided,
and awfully derogated, without thee!
Ah, thee! My very, very own thee!
Comest back to me, o my sweet,
And let me be painted in thy charms,
o thee, whom I hath so tearfully,
and blushingly missed, ever since!

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I loveth thee adorably, and am fond of thee admirably,
so frequent not outside when all is dark and yon sky is red,
For I hatest justification, and its possibly hidden wrath;
I hatest judging what is to happen when our hearts hath met,
but how canst I ever knowest-when thou choosest to remaineth mute?
Then tearest my heart, and keepest my mouth shut
O thee, should this discomfort ever happenest again;
Please instead slayest me, slaughterest me, and consumest me-
And lastly let me wander around the earth as a ghost.
Let me be all ghastly, deadly, and but penniless;
Let me be breathless, poor, imbecile, and lost-
For in utter death there is only poverty,
And poverty ever after-as no delicacy nor taste,
But I shall still dreamest as though my deadness is not death,
for I am alone; for I am all cursed, without thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully cherished,
To thee whom I endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still left within thee,
Just how weepest shall the leafless autumn tree,
Waiting for its lost offspring to return,
and be liberated from its pious mourns;
And as I hearest their shaky, infantile chorus,
I shall but picturest thee again, thus;
Thy cordial left palm entwined in my hand,
Strolling with me about the leafy garden.
A joyed maiden having found her dream man,
a loving man swamped deeply with his love, for his loyal maiden.

I'm staring at walls and hiding away.
Breathing to fast for a normal day
Yet at the same time I can't breathe
As I stare at the test in front of me.

Life can take you in unplanned ways,
And leave you hanging with only a few days.
And here I ask you, who am I?
To choose between death and life?

I'm seventeen, I'm too young to make this choice,
To silence another soul and bury down their voice.
But as the seconds tick on by
And as I feel my eyes dry

I think of how hard it would be
If there was something growing inside of me.
That "Just one time" was probably enough.
And that even protection isn't so tough.

No matter how far I reach
Your tiny hands are too far from me,
And I want to hold you in my arms
And protect you from all world harms.

I want to wipe away your little sorrows
And hold you for every tomorrow
And lift you up above my head so high,
That you could take flight in the sky.

And when I look into your eyes,
The color of midsummer skies,
I'll be looking into his too.
Because love gave his eyes to you.

And our little family would fight along
And we'd have to find a way to be strong.
School would be a dying dream.
More jobs would magnetize me.

And I love you, I love you, I really do.
But it's much too soon for me to have you.
And there's still a minute until the end of the test.
And I can't find where I lost my breath.

Baby, be patient, you'll be here one day.
But if I want what's best for you, I can't let you stay.
And I'm sorry for ever doing wrong,
But my love for you is much too strong.

I'm staring at walls and hiding away.
Breathing to fast for a normal day
Yet at the same time I can't breathe
As the test says "No - " in front of me.

I’m praying for Pangaea so I can run to the ends of the earth for you. Mixed signals are cancerous so I swallow yours down to keep you safe. Sure, souls like fire in my bloodstream burn on the way out but they’re streaming for you into this chest cavity missing a heart, my own Judas, betrayed me for your eyes. Even saints can be lost causes, darling, but you’re neither. You’re a superhero, all technicolour capes and dollar-store disguises and you’d think I’m the damsel in distress but I’m your nemesis. Why else do you think I’m burning Earth to the ground, for my own perverse enjoyment? I’m pulling your hair, putting tacks on your seat because I’m too afraid to say I love you, which is a truth, which is a bomb to defuse before our bed becomes ground zero. I laugh at your jokes and offer myself up for slaughter but you’re not biting so I’m walking home in the snow, alone. I’m cold, I’m frozen. I’ve gone home to a Heaven of ice, heads in the freezer like a good luck charm, your words carved into my palms so I won’t forget. Back to the lab, back to the drawing board. Maybe I’ll close the warplans for tonight.
I know you belong to her but I’m jealous, baby, I’m so jealous. I’ll tell you to bow down, defer, sing a hallelujah to lull me to sleep before I remember how much it hurts to love you. And tomorrow when you’re gone I’ll plan death: hell, maybe the world’s. You might love me then. I’m not too hopeful.

you stopped caring about yourself around the same time that
she stopped fighting, which is
to say circa 1977, when president
jimmy carter asked you to turn down your heat, wear
a sweater, and you still trusted that things could change
so you wore two and shut your heat
off. she was no longer the beauty you married circa 1960, which is
to say that she let herself go, which is to
say that you'd never loved her more.

now you're dead and she doesn't even
know it, but here i am getting ahead of myself again
and here you are hiding in the ground. i'm asking you to wake
up and you tell me no for the first time. your eyes stay shut.
now you're dead.

you finally gave up on keeping her home circa
2011, and you institutionalized her, and nothing had ever
hurt more. you stayed home alone. you
went to church. you visited her every day, and you prayed,
and nothing ever changed.

you went to the doctor. you died. you got cancer.
those aren't in the right order but you know
the story by
now. you can sort it
out.

you left me and i never even wrote that thank-you card that i thought about
for years, but i promise, i thought about it. i thought about
you.

here she is alone, here she is
trapped in her mind, here she is forgetting
you while you love her, here you are
six feet under, you silly goose. come home, we miss
you. come home, there's kolbas and solina and anything you
want, just come home already.

After work, we visited Uncle S----. I haven't
seen him in years, and he's not doing well.
He's moved in with R-- and L--- after time in
the hospital for chemo and even rehabilitative
care. He's lost a lot of weight. But what's worse
than the cancer ("everywhere", as M----
described it) is how sad he looked when he told
us about his 52nd anniversary. He gave Aunt
L------ a card and she looked at it for a
moment, then handed it back to him without
a word. I can tell it's rough for him, being
away from his wife - physically and emotionally.
They say she doesn't really communicate
with anyone much. I think it's killing both of
them.

i never wrote you a thank-you
note. i wrote you a eulogy three weeks before
you died. i brought cake but you're dead,
i cried for a week but you're dead.
i'm still crying. you're still dead.

i wonder if she remembers you at all.