Depression is a void, an empty ocean.
I dont want to go there, but she tells me to come anyways and I obediently follow.
Away from the hills and through the city, she reintroduces me to my two old friends,
Grief and Pity.
It's been a while, though they do not ask me how I've been. Its always been all about them.
I hate her for taking me here, but i have no choice, she knows the way because we've been there together before.
She knows how to navigate the steep cliffs, lies, narrow paths and empty eyes.
How silly of me to think that I could forget, so many times it was where I lived, cried and slept, I could NEVER forget.
I think I'll stay here a while, after all. Shes blocked the exit on the other side of the hall, but i dont mind because this comfort is mine.
Depression and my two old friends, three if you count her. I didnt miss them but I dont feel out of place here, they know me so well.
So I take another drag from my cigarette and I let the void swallow me.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
when i was nineteen i fled from the east.
i moved to colorado to escape the dope scene.
when i found out my sister was using, i was just fourteen.
my friends kept dying and my friends STILL keep dying
i came here to escape the dope scene,
i was just nineteen.
four years later, and ****** followed me.
now, i am twenty three
still in the rockies - wild, but not free.
i cant escape the dope scene
because it followed me.
my friend just died, someone that i loved.
(it was only a month ago, today, i miss him so much)
but life is a cycle and ****** followed me,
out to the mountains, my beautiful rockies.
someone i love, with so much potential,
she's been smoking dope and to her its now essential.
like the dead once said
the wheel keeps turning, you cant go back.
everything from this point on is a waiting game.
I'll finish this later.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
If you crave
discovering the pit
of fire,
shower the floor
with your coverings
and summon lust
under white linen
while my hungry
eyes make a
meal of you.
Or, if you
fantasize of glowing
gates drenched in
golden glory,
keep silent
prayers tucked under
your tongue,
and don’t let
God hear you
say my name.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
Soft and smooth, I am not
married yet but
the bed knows me
well.
Jazz hands, sucker
punch, daintily like
ballet -- I am in
full bloom.
Crescendo with my
fingertips, petunia,
rose. The bed knows
me well.
Warm, disgust,
the ****** of the orchestra.
Plush, a slight stir
and a deep breath.
I marry in the bowels
of the night, ink,
glint stars. Lovingly and
pressing, I do
my own.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
the sun will rise again and like it's light finds the mountains peaks,
in the early morning, my heart stays synchronized with your heart beat.
hide tide and the low, how does the ocean always find the shore?
simply, it's the same way that my soul will always finds yours.
and you can let me die in the winter like the leaves that have fallen,
but your name is the one that i will forever be calling.
so please, in the fall, let us keep growing abundantly,
flourish, let our leaves and love be green.
(our love and life is everything to me)
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
a writer will write in any situation;
terror, and stoic sadness-
it's about manifestation.
verbal ************ mental incarceration.
the blank white page: a cage
and my pen is the key,
ink on paper to set emotion free.
"can i read it, please?"
you like eye ******* my poetry?
with my words i can make you feel anything.
with my words, i can illustrate an intricate painting
because a writer will write to make you see;
a writer would rather write
than speak to anybody.
(speaking gives writers anxiety)
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
your cool hands beckoned my shaky knees,
take me among the pine trees, please.
driving home through adirondack sunshowers,
i became yours in the fields of mountain flowers.
you loved me through the darkest night,
and you still want me in the mornings light.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
the blue of his eyes remind me of a time when i was a little girl.
that trip to the beach when the atlantic pulled me in
(i couldn't swim)
the way the waves pulled me into the vastness of the ocean,
so similar to the way that i fell for him in one swift motion;
a kiss and i was his
(in his eyes, i am learning to swim)
the lack of breath and anxiety,
until the idea of drowning doesn't seem so scary anymore.
a calmness washes over your being when you become afraid.
(your blue eyes are like a tidal wave.)
and i am yours, forever to claim.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
this is what i'm left with,
blank walls of a cold basement.
moving on seems so easy sometimes,
but this is where i spend each night
and it's lonely.
sometimes i'm able to fall asleep,
only to wake up abruptly;
half expecting to turn over and see your face
doing that mouth half open, eyes half closed thing.
but it's him there, because you're not around anymore
i don't love him or them, but they
never go away
(they come when i ask them to.)
faithful ******* specks
of dust clinging onto a broken piano
or a tired old bookshelf
whose books don't get opened anymore.
i miss you the most at night,
and lately it seems
like the night
never ends.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
no boy
has ever
broken my
heart
more times
than my
own father.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC