I feel as though
I could sink below this Cobblestone
and lay forever among these rocks.
That have been pounded
so hard by the tide
they were brave enough to become smooth.

Adapting to roll along blissfull waters,
until imprisoned here
among the urban shore.

I envy these soft stones.
Cemented in their purpose.
I relate to the chips on the rocks,
unable to bare the new pressures
of high heels and loafers.

I too feel imprisoned in this pressure,
I too feel the cracks on my surface forming.

"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.

What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.

What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. *******, that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.

What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.

What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.

What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.

What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.

Your words spin in circles
around topics that never change.
One place to the next,
everything stays the same.
Compress every minor inconvenence
until they shine like diamonds
in a pitch black sky.
Embed them in your skin.
Wear them like badges of honor,
even though they're scars.
Would have been better,
to just let the coal burn.

I'm starting to think it's me.
Maybe I ask to much,
though, admittedly,
maybe's it's because
I don't know what I am asking for?
I am starting to think, it's me.
Maybe I am the problem.
Or maybe that's just the voice in my head,
like a vice,
crushing any minor thing,
like an atom,
until it splits with the force of a thousand suns.
Or maybe it's everything else,
me included.
Maybe I just say it's me,
because I am my biggest bully,
and easiest target.
I thought I was asking for simple things,
but nothing seems simple anymore.
I just want these ropes untied from my hands.
Trapped in my own mind like a hostage,
who doesn't care if they make it out.
There is no greener grass on the other side,
I just wish this grass wasn't wet.
Sticking to me like feathers and tar.
I'm starting to think that I am just coasting along,
waiting for someone to help me fix my boat for me, before it sinks.

When I was younger
I didn't understand the phrase
"I wish I'd never been born."
I thought it synonymous with
"I want to die."
In many ways it is.
Yet the phrase is less saying
"I want to die," and more saying
"I wish my lack of existence
wouldn't cause you any pain."
It's saying,
"only a few I love keep me here."
It's saying,
"I'd give up all I've lived to not have to go on any longer.
But if not for you,
I would choose an early out."
It's as near sighted
as any suicidal logic.
But the depth is something,
I've identified with in these
later days.

Everyday is like a hurricane
without NOAA.
High sustained winds
cut my emotions to shreds;
as words, like debris, crash into me.
I'm trying to smile,
but the rain floods my eyes
until the leaves burst.
The storm rages on
with the fury of
high temperatures.
I'm holding on to street lamps,
losing my footing,
while all I was trying to do
was sing in the rain.

These people act like I sit on my phone, protesting food like Ghandi, and absorb depression through the silicone.