Remember me?
I was the one always there.
I was the light when
reality rained showers
of shadow.
Remember me?
You said we would be inseparable,
yet somehow we have drifted so far.
It hurts to know we used to be so close,
like brothers.
Times change I get that,
seasons wither the great oak,
but it still returns to its strongest.
We were strongest together,
yet you never came back.
You went away,
but did not return.
How selfish.
To give your life for everyone else
when I would wish to just have you.
I am alone now,
I just hope you are with me,
in spirit.

Why does normality **** creativity!
Why does it always get in the way
like yesterdays rain spilling into
tomorrows sun.
I cant run from this.
I cant escape this dreary rule of
mundane society.
I want to write!
'Then write' you say.
but I can't,
not with normality being
the murderer of my muse.
How can I create something beautiful,
wonderful,
brilliant,
magnificent
When normality is just one step outside my door.

I guess this is a place for the damaged souls to come?
Take a ticket, stand in line and quench our misery.

I once knew a happy writer........That sounds like the start
of a bad joke, but its true.
He was inspirational.
He soon became a drunk, lost in a sea of
cheap wine, blinded at the surface by an
ebbing flow of cigarette smoke.
That was the way of it,
he slipped from the precipice of happiness
and cascaded down into that ocean of despair.

I swam out to try and find him,
but I myself got lost at sea,
drunk on misery, for I had lost my
dearest friend.

I am still here
floating,
alone.
Lost at sea.

Yesterday was blue.....
Please make today beautiful.

So I want to be a poet,
I want to be a writer,
I want to be loved,
remembered,
admired.

Why me,
why would I deserve
to succeed at what others,
MANY others
are so much better at doing...

Heart?*
We all have heart,
doesn't mean mine is bleeding most.

So, I read something beautiful.
'The spaces between your fingers
were created so that another's
could fill them in.'
I am unsure who wrote this,
but they made my morning.

My youth has slipped past
and I  am constantly
finding myself staring back,
trying to catch a glimpse of
of what happiness looked like.

I                Feel               Old.

Tired.
Like a worn out boot
thats trodden too many stoney
paths.
I haven't any pace left in me.