I'm here again.
In my thinking place.
I see you're here too.
Welcome back.
Its been a while.
Thank you for coming,
I wasn't sure if you'd return.
I know I wouldn't, if I could avoid it.
While relaxing on the path,
the tree line hides monsters.
There are no animals here,
only thoughts, the ones on the path are safe.
But the ones, beyond the trees,
thoughts of angst, and depression
hide just within the shadows.
They present themselves as horrible beasts.
stalking, waiting for me to step off the path.
Waiting to sink their teeth in me.
To trap me in their web, and never let me go.
It helps to have you here,
sharing this place with me,
the path is less narrow.
The monsters that hide along the edge
are less bold when we share this thinking place.

You are my spring
Fresh and new
young and welcoming
blossoming and lively
optimistic for the seasons to come

You are my summer
Hot and breezy
relaxing and refreshing
radiating warmth
looking forward to fall
unaware of the encroaching cold

You are my fall
Crisp and vibrant
golden and fruitful
enchanting but decomposing
weary of winter,
and the creeping frost

You are my winter
Cold and barren
sharp and silent
bitter and dead
waiting for spring
praying for the thaw

Feelings differ
between people
on the subject of sleep.

Some find comfort
peace, happiness
between the sheets.

Others would rather
spend their time out of bed
looking for adventure
taking in the present.

But me
I never get up
and I never sleep.
I am always in the dark.
I am never safe.
For my dreams haunt me
same as the hours I spend awake.
My mind never rests.
There is no escape
from this
dark place.

Driving home
Walking on the beach
Sitting on the edge of a cliff
Do I turn into traffic?
Do I sink beneath the sea?
Do I slip off the edge?
The void calls to me
and the voice is getting louder.

I'm bleeding.
There is no way to stop it
I've done this to myself
I cant break this habit.
It's not physical,
but the pain is real
These next moments are pivotal
I don't want to feel.
The river slows to a creek
and then a stream.
But it never stops flowing,
it fills my dreams.
I'm never safe
from myself it seems.
I'm bleeding.

Tick
This is dangerous
I'm thinking again.
Nothing good comes
from the thoughts I have.
As they run through my head
my sanity does the same.
A delicate balance.
Am I going insane?
My thoughts imprison me,
trapping me in this time.
Betraying my trust,
I'm losing my mind.
Tock

Growing up
We would play in the snow
How we took that time for granted
Little did we know
We would soon be lost in the storm

As I stroll through the woods
Sun at my back
Laying softly across my shoulders
I think to myself how badly I wish
Someone might understand me

I glance down, acknowledging
the autumn leaves in my path
As they acknowledge me
Their soft crunches
Whispering secrets
I understand them
They inspire me
Beautiful as they cling to life
Even more graceful
as they fall to their death
I love this place
I look around,
soaking in the serene fall setting

Who? Who are you?
Have you been here this whole time?
I'm talking to you
Please answer me
Why are you in this place with me?
I guess it doesn’t matter
You’re in my head now
You can see my thoughts
And I guess I am in yours.


Do you understand me?
Do you want to?

"Time is up"
Finally.
They're talking about the test.
I am thinking about my life.
Time, what a strange thing.
An idea made to bind us in space.
When will it be my time?

"Pencils down"
I wish it were that easy.
To just leave it there.
To turn it in.
To finish it now.
When can I stop writing?

"The test is over"
Surely a cruel joke.
For as long as there is still time.
For as long as I am forced to hold this pencil.
The test is not over.
When will my test be over?

It’s snowing outside.
We used to love the snow.
The flakes waltzing through the air
Gentle and graceful like ballerinas.
We wish our thoughts could be like that again.
Where it once fell slowly
It now blizzards.
We hate the snow.

...
but i still like the snow...

Yes but We don’t.

it’s so beautiful and pure

Everything it touches turns to rot and slush.
With every flake a memory we would sooner forget.

...
you’re looking at it wrong
with every flake a beautiful new beginning
look
look at how the snow dances
it dances as if it doesn’t care
how much time is left in the song
I like the snow

We see.

We like the snow.