O’ to love!
O’ to love is a beautiful thing!
To wake up each morning,
And to feel the touch of that who is significant to you.
Is it truly impossible to find?
No!
Your troubles in going out and searching,
Are all laid upon your shoulders,
For it is not I who prevents you,
It is not I who stops you,
It is your own brain,
Your nerves that shake and shatter,
Your skin that begins to sweat,
I do not tell you who you cannot talk to,
You tell yourself who you cannot talk to.

Is this inability your fault?
Has it happened by your desire?
Your desire to never embrace again?
Or were you greatly harmed,
Harmed so that you could never walk to love again?
Why haven’t you healed yet?
Are you still holding on?
Or have you lost all hope?
I tell you with honesty,
Someone will make you feel well.

What do you mean that it is not possible?
Nothing is impossible if you try,
And it doesn’t seem you’re trying.
But you tell me the past is keeping you locked in place,
A place where only you can understand the pain.

What has happened to the key, sir?
Where did you drop it?
Under your couch?
In the gutter?
In a lake?
In an ocean?
Did you drop it purposefully?
Or by accident?
Has it been stolen from you?
From someone you know?
Or did it disappear without a trace?
What did you feel when it happened?
How did you know it occurred?
Was a piece of you missing?
Was a weight lifted from your chest?
Were you bleeding out from the wound?

Okay, okay, perhaps I understand.
I too felt this pain before,
But not like you would think.
You sit there and complain and cry,
And try nothing to fix the situation.
But how can I blame you?
You feel so hopeless and lost,
And you certainly do feel the cost.

The cost of what?

Your actions.
Your actions brought you to this moment,
This great standstill inside your very body,
A halt of everything that is warm,
And only one thing moves,
And that is the cold, dark, wretched insides that turn your spirit to dust,
The desire and hopelessness that you have crawling in your head,
The pain and fear tossing and turning, writhing in your soul.

I’m sorry, my friend.
You are not one who deserves this.
Forgive me friend, forgive my actions,
Do not try to uphold yours.
I am the one who needs to see,
It is not you.
I was the one who needed to open their eyes,
I needed to see what you saw,
And what you saw was a dark world,
One where you were afraid to continue on without someone,
Someone special to you and your wellbeing,
And now I do see!

I must repeat my point though,
I must repeat it.
You must get strong, friend,
You must continue walking.
One day, you will find the key yourself,
Or someone in glorious, prevalent limelight will bring it to you,
They will carefully put it in their own safe,
Their safe that is kept in their heart
And promise to never lose it.

I am sorry darling,
You never did deserve this.
You were always the golden one,
You would have never lost the fire in your soul if not for them.
I wonder, did you know?
Did you predict something like this would happen?
That you were always so trusting and open,
That once you found someone you cared about,
You would open up in ways not known to anyone else?
Did you know the person you poured your soul into,
Would excrete it back into you, like it was sewage?

Farewell my good friend,
It was nice knowing you,
But I do not believe I truly knew you.
That person has long since died,
But perhaps they can be revitalized?
Maybe they can find a way back to this world,
From the depths of despair,
Maybe that person can be healed.

Farewell, goodbye,
And maybe the next time I see you,
You will know how to love once again,
I can really talk to you.

A lonely and regretful man sat on the hood of his car one crisp December night,
The only warmth he received was from the rumbling engine that worked beneath him.
His vehicle was in the middle of nowhere,
Just off a dirt road that was far from any kind of civilization.
However, this small pull off meant more to the man than any kind of payment in the world,
For it held his heart,
His heart which had been so treacherously torn out of his chest,
Beating and pulsating as he stared at it being taken away from him,
The only place in which he could feel alive again,
In which he could feel blood pumping throughout his body was at this place,
Where he only visited once a year, every year, on the same day,
Years from that day.

This same spot, exactly eight years before, he had met one beautiful creature,
Who had introduced him to a world of many wonders,
A world that the man had never believed to be real,
This being of beauty loved the man, or so he thought,
So he entrusted this magnificent beast with his heart and all his love,
And for a time,
She kept it and guarded it with every fiber in her body,
But as time goes on, as it always does, the two grew farther and farther apart,
And one night they met at this one spot they had fatefully met at,
And she stole the heart of the man, and kept it there.
She promised the man that one day,
She would return and give the heart back to the man,
But until that day he would need to wait.
And so, he waited, and returned every year,
On the same day they had met,
Years from that day.

Now, with him feeling a great relief to be there and feel alive once more,
He couldn’t help but wonder if the Siren would return one day,
Out of the ocean of dying grass,
And choose to not harm him anymore,
And return what is needed for him to continue living.

Every crackle causes him to perk his ears,
Every small movement made him look that direction,
It was like this every time he arrived,
And he would be so paranoid until about three in the morning,
Which was the time he left the night he first arrived,
He continued to sit, time ticking on,
And he began to become more and more concerned,
Believing that this mythical creature would not return,
He looked at his watch, and the time to leave was almost near,
But soon five minutes went past the three on the clock, and he said to himself,
Perhaps I should wait longer? After all, it has been years since that day.

An eternal darkness for none to see,
Other than myself.
Drowning in this ocean day after day,
But none coming to rescue me.
I lay there at the bottom,
Rusted chains grasping my neck,

Would you come see me, maybe come check?

As time goes on, as it always does,
Oxidized chains holding me ever so tightly,
Never letting me leave that forsaken place,
And never letting me forget that day,

I’ve been drowning here and bound by this metal fray.

My body kept walking day in and day out,
But my mind was drowning at the bottom,
Pondering, wondering, crying, and writhing,
Every minute it was trapped.

Maybe someone will see where my soul is kept?

As time goes on, as it always does,
The chains began to weaken,
And the once frightening thought of being locked and shut in,
Started to loosen and fade.

After all this time and all that I’ve prayed.

A wound that was left, deep in my back,
From someone I once loved.
That person tied a boulder to the bottom of my shoe,
And dropped me in the ocean.

What could cause someone to have such heartless emotion?

As time goes on, as it always does,
The rock that once held me there started to weather away,
And the weight that kept me from floating back up,
Started to disappear day by day.

Now is the time to float towards the top, through the water like a ballet.

The chains that once bound me have now broken,
And the boulder is now sand.
I feel by body floating towards the surface,
And I get my first gasp of air.

I have been freed of my despair.

As time goes on, as it always does,
I am now free from my chains.
Now I wait for someone to rescue me,
And to heal me of my pain.

These feelings, I promise, are not feign.

Waiting is the most heinous thing that time does,
For it gives one hope,
Hope that may never appear,
Hope that may never show.

Dreaming is the most beautiful thing that time does,
For it gives one a sense of escape,
Escape from a world that does not love,
Escape from a place that does not have such landscapes.

Forgiving is the most difficult thing that time does,
For it allows one to pass on,
Pass on from their feelings of ill-will,
Pass on from their feelings of wanting to be gone.

Falling is the most simplistic thing that time does,
For it gives one relief,
Relief that their world may end,
And that their time is complete.

How long?
How long does it take for a wound to heal?
How long for you to feel whole once again?
Perhaps a small scratch on the arm takes weeks,
Perhaps a large **** on a leg takes months,
Perhaps the deepest wound of all takes years,
But what wound would that be?
Would it be an amputated limb,
A limb that was once apart of your body,
That has now been torn off.
Or maybe, it’s a deeper wound than that.
One that reaches to the very depths of your soul,
One that reached your core,
And tore it apart from the inside out,
A virus,
A contagion.
A cancer that reached the innocent person you once preserved,
The innocent person that came out of hiding,
And showed itself to one other person,
And that person killed them, destroyed them, annihilated them.

How long?
One year?
Two years?
Three years?
Maybe more?
What happens during this healing time?
I’ll tell you what happens,
It ruins your heart.
Razes the buildings of conviction and reason in your head,
Tearing them down and replacing them with a shelter for sickened thoughts,
And establishes shrines of a great power of nihilism.
How long until this anarchal government and reigning establishment of power in your mind,
Leaves and lets the free spirit of joy relieve your nerves?
This socialism and totalitarianism in which all are the same,
Except the wrenching ****** structure of the dictator,
Who has breached upon the rights of every brain cell,
And makes individuality fade,
And your identity along with it.

Maybe this is a part of the process?
How could it be one in the same with this evil?
How could a pain so vile and gruesome,
Be the work of a medicine?
No!
I have been broken and I will not heal!
I cannot!
My pride will not allow me,
My soul will not allow me!
I have something to prove!
I must prove that I am not able to be healed,
That I am not a soul to be saved!
I am not looking to a higher power to come down from the heavens and save me,
I am not filled with fear or disillusionment,
You are the imposter here,
You are the one that does not belong!
I am the one who is thinking straight!
I see what no others can!
I see what no others are able,
I see the world the way it was made
A dark, cruel place where the forebodings of the future are the only constant,
The ticking of a clock and fall of a pencil are the only constant,
The pain and the suffering are the only constant.
I see the world in its purest form,
A singularity,
A planet that turned into an exploding star,
The product of which does not let even light escape.
Not one photon.
Not one reflection or refraction.
Not one neuroreceptor that works properly.
Are these two things comparable by nature?
A basic source of light being the same as a feeling of being alive?
Both have been deprived from my body,
One in a metaphysical sense,
The other in an anatomical sense.
How have we reached this point?
Because of the wound.
It all circles back to the wound that I have received,
It has made me ill.

I see.
I see now.
I let this thing feast off of me,
Vultures and flies to a carcass.
It consumed me whole, digesting me without my knowledge.
I was slowly waking up,
Floating back towards the surface,
In a liquid that had an exceptional viscosity,
A sap that would let me come back up at a protracted rate.
But now I’m intelligent enough to understand my surroundings,
And I can see a light.

The light?

Comparable to happiness.
I’m here,
Someone who was in pain is now no longer,
Someone has been healed of their wounds.
Or perhaps I will still limp,
Perhaps I will still struggle to gain footing,
But one day I will be able to run a marathon,
And I will prove what I need to those around me.

Prove something.

What was it that I wanted to prove beforehand?
Was it that I could not heal?
It seems so distant and so far,
I hardly remember what I felt.
Why would I wish that upon myself?
Now I must prove my humanity.
I must prove that I can feel once again.
I must prove that I am reborn,
But most importantly I must prove that I can forgive.
Forgiving a person is possibly the hardest task one can be given,
And it has been given to me.
I must either cast it aside,
Or embrace it for what it is,
And I do not want to be in pain anymore.

Revolutions within one’s mind,
A great war with himself, herself, themselves.
I have torn down these buildings of suffering,
These buildings which incite torment,
A great government has been replaced,
A prosperous society for all,
And now an individual trait can be found once again,
Or an old one can be revived,
And all love can come back,
All joy can return.
An ensured security of the core will be set,
One that will keep it safe, and let others understand how it works,
One that will keep you loving the world around you,
One that will keep you safe.
A wound healed,
A ministry reformed,
A battle won,
A star formed,
A point proven.

What is it that makes one feel alive?
Is it the times they spend towards careless actions?
Or is it the love they feel from those around them?
The endless days of nine to five,
Or the realization that nothing stays the same?

Are you alive? Asked the man,
But how do I answer?
Do I say I’m dying as each day passes,
Can he read me like an open letter?

As everyday moves on,
I can’t help but wonder,
Why do we live for us to perish?
Is that all we are good for?

Are you feeling alright? Asked the man,
But how do I answer?
Do I tell him I’ve been sick everyday,
Or that I’ve never felt better?

What are we here for,
For a God’s entertainment pleasures?
Are we the main event, I wonder,
That he has been all but waiting for?

Can you hear me alright, Asked the man,
I think you might be fading.
I try to speak up and tell him ever so much,
That I was still breathing.