Why do I lack
Beauty in my life like other people's
To the point where I have to make it myself?

Why does my brain crave
The inkyness of that hole
When I am happy

Perhaps the rain cries
The very tears I can't shed
When it knows I hurt

This endless social mass
Is slowly killing me

Be my lifeline,
I beg of you
Be my love.

Skidding down the cliff, grasping for a hold, cutting and scraping and trembling. You want to kick off, to fall and be done with it.

But you will remain, frantically clawing at the edge as it rushes past, always and forever. This cliff will last as long as you do.

You will get no relief.

But will you suffer so that others will not? The question rings.

You will suffer, and so will everybody else. You will carry on falling, but never quickly.

I try to hang onto her smell
Musky, cool, sweet
Like dew on the ground.

I try to see her face
Her smile, so fragile
Her eyes, so bright

I only see ghosts, smell air,
And she is left in my mind
Disintegrating and fading  

Incomplete

Dying her second death

People are always connected
Yet in this world of billions
I am still alone

We're floating
Flying
Falling

You're a breath
As I rise from the water

I'm a lifeline
As you sink in the sea

What would my world be
If it weren't also yours?

So tired, all the time. So little matters. So little is worth expending energy on.

You don't wish to die, or to be happy, you're just tired. Tired of so much.

You haven't relaxed in years, or gotten relief. There's always more to do, so much on the horizon.

Nothing satisfies you, nothing fills the void. Never stability, never simplicity, always tired.

But will you suffer so that others will not? The question rings.

You will suffer, and so will everybody else. No rest for the wicked.

The truth is nothing. You just lie down, and let the waves wash over you, until it fades, and you miss the waves that slowly drown you, and the truth they always bring.

You return to it, eventually. Or it returns to you. A dreadful thing to behold, that nothing works. To be forcefully ejected from everything to the shores. To witness as an outsider the truth of how everything ticks. The patient, methodical turning of time, and how it goes unaffected in your absence.

Will you suffer so that others will not? The question rings.

You will suffer, and so will everybody else. It washes over you, and all you can do is lay down.

You want to weep, because nothing ever works. But it fades, as everything always will. A motion with the tide.