she may hurt, but she is not pain.
she may fail, but she is not a failure.
she may be tragic, but she is not tragedy.

*she may feel worthless,
but this, too, will pass.

Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.

Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.

Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.

Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.

Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...

.
Adrift...                    
Time has no hold over these
currents that carry me.
Coursing over this seemingly
endless journey.
Caressed and nudged
by an invisible hand...
Perhaps my grave awaits below...
Where light is swallowed
and is too afraid to show.
The desolate demeanor
of the submerged tombless land.

Adrift...                    
Blind to what lays in store...
Oblivious to...
The faint whispers of a distant shore.
The mythical horizon is but a dream,
worthy only to the steadfast
and the resilient.
Not to those who'd fray at the seams.

Adrift...                    
Ripples amass and finally cresting.
Wake up... Waves are breaking.
The sand beckons bearing open arms
to home and sanctuary.
I glance back to
the calm of the watery plain.
My feet aren't ready to be received by
the grit and grain.
I'd like to linger here...
In the water, with the shore so near.
For I've longed and travelled far...
but
I'm still not yet ready...
.

It was a day like today when
I found myself nearly paralyzed
unable to move myself from my bed.
This existential depression is crippling.
Living like the dead.

I need a purpose, I need a reason
to continue down this path called life
but with out turning to hedonism.

But I have no real passions
I have no real hobbies.
I'm just sitting around waiting
stuck in purgatory.

If you've read my rants before you'll know of my nihilism.
And I've struggled to find the will to live for quite some time now.
I'm seeing several psychs and on a multitude of meds
that I will gladly abuse to try to transcend
to something greater.
Something more.
But this "instant-gratification" lifestyle can't go on forever.

Because money runs thin
and I hate running.
My lungs are filling up
and its with nothing healthy.
This low self-esteem feels like drowning.
Living like a problem not worth solving.
Each day passes, each the same.
Moving forward toward monotony.