I’d be a fool,
to think I could do,
better than you,
it’s true.

My wife,
my light,
my day,
and my night.

You’ve been there,
through thick and thin,
you stayed by me,
when I let the dark in.

You saw the person,
behind the frown.
Without you my world,
is upside down.

I’m sorry I’ve been distant,
my sweetest sweetheart.
I was falling.
My world was falling apart.

I pushed you away,
but you stayed by my side.
You found me,
when I tried to hide.

I haven’t been,
the man you deserve.
The man who worships,
every curve.

I’m going to do better,
forever for you.
I’ll love you each day,
like it’s brand new.

My beautiful, wonderful,
supportive wife,
life without you,
is no life.

Where did my home go?
I cannot find it anywhere.

This is the wrong universe for me.
I don’t like what I see.

Violence and chaos,
fighting and war.

When we live in a land of plenty.

The rich get richer,
the poor stay poor.

Homelessness, poverty,
these things don’t make sense,
when modern life should be easy.

Instead we squabble,
like children,
over every little thing.

Nothing gets done,
to the detriment of everyone.

I hope one day I can go home,
to the land I used to know,
where people were treated with respect.

But I fear that place is lost to time,
and will only again exist in memory.

I crave her caress.
Desire her love.

She is perfection in the flesh.
An angel made human.

She makes me want to be better.
Makes me want to change.

Her touch makes me shiver.
While her smile warms my soul.

My heart picks up,
when she looks my way.

I could get lost in her eyes.
Every single day.

Over and over again.
I’ll love her till the end of time.

This beautiful woman,
who will never be mine.

My flesh will tell you a story,
of a man filled with self loathing.
Deep scars across my legs,
for never being good enough.

My own self mutilation.
No one to blame but me.
Still, much as I love my scars,
I wish no one else could see.

For they cause pain and problems.
Even doctors rush to judge.
“This person is not sick,
he’s just crazy.”

I am not crazy, just in pain.
It’s a deep horrible misery,
just inside my brain,
and it never goes away.

But for drugs and the knife,
it’s a struggle to get through life.
Yet I learn to be stronger,
every single day.

Medicines and therapy.
A whole team to make me well.
They’ve shown me what I can do,
when I put my mind to it.

Now it’s been months,
since I held the knife.
Bit by bit, day by day,
I’ve been taking back my life.

There’s a desire to cut.
A despair about death.
The frustration of life.
World full of strife.

So I write something down.
Some pretty words.
And I hope it matters.
But it doesn’t, and everything shatters.

There’s no point to this.
Or maybe there is.
Hope comes first.
I’m going to burst.

Being mentally ill is hard.
Too ******* hard.
I’ll be okay.
But I feel it today.

The withered trees cling to life.
Some will die, while others live.
The forest was burned, scarred,
with marks visible for miles around.
Now she must regrow.
Green shrubs and grasses poke up from ashy ground.
Sections of wood are full of life.
Others carry the stench of death.
In time it will be forgotten.
The forest will be mighty.
But then, someday,
the world will burn again.

When the wild wind blows which way will I go?
Will it be north or south? East or west?
Or will I simply stay in place.
Whichever way I go,
I’ll continue to grow,
I’ll learn from my mistakes,
and I’ll prepare for the day,
when the wild wind takes me away.