.

The last petal fell,
shivering on winter's cold ground
and looking up at the now barren stem
asked, " Why did you let me go,
I was the one that stuck with you
when all of the others left,
leaving you alone to face
the coming frigid season?

The empty stem, leafless,
void of its once lustrous color,
waving in the chilly winds answered,
"Don't worry, come spring I will
have many new wonderful petals
adorning me, making me
beautiful once again."

"I know, but none of them
will be me," replied the last petal
as it died.

I'm digging this hole
For me to be alone
Where I can fall
I'm tired of it all

The night will surround
There will be no sound
In the darkness I drowned
No light is found

I keep my thought
Although I aught
No message is brought
It just is there to haunt

My dreams
Of screams
With light beams
And regular themes

I'm digging this hole
For me to be alone
Where I can fall
I'm tired of it all

It's poison-
What did you expect it to taste like?
It's vitriolic and repulsive

You administer this fatal dose
Not with words
But with how you say them

A suicide mission-
You’ve poisoned yourself too                

I can see this coming by now
Read the signs when the serpent’s head is raised
Clipped, impatient, uncontrolled, overused, rage

Shaking hands, I reach for the antidote
Letting awareness filter toxins away
I inject you too- I love you, I say

But just for a moment there,
I felt the poison take control
Utter hate ripping through my soul

It leaves residue of negativity inside my heart
It’s getting more resistant with every fight you try to start
I fear how very easy it’d just be to fall

Wearied in the never-ending struggle to ignore the poison’s call

sorry about the length, but this one's important to me**

I thought I was above this- no, I thought I’d conquered it. Recently someone told me confidence like that is only seen in the naive. I’d have to agree.
No fancy words, no beating around the bush. Being blunt is the only way I can really say the truth.

I’m afraid, deathly afraid, of dying.

It’s there in the way I don’t trust my body, the way if it’s too late at night I don’t want to fall asleep because I can’t feel my heart beating and if I sleep it might just stay that way, so I dig my fingers into the side of my neck, only calming when I find the pulse.

It’s there when I’m consumed by guilt while procrastinating, because deep down I know I’m throwing away time I will never get back, time I could’ve been outside or with friends or making something beautiful happen for this unlikely world into which I was born.

It’s there when I recount what I’ve done in a day to make sure I’m doing something, when I tell myself I’ve already lived 1/6th of today’s average human life, when I make myself respond to anger with calm and worry whether I’ve said ‘I love you’ after I’ve left.

I’d thought I’d have moved past this, now that I’ve started to understand more of this world, the known and unknown. I never thought that looking up to the stars with wonder and humility would lead me to wonder whether part of me would continue on after the fingers I used to type this were gone.

I tried to evaluate this rationally, clinically detached. But it's hard. If I die, I’ll probably never get to learn why- why, where, and how we are, the questions that pull me through life. I’m so happy here. I’m comfortable, I have friends, I have purpose.

This is why people believe in a greater power or pattern, because it means there are rules. It has to be a rule that the good, the young, the ones who have yet to complete their purpose won’t die, believers will tell themselves. Therefore, I'm safe. It seems to make sense.

But that’s not reality. I can’t prove the pattern to exist or not, but if there’s a pattern, that’s not one of the rules. There’s nothing saying I won’t die today, or the next day or in a week. I’m not special- there’s nothing protecting me other than circumstance and myself.

So I’ve written this out- will it go away now? Maybe it shouldn’t. At the very least it’s made me committed to being the best I can be. Have I accomplished anything with this, other than making all of us squirm a little? Probably not. It’s probably best to go back to living now.

Running
From
Her.
Running
And
Never
Looking
Back.
Running
For
Her
Hold.
Running
From
The
Possibility
Of
Love.
Running
From
Any
Chances
Of
Being
Considered
Sane.
That's
Okay
Though.
I
Don't
Get
Tired
Easily.

I feel empty inside
but full with lies
told by people we are taught
their thoughts
their views
and our views
are supposedly wrong
and if in a song
these words are written
it is to society then hidden
and the message is not shared
and no one really cared

i.

In her silhouettes lee, I'm unscathed, unslaved,
Sheltered, free; tis she's mine sea, who guideth
me. Lief i'll cradle her, protectively, lief i'll be
the breath she breathes, lief O' lief; serenity.

ii.

In her presence I shalt bathe in her scintillating
albedineity, plenty O' plenty, shalt be in ourn
Cup; risen enduring creation's, just ourn love
Is enough, verily, verily, accumulating puff's.

iii.

Puff's of the holiness, surrounding ourn locus,
famigerating through the valley's; wherein we
Giveth epistle's for men's focus, that charity,
Forgiveness, and untainted Agápe, mayest be
a missive; for all humankind to copy.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome Poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication