I stopped feeling love, stopped wanting to be loved, stopped loving.

I thought I would be happier on my own.
I push everyone away.

The blues kick, sensation
drips down the nape of my neck. I shiver;
Frisson.  I crave the
feeling, the comfort of an all-too-familiar pain in the midst of my numbing depression that soothes this psychiatric ache; and substance that let us fake it
so much better, helped us feel
again, made it all seem better.

I've been fading,
Nothing respects itself,
I am a piece of work, don't even dare to dream
anymore but from way down
deep the memories slip
through while I sleep
and then I can lose
myself to anything
other than all the things
I could be. The things
I write now
are so different
and I'm so confused
by the changing
things, voices
said to me that
"*** is something
to be respected".

I found it hard
to reconcile this
with my past.

I hope one day
you'll forgive me.
I hope one day I can forgive myself
and forget my faults.

Memory always gets me,
I can't help myself, I fall
into its music and lose myself.

Today was so quiet

and by the end of
tonight, tomorrow
will shine; even
though the most
azure of feelings
fade, given time,
Into their home
within memory.

Tomorrow is silent

Another group of teens, enraptured
by whatever was at the heart
of their beating group.

So sure we were of what it was
that went beyond
mere ***, some drugs and few events.

Who can say how but from the depth
of boundless, sonder oceans,
We found you.

Amid all those faces, in the midst of
social coercion and amidst all this angst,
The friendships we formed
forged our personalities.

Some of us even found love
in between being lost, lonely
or ****** up; but together we

felt belonging, for the first time
in our insignificant, stupid little
lives, we felt alive, autonomous.

We had people to rely on
and substance to revive,
We might yet survive,

A bittersweet mixture of
empathy and nostalgia;
What does Skins
mean to you?

To me it meant a lot, it was about
pushing boundaries, the transitions,
Trying to live with them, rolling with it.

It was was about getting down and growing up,
Being young, feeling old and coming to terms with
one's soul; and of course, the vicissitudes
of a few foolish seventeen-year-olds.

Times, change and memory made manifest
is all that's left of us, them, those people we
call friends, they always have a place in my

heart; pass
us the skins.

Oh those cold, dreary, wet, winter days spent inside, warm and dry, looking out into the drizzle of these grey skies.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
Lovers are patient, or so they say.
The quiet hours of our strange days
hold me close as hours pass and I look
into the clearing sky, a cold horizon falls
upon this tired denizen of the little
idiosyncrasies that life grants, such as
remembering, detailing, wondering what
atmosphere is and wandering down its path.
Follow your heart,
Consider with your head.


For awhile I thought innocence still lingered
in this old world. A fool I was,
That young word is used
against those who would
otherwise loiter on this old earth.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
The future never arrives, plans contend
with the present just trying to survive;
We need be content, lost in sometime
and sometimes I do, I wish I was high.
I remind myself of someone,
I am so lucky to be alive
and when I realize
I am content enough to rest
for a time; sigh
What little of me did ever survive.
I wish I could offer you more
but I am selfish, I write
only for myself.

Aren't I a fool

and a gentleman
and a scholar
and a fool
once again
'cause sure
there is only a
single chance that

I'm getting out