Heightened, above it, the crane strikes down on water.
Eerie fog splits down the path of the creature.
Lore speaks that the crane caught the trout.
Lightly carrying it in it's mouth to drop it on the shore.

forget me now,
let me drip like water
to the life after,
for I am older;
far sadder than I ever
wanted to see me.
But don't forget it,
the way clouds move away,
the life that ebbs.
That is what holds us,
binds us all together to
create new lovers.

I will leave it,
it was never worth fighting
for at all, ever.

I evoke my
freedom, I never wanted
it much anyway.

depression comes
like a roaring wave
to wash me away.

On my own island; dark clouds all around me.
Living forever away, awash from other people.

I have to do it; I know I have to make the jump.
I am standing on childhood and teetering to adulthood.

But it's like life is a rough pine tree,
distanced as it is from the sun beneath a canopy.

Of other's that have reached the surface and spread,
the same that feel the sun. That know not the ground.

The dirt, the worms and insects crawling all around; the
pinnacle of wellness from which they stand their back's upon.

Sometimes I think "How would I tell if I was the last man on Earth?".
You see, I'm always in my room, always hiding, always diverting it.
I have this feeling outside, like the world is crumbling, like I'm just it.
But it makes it easier I guess to see the flaws in other's words and I-
like a patient saint have become accustomed to pain; conditioned by
it.

Why?

Was it something they said? Was it something I did?
Telling signs let flowers die, flowers bloom; to mask the dead.
Like you can't realize you're already beautiful.
Please, tell me why.

Three years.
Straight, no arguments. No fighting.
Sometimes tears,
following laughter.

The quiet moments you break down; like I would never understand. Like I'm a puppet in a house; blindly famous and largely small.
Why. Why. Why. Again? This is a feeling.

Will I ever get you back?
I hate it.

The covering, the hiding, the sadness I can only see but
can't imagine; yet am so cursed to understand.

My only hope is fake friendliness, when I'm worried,
and God I'm worried.

God. It is you. It is you who I see, you who I care so deeply for,
you who I have spent three years knowing. And it is you still that
I can see, read, when you're falling apart.

little moments in your words-
where you cut yourself off.
like what you said was dull,
when it was anything but.

little moments in your writing-
I can read between the letters,
to see to the very bottom of
you, the very core. the horror.

and in those places, where I
love to sit, where I'm neither seen
nor heard, I watch the ocean slowly
drain from you; watch you give up.

but for what i will never know

was it a combination of your pretty friends, and isolation; or a feeling that drives you to that point. Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?

Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?

You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.

look in a mirror.

But this pain is anaphoric,
I know it so well,
sadness repeating.
Woman (reading).

it repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and repeats,
you wake up and it repeats, and sings in your head.

Today is the day!
You've finally met fate,
so why are you so low?
Succumb to the pains!

Today is a felling tree!
It was never meant to be.
Anaphoric. Woman reading.
Collapsing. Repeating.

and days will turn into years,
years to a decade,
a decade to two.
And you will never even see it leave.

get it out,
please.