I do suppose,
That little pill,
Has done its deal,
in sealing me away,

or at least,
the part of me I wish I'd never see.

The lack of write,
represents my lack of fight,

bittersweet.

i love nothing more but to speak,
these little lines.
these broken skies, however,
never suited me well.
This isn't goodbye,
just,
see you later,

when there's something,
something to fight.

Silent fireplace,
    cold stone hearth alludes to its purpose,
sitting eerily still.
       Teasing its fleeting warmth.

     The silent rumble of nothingness penetrates the peaceful silence,
Silence to itself,
   With this little lamp to my side,
providing just the right kind of light,
        to see me through this write.

Shutting my mind's eyes and breathing the endless ink blots of my thoughts.
     Thoughtless sighs squeeze,
  past my anxieties,
    and carry to me,
a tantalizing hors d'oeuvre of peace.

~Robert van Lingen

I am fragile:

Tissue-Paper skin,
Silken heartstrings.
Yet I still can breathe.
This tenuous breeze.

Glass bones,
in my glass home.
One stone,
is all it takes to breach,
My glass throne.

I am Fragile:
Please, shout at me,
while I can barely see,
what "me," really means.

Please, tell me I'm wrong,
So I can guess why,
I'm going to cry,
A broken song.

I am the fragile song who beats in amorphous tune,
to no one else's beat.
Who's piano strings are plucked by someone else's keys.
And who's instructions are in the other room.
Locked with someone else's key.

I am Fragile:
Easily broken or damaged.
Flimsy or Insubstantial.
Delicate and vulnerable.

I am the frail,
Who lives on the sheer strength of will.

Retrospect.
The dangerous game,
I play for pinks,
With sanity in the stakes.

Royal Flush,
My house is full of jokers.

Brokered a deal with the thoughts who spoke whisper'd cutthroat scenes.

Intraspect:
Everyone is perfect.
Except for me.

My heart is the home of squandered potential,
Depression sets in,
Cement the state and fall away into my usual state of mind.

The mirror I trod upon is the unfalling foe,
Introspection's regressions feed the deathless ranks of anxieties,
With but nothing left to say,
Nary a hopeless smile althewhile.

Pop another pill to drown tomorrow's sorrows,
With today's having a long way yet to go.

Stopgap.
emotional stocks wrapped with paper wings,
which burst'd into inferno at the first broken sight of spring.

Baseless transition into faceless thoughts,
Caught in webs of speechless dreams,
laced with poison's tasteless lessons taught.

Stop that.
Think back,
at the wasted scenes graced with cold embrace.
Winter's faces breathe,

Lies stand by your faithless eyes.
instead.
dream,
of flame-less skies.

Stop the gap in nature's lap,
and sit upon her shoulders.
See the skies that breathe your sighs of reprieve,
nigh your dreams seized with whisper'd echos breeze.
Set them free...

p.s.,
you may already be.
but beware.
hopeless eyes are doomed to live with lies, disguised by strife's hypnosis,
ensnared by defeatist blight.