before writing seems to comes too easy
maybe before the river of depression
rushing into my canals in all directions
with no order, no bounderies...
i guess, i've learned,
to build dams, cross section
and order...

Most of the time we think
About all the things we could’ve done
But don’t pay attention
To the many things
We still CAN do.
The feeling of being stuck in regret
Can take us over
And only leave a shell of our former selves
Shackled
To the the moments where we could’ve done better,
Walking ourselves farther
Away from more great moments we could mess up,
And preferring to lock ourselves up
In the cage, that is, self-pity

The way out is just right in front of us..

I smile,
             but I don’t mean it
I cry,
             but you don’t see it
if time
             is what’s at stake
our lives
             are slowly fleeting
         –
you–
swat your hands through the web of our plans

you and I are not connected
         we are,
              strangers again
–
so what do you believe
are you still innocent to think–
that your lock is still genuine
that it'll work with my key?

I’m alone stuck in my head
we both lost track of what was said.
Here I write but you haven’t read,
please just come to bed.

Lost in translation starts a fight,
another disappointing night.
Not sure of much but sure we’re right,
come to bed and turn off the light.

Mind’s running laps but in a line,
avoiding barbed wire and land mine.
Determined to stay up to greet sunshine,
come to bed and it will be fine.

I’m alone stuck in my head
an impending sense of doom and dread.
I write in blue but you mark in red,
please just come to bed.

Last night,
when I closed my eyes,
I saw the moon
so full and so bright.
I fell asleep smiling.