In the early mornings,
when I cannot find the motivation
to get out of bed,
I look at the books
that I have not yet read.
A wave of guilt washes of me.
I turn to look at the unfinished drawings
and the pencils that are still sharpened.
A wave of guilt whispers to me.
I roll over and see the empty words
of stories, with the characters unpublished.
A wave of guilt drowns me.
It seems these days, I am nothing but
Guilty.

Ever since
I put that
blue pill
inside my mouth,
as it traveled down my throat
into my stomach
and while it made me happy,
I couldn't piece together my words
but I guess that
I could only write
when I felt broken and sad.
I guess that it is the price to pay.
To write I must be sad,
To live I must be happy.
To die I must write.
To be born I must write.
You see my problem?

sometimes the wind
rocks the swing
outback
and I remember
all those times we sat
together
in the summer days

it's
so beautiful
watching
something
grow
old

I'm surrounded by all this blue
but all I want
is to be with
you

oh how much I
want to jump into
the incredibly dark
night sky
and swim
to the blinding stars.
To grab them
and bring them in
close to my ear,
to hear the whispered
wishes of the people
around the world

I tell the moon about your name.
I tell the stars how your eyes shine brighter.
I tell the sun about your smile
How it warms me on grey days
I tell the sky how much you love its blue.
And I tell the clouds how your
bed is softer.