Talking to walls can substitute
A kind of feeling not absolute
I often wonder just how long I can go before I have to leak the feelings that nobody else should know
I'm not sure what kind of funk I'm in
Because I only go to sleep when the sun has risen
And I'm not sure how much more I can take of this torturous daze, I've taken blow after blow
But I know it's not your fault
And I do apologize
See, I cannot seem to recover the light in my tired eyes
And I'm afraid there's not much left in me though I've tried very hard to take their insults thinly

But I'm not as strong as you, obviously
And I'm bound to be chained down by him, indefinitely.

Startled like a spring
Opened wide of eye
Suddenly a newness
Rushing pushing by
This mortal instant
Here
Now
See?

The black-edged pram
Softly ticking wheels
"Isn't it" and "Isn't it"
Squeak those ticking wheels
Passing always passing
Ever-changing sky
Moving always moving
Opened wide of eye
The black-edged pram
Goes softly ticking by

                                         By Phil Roberts

My heart does ache
When tears begin to break
When my laughter recedes
My hearts love does bleed
The pain of loss, will be lost in the memories made
The joy of life and how, together, ours was played
Love it never ends, just becomes a stranger on the shore
My love for you shall go on,more so than before
Each day that passes and I remember our lifes and how you always made this world a special place
Forever with a heart full and a smile on my face
I will remember you, and your wholesome love
I will remember the beauty of your  grace,

There was a girl
I used to swap paperbacks
and spit with, once
I fixed her wiper blades,
I remember the soft dead wings
on the windshield,  pretty
as you please

She was alone in her shoes
listening to something
that kept getting darker
and glowing like morning
on the oil spilled under her truck,
she was drifting through
the rosewater of her soft red hair

She only wanted to be rolling
off a swollen river, sliding
out of a clean slip, turning
over in a deep sleep, trailing
a shimmering thread, hiding
under a pile of wet leaves

Then there she was sailing
in her river of blood,  going
white and smelling like smoke
from a struck match behind
closed blinds on a ceramic floor,
a white blouse red as a sharp knife
collecting the light of mourning.

Im suicidal
And I am beyond happy
If I'd die tonight.