The overwelming wave of sadness when the last person you were able to text goes offline at 3AM and you're alone in your bed just thinking about what comes next.

"Goodnight"

When I stare at mirrors
My eyes disrobe the lies
And shadows of my mind
Til I'm left with emotions
Creaking on worn floorboards
Stepping into a noose
Kicking the insecurity out
And waiting to find out
If I died
Or was set free

Where have the daily poems gone?  
That’s how I start my day, and I miss them.
June 27 was the last date one showed on my Mac.  
Was nothing worthy in the ensuing week?  
Is Eliot unwell?  Who chooses the Dailies?
Is that person also unwell.
Does anybody know anything.
Somebody tell me something.
                        ljm

I remember the period
Of rich, suffocating gloom
That I've written of
Millions of times before.
But more than that
I remember when
Flowers bloomed
And I laughed for the first time
In two months.
I wish I could remember
What was so funny
Or with whom I was so content.
But I remember
That the feeling
Inside of me
Was dangerously wonderful.
So I promised
Right then
To never go a day
Without a giggle
Or two
Again.

- p. winter

I'm surrounded by these four walls,
My thoughts bouncing off of them;
Loud and clear.

I find comfort in these four walls,
Knowing that my cries for help never leave,
That when I wail at night no one can get to me.

I also feel trapped by these four walls,
They make me feel small,
The white colour blinding me when I come up for air each time.

But these four walls know me better than anyone else here,
They know the real me.
Because when I leave these four walls every morning,
I leave as a new me.

We tend to push people away to get our own personal space,
And then
we cry of loneliness.

I find more comfort in strangers
than my family