green with ginseng
and honey
a little arizona
for my soul,
it makes me whole.

make       .                           .    *                      .                    
                      *                                me      ­          *      *
       *     .                 *                  .  *                    .                     ­             *
                *     your                                            *           .              *
   *             .                          *         macrocosm            *                             .          *                             *                                                                ­  

Words are a gift I seem to abuse
notebooks and pens all strained with misuse
my speech is fragmented, a point is not given
yet somehow words cause me to just keep on living

a text from a friend, an email from you
a post from a person who knows what to do
I read an article about people like me
and pray to a god that I'll someday be free

to write what I want and to write it so well
and in such a way that no one can tell
That I'm trying to hard, or I'm just spit-balling
That I cling to these words to keep me from falling.

The world can be a darkless place
Fires fervent in heart’s ember—
So I douse its ash into a bath,
And submerge in shades familiar

Welcome to the dark side of the moon
where angels
**** devils
and the grey morality
of their children
is our main show.

I’ve been MIA since you’ve been away; I keep walking around with my head in the clouds and getting high off paper planes.
Give me a pen and a notepad and allow me to document all the unforgettable memories we should’ve shared.
All the memories we should’ve shared never came to fruition because half the time you hardly cared.
It has been a while since I’ve heard from you, too many days since February.
Too many days since I’ve been patiently waiting so I had to give up eventually.
You had me under the impression that you actually gave a **** about me.
You gave me the impression that you cared about what we shared, but half the time you were never there.
I’ve been feeling hollow like the men T.S. Eliot wrote about, I’ve been feeling pain just to hold on.
But how long can I keep holding on when all this pain and depression is gradually affecting me?
How long can I keep holding on when all this pain becomes an indication of everything that’s bound to go wrong?
All the memories we should’ve created never came to fruition because half the time you were never there.
It has been a while since I’ve heard from you, too many days since February.
Too many days since I’ve been patiently waiting so I had to give up eventually.
How long can I keep holding on when all this depression becomes a reflection of everything that’s bound to go wrong?
I keep walking around Pretoria with my head in the clouds while getting high off paper planes with my feet on the ground.