beneath the stillness of my ocean,

there are currents overwhelming,

& it’s a gentle, persisent undertow

-

they pull me down.

-

I can not tell, at times,

when the sea only whispers,

those waves of wonder,

I am all smiles on my vessel.

-

but lo! at times, I remove my hat,

And without, I can see reflections,

(refractions too!)

of the sunlight, illuminating,

the trenches & dark spots,

the layers I seek not to swim,

-

it is there, where I search for a map,

but there is no map, or guide of sorts,

my ocean remains ever unknown

it is there, where I float alone

-

they pull me down.

-

what is the worst; to know not

your ship or self?

I do not see either…

I can only see the reflections

-

that truth is drowning me….

-

I have made my boat bright,

intertwining daises freckle

the sides, but it is not me

-

& true! the piece will work

but for how long?

-

I fear I have not made it strong.

-

still, I shall sit in it. it carries

me well…

I have made seat enough for two

took the time to fill them up

no! my boat is full…

-

I must make for you, a space!

have my seat here…

me, I shall lay on the floor!

-



yes, I like it better here…

I can see only the sky…

& for miles & miles, I will

dream of, one day, sharing this view

-

& we won’t have to tell at times,

what the undertows are murmuring

-

I will not listen;

I will not let them pull me down

i want you to tell me why
when all has been said & done
you’ve said nothing at all

MY NADS MY NADS MY GLORIOUS ******, FOR SOME TO VIEW , AND OTHERS TO TOUCH, YOU SEE & TOUCH , FOR NOT THAT MUCH xD!

It is that empty feeling inside you feel when you have been crying for hours, but without shedding a single tear. There is usually very little crying involved, because sweet depression takes away all your feeling. You want to express that sadness through releasing tears, but they never come.

When you are happy, there is always that reminder in the back of your brain that you will come down from this, and you will probably come down fast. But when you are up, you are so high, your mind is shouting to yourself with a tone of saccharine promise "I won't be sad again! I have nothing to be sad about! I am lucky to be alive, now I am going to live my life and be HAPPY!". It is almost like being drunk, being happy. It is temporary madness that leaves you with interesting memories and confusion to why you were like that in the first place.

It is sickeningly comforting, knowing that depression will always be there for you.
At the end of a long day, after a party, in a few months time...
depression will be there. But it won't greet you with open arms, no, that's not it's style.
It will great you with the gradual disintegration of your mind, a sadistic smile and some cellophane to watch the rest of the world through.

Here’s to the days
when getting out of bed
is a game of Russian roulette.
When the you that exists
above the sink
seems the more realistic
of the two.

When your pen is filled
with disappearing ink and
your face is covered
in quick-drying lead paint.
When the salt that shakes
from every orifice
coats your failing tongue,  
and you’re more likely
to bust your ***
than a move.

Here’s to those days—
let them be few and far between!
But if you crack that paint
and see the words before they fade,
you find all your possibilities.

Here’s to those self-same days
when you discover yourself.

I sit here quietly,
I have nothing to say.
Nothing to do,
just wasting away.

The world is a time bomb,
ticking away.
So I sit here silently,
and await the bang.

I sit here quietly,
and watch the TV.
Disease, killing,
and more misery.

I absorb it all,
each catastrophe.
I see politics argue,
why can't they agree?

I see commercials,
asking for money.
Help the starving children,
in other countries.

I see the *******,
"reality TV".
Nothing they do,
seems like reality to me.

I cannot tell you if this is the new world, or if this is just a phase,
but one things for sure,
we're going to hell either way.

She fell off the side
Of the steepest cliff. 

She holds onto the edge
Hanging on for her life. 

But her arms are tired,
So tired. 

She's been holding on 
for so long now. 

Her fingers are bleeding
Just like her heart. 

She's slipping
So slowly
Oh so slowly