I seem to be overrun with myself.
My thoughts bubble over,
As boiling water from of a ***.
Feelings and phrases bounce about,
Between the walls of my head.
I cannot help but seek an escape,
From lowly emotions,
That make my heart feel dead.

Damp aromas arise from the ground.
The morning is almost here.
Smells of fog and drizzling days wasting away,
The dawn is almost here.

Crying skies give birth to a moody guise,
Where melancholy dies, giving in to prying eyes.
It's about time for sunrise,
But through the murky skies, no sun rays shine.

I haven't written a poem all day,
That fact makes me a little sad.
Sometimes, I have less to say,
And I guess that isn't all that bad.

I'm stricken with poet's block,
My heart is sickened with a lack of love.
I can't find anyone, with whom to talk,
And that loneliness is helpful, sort of.

Skin stretched like a drawn canvas over an empty rib cage where my heart used to beat.
It wandered off, and fluttered away, as if it had given up all hope on getting better.
Much like my mind is slowly but very surely losing grip, losing faith.
My poor mind isn't getting better.
I sometimes wonder if it can, or if it will, ever.
I'm only hoping,
That hope is a glue strong enough to hold the pieces of my shattered heart together.

Wandering,
Into the silky sadness.
Traveling,
Into the murky madness.

Bustling,
To the place I waited.
Clinging,
To the same words you hated.

Through this looking glass, opting out,
From this windowed hole, I hope this makes you less sad.
We'll both grow older, as many tend to do,
And move separate ways with thoughts never leaving,
Forever bitter, never regretting, never bitter, never.