old remarks

on old photos

from old journals

bring back old feelings

**and old regrets.

You think you're such a charmer.
Winning over every girl who is silly enough to look you in the eyes.
Not me, good sir.
Your alluring kindness may be utterly dreamy for most,
I can see why.
You are too easily loved and too quickly gone.
Good sir, you are accepting and manage to wheedle your way past every wall,
You are a credit to the male species,
But, good sir, I am not falling for your charm,
Not this time.

Could you write me a poem,
Or write me a letter?
Just something that will make me feel better.

He doesn't want to talk,
To them.
But,
He wants to talk.
He cries out in prose and song,
In the small hints of conversation,
The strings of a guitar is his only escape.
He paints vivid pictures of his pain, watercolours and the english language as his chosen medium.
His tissues are soaked in blood, drawn out by self-inflicted wounds.
He doesn't want their help,
Though he knows he needs help.
Not from them, not from friends,
For friends are too easily lost,
Scared away,
Pushed away by fear and anxiety.
A stranger is what he needs,
Someone who will see his pain and pass no judgement,
Who he can dispose of once the problem is solved,
Leaving no trace of his weakness.

Bitterness.
Never a feeling I thought I could have.
Here it is, though.
Burning my heart.
Reminding me of a Sunday,
Home alone,
Hurting,
Howling,
Hating.
Alone.
Bitterness.
It tries to steal my joy.
This time I won't let it.

My internet is slow,
My mind is impatient.
Despite my close proximity to the modem,
The connection fails.
The lagging RPG's,
Instant messages delayed,
Even a simple HTML screen cannot load.
CONNECTION FAILED. RELOAD YOUR BROWSER.
My internet connection is weak,
And my patience is weaker.

Nights are cold without your warmth,
Your presence was enough to soothe my anxious soul.
Winter is creeping up on us,
Chilly days,
And icy nights.
All the leaves are falling,
But there is no-one to wonder at this marvel with me.
I am alone.