As the world around me wails in the madness that is pain,
As the walls around me shake and threaten to crumple,
As the thoughts of tomorrow sway relentlessly in the mist of uncertainty,
As I selfishly ignore all else and focus on the creaks of my lovely bed,
The bed that knows me and has heard me cry,
The bed that has rocked me to sleep
The bed that has let me dream.
The bed I have come to love,
My bed

My bed that keeps me around from all that’s important,
My bed that doesn’t encourage me to go deal with life,
My bed that allows me watch deadlines go by
My bed that has made me selfish, made me lazy
How did it get to this time where I had to hide myself in the open
A time where my life was to obvious and yet I felt misunderstood,
A time were I settled with what I had because wanting was selfish.
I want to fly off to the desert I find water just because,
I want to live with the dolphins and come out to play only when I’m cheerful
And tomorrow whenever it chooses to come. Will remember today as my liberation day.

They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.

Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.

I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.

John Keats
John Keats
John
Please put your scarf on.

Refill your coffee cup.
Copy and cut
—the pieces that fit.
It’s hard to break habit.
The message was clear
—it’s what we held dear.
The shadows and fear
—were just an illusion anyway.
It’s the price we pay… the things we say:
the adjectives, the verbs,
—but not the nouns.
We’re not that profound
—not yet.
Light a cigarette.
Take a pull and take a sip.
It’s hard to hit home when
—you’re still alone.
Just another reminder
—of the time spent beside her.
But it’s running out.
And these cliche sayings
won’t refill the hour glass.
As the memories pass…
The sound of her voice
—and the choices we made.
We’ve paid our dues
—and went our separate ways.
Light another cigarette.
Take another pull and
—take another sip.
Put down your broken coffee cup.
Copy and cut.
These pieces no longer fit.

I walk out of my room shortly after finishing another John Green book,
There is a storm outside and the lightning flashes just as I pass the window,
It’s 2:52am and everything is illuminated before me.
I go back to my room and Facebook shows me he was online 38 minutes ago, with just one look.

I calculate the amount of time it would take to send a simple, “hello”
And decide it isn’t worth the worry.
It’s 2:52am I should be sleeping,
But how can I when thunder sounds outside my window?

All I can hear is the rain falling as I stare at the dark ceiling above me,
I think about where my life is going.
It’s 3:00am and paranoia starts to sink in,
What if I'm not where I'm supposed to be?

The rain has stopped but now all I can are drips,
As I tell myself that I'm just being silly, to calm down.
It's 4:11am and I'm in a place I shouldn't be,
This is driving me crazy and now all I can think about are his lips.

It's completely silent now,
As I open up my blog.
It's 4:58am and I'm combating loneliness with quotes,
Endlessly scrolling down, down, down.

I let my head hit the pillow with my face,
There's another storm outside my window.
It's 5:17am and I've defeated my demons for the night,
As I drift to sleep, wondering why I even stayed up in the first place.

If you come as softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.

If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.

You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why now.
Or how, or what you do.

We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink our tears.

It seems as if the volume (events, objects, actions) of this container (life) continues to expand (time) while the amount of it's contents (meaning) remains fixed - so like a gas it spreads itself to fill the empty areas of that expansive expanding sphere. When once the container was small (childhood) and the thick smog (meaning) hung heavy amongst and within (events, objects, actions) and perforated and perfumed everything with it's grace and energy; now the vapor is spread thinly, diffused between draping canopies of void.

But for short instances, in a frenzied expansion (something new), this gaseous cloud will rush and clump (a loss of reason), ****** as by a vacuum to fill that new-found cavern (my only muse). Here in these moments of freshness (passion consume me) comes energy and heat as molecule duels molecule - how they fight and tangle their tendrils! jostle for space! collide and separate! bind, release!

Then woe and oh (contemptful contentedness)! The awfulness of entropy (a sudden stop). The waves subside and the sea stills. A lake in stagnation - and was it ever a churning roaring ocean (feeling)?