I'm just so tired.

I'm so tired of being the
bad guy.
I'm so tired of being the
scape goat.
I'm so tired of being
emotionally unstable.
I'm so tired of being
in pain.
I'm so tired of being
always wrong.
I'm so tired of being the
cast away.
I'm so tired of being the
forgotten one.
I'm so tired of being the
stepping stone.
I'm so tired of being
so tired.

I'm so tired of being.

I pick this pen up to write,
but before I make a single mark,
I know there is nothing I have to say.

What I could say is nothing more than...useless.
I could talk and scribble some of the
awakening thoughts down into some verse, prose,
or poetry.
But why?
I know of this...for lack of a better word...
pain
I feel.
It is mine, and only mine.
Like she was.
I know where my thoughts wander.
I know what everything reminds me of.
I know.
Why should you?

Why should I bother sharing?
Even if someone cares,
I don't
if it's not her.

I want to fix myself.
It's all I've ever wanted,
all I've ever striven for.
I try.
I tried.
Every day,
for her.

Trying is not good enough.
Nor will it ever be.

How could I possibly describe my favorite things about
her?
How could I possibly enumerate the things I
love?
How could I possibly question what her heart chooses to know, as
I?

For there are an innumerable amount of things she
does, says, is
that I adore more than all of the positive words in the
English language could possibly articulate.
And how could I dismiss it as unworthy of trying?
I couldn't.
Not in all of the Godly or ungodly years of this universe
or the next,
could I.

She is like a mirage, but not.
For the promise of water is sweet, but
people know of the illusion therefore do not
try.
But I have tried my hand and come away
with much more
than sand.

I have come away with the delicate soul
of pure water.

So I try.
To describe the shape,
the strength, the vitality,
the life-bearing qualities
of water:

For when she ties her bag of tea to
the cup,
I see.
That she is tied and ties because she is
free.
Watch her.
Watch how she flutters and stutters
and flies,
and one would do well to surmise
that her nature is also that of a
butterfly.
Why?
For she makes it possible for the Spring to come,
the flowers to bloom,
and the lovers to swoon.

For when she comes across something that causes
her to render an expression across her visage,
(and there are so many expressions! Indescribable,
unpredictable, yet when they come, no other expression
would have been sensical.)
I see.
That she wears her heart in her expressions.
As true (pure) as one (water) could ever
be.
And she knows it (even if she does not),
"*****!"
She'll exclaim, firing her guns,
the baddest ******* this side of the
Mississippi.

For when she is particular and planning
in tastes and in life, such as to take the time
to scrape a biscuit of pepper gravy for
later use, or
to have such disdain for provolone and corn,
(What happens if I melt the cheese over the corn?)
I see.
That no detail is beyond her scrutiny,
about herself and about the world,
she sees all,
is in all,
as is water.
Such a life she has led that
she cannot be afforded
mistakes, oversights.

For when she settles upon crossing a road
in which is meant to be crossed and is crossed by
white, and steps carefully, on-her-toes, quickly
across (only) the white,
I see.
That child-like gleam pass through her eyes
shining as bright a white as the Winter sky
as the sun refracts off the clouds.
Never has she given up (and never will she)
that child inside,
for she can't,
and shouldn't.
To do so would surely mean...
It matters not.
Such child-like wonder to
wander is a must.
Without child,
all of us are naught.

For when she lies about, let's me memorize every
inch, examine every detail, and there are three specific
(right side of chin, below right breast, under left shoulder)
marks of beauty.
I see.
That there is captivating charm within
what could be seen
(and who should see such should be petty and foolish, indeed!)
as imperfection.
That it is the minute marks that define
her as none other could ever be
before, or after, or
ever.

For when she reads and loves the freedom that
poetry (that of which I someday hope to write) often gives
and calls it miraculous and enchanting,
I see.
That her appreciation of others' appreciation,
which is quite a marvelous thing to perceive,
gives her the power to nurture
the nature
within herself and others
with such love to
grow flowers and trees and life into an otherwise
desolate wasteland, and to
turn the most arduous challenge
to that of which is
as effortless
as water.

For when she smiles, and her eyes squint as if the
happiness is too bright, and her nose wrinkles as if the
smell of laughter is too much to bear,
I see.
That despite all the hardship, all the pain,
all the struggle,
that she is stronger than I have yet to
discover.
That the strength to smile in the face of
the terrible truth that is this
world,
is a feat of unparalleled proportions,
and will guide her to many places
far and in between because
she is too strong to quit.

And finally:

For when she opens herself in a way that one pin-*****
would be fatal, and exposes to me the rough, lonely, responsible, insecure
kid that she was (and may still be),
I see.
That she has been reduced to nothing
far more than she has deserved (not that she ever deserved it!),
and she has taken it as well as one could,
not attempting to rebuild herself from
the shards,
but instead arranging them
to form something more glorious
than before.
That free and fair girl,
which has been so trodden upon,
so wronged, so hurt as to hurt as
long as there is existence,
(and when I trespass her too, I become so deeply ashamed
that there is little I can do)
has become the most beautifully broken person
I have ever had the honor to know.

For when she simply is,
I see.
That which has been broken may be made
more beautiful than
that which has not.

Sometimes I can't find the solace I require in my loneliness.
Other times I can.
I can rejoice in my presence, and
be grateful to be alive.
But now...
All there is now is a singular floating leaf
that is blown away from the pile before it can
land.
So Spring comes and the grass grows,
and I am still alone.
I search within myself for some seed,
some growth,
that proves that the soil is not spent,
and that my joy does not always require
recompent,
in vain.
And in vein these rivers and Spring wet-weather
branches flow,
for it rains and rains,
but nothing may grow.
But alone.
And as the limestone gives way to
ash, and roots that enclose to form
a ring,
we lose ourselves but for a moment,
but what could also be a hundred hundred years
that many many tears will allow me to
live
encircling an eternal hell
that may yet be
heaven.
I find the ways to say
as surely as the trees find a way
to reach toward the sun,
that the sun may give such life,
may turn the Winter to Spring to
Summer to fall as I do,
in love with you,
but will blind and burn
as surely as
you,
and will set and night will come
where I will howl and cry and sigh
at the moon,
alone,
without you.
And the stars shine bright as a reminder
that there are a hundred million hundred suns
like you,
but also that my sun has departed and
the hundred million hundred other suns
could burn a hundred million hundred years and not be
like you.
As surely as I search and the night grows long
with the shadows on the inside, and
all I find are the writings on
the chalk-hide to symbolize the turnings of years,
you rise,
with a greeting and a smile,
welcome,
my solace.

A lot of times I find myself wondering.
What would it be like to drive without stopping,
with no destination?
Could I go fast enough to escape my racing thoughts or
persistent insecurities?
Could I drive far enough to erase my lonely heart or
insistent fallibilities?
Could I find a place where no one knows my name,
especially myself?
Could I lose who I am in the yellow stripes and forget about
my life?
Could the turning of the tires maybe turn this wretched sorrow to
a lesser wretched emptiness?
Could the reflections of the headlights shine bright enough to
protect me from the darkness?
Could the wind blow far enough fast enough to break away
the limbs of old forgotten thoughts?
Could the traffic flow this way or that in such a way to help
me finally breathe easier?
Could the rain wash away the westerly dust from my dry
and thirsty skin?
Could the trees pass by more quickly than the details that I can't
seem to ignore?
Could the radio play every sad song so that the sadness my be
swept from my eyes eternally?
Could it?
Could I finally drive and push past the reality of who I am
and make it to something I do not hate?
Could I?

A slight, pause, and then she alights upon the branch,
of a willow,
a Willow.
A recess in the rambling of her quickly, flitly
paced life.
A momentary reprieve from her star-guided quest for
truth.
She knows the journey, yet not the
destination.
Of woes and proclamation, and strength within
frustration.
She waits.
For the second-wind, the second-coming,
the stars to fall into the midnight sky so that
she may be guided to the...
truth.
The truth of what is and isn't and what will
come to be,
she lifts
her wings,
spread wide.
See her dance across the florid sky in sweeps
and dips.
Watch her fly, fly, fly,
far away, o'er the horizon.
But she comes back to me, yeah.
She always comes back to me.

All good things come to those who wait.
Maybe, finally,
I have waited long enough
for a chance to have,
for a chance to love.
For a chance to spread my affections
through the great expanse of your heart,
damaged through past afflictions
and bitter memories,
I can soothe.
For I seethe
much the same,
and there is no blame,
to be cast or recast through
the past,
it's a shame.
That one so heart-wrenchingly beautiful,
(but she can't see so)
can be so trodden upon not to
see.
Not to see that it is she
who wanders and floats through many
a dream,
within a dream,
and casts away the sub-standards
of basic human wants
into something of god-like taunts.
And the dreams I have are never-ending.
Not because they don't end,
(Oh, they do)
but because I refuse to let them.
Alas!
I cannot slumber for eternity,
I must wake.
I must face that which is an
inevitability in its own right.
The insatiable desire of the freedoms
that we must not retire,
no.
We must be free to wander forth,
into a darkness, away from the light,
then see a sad soul
and regain to...
fight?
To fight again and again and
again?!
Perhaps we should cease,
if only we could.
We continue all the same (in much the same),
knowing what is to come,
knowing what peers just around
the bend.
Knowing, yet hoping,
against all hope,
that all good things must
end.

I seek to express that which cannot,
perhaps ought not,
be expressed.
I seek to find the culvert
which allows, without folly, the
articulation and the metrification of
my woes and my bows,
to you.
Ah, the woe!
That you shall flitter and flutter and fly
away
to the place that is neither here nor there,
but certainly not
here.
A place in between the pages of which
dutifully record my
fear.
A place so far within the chasms of my,
but not only my, mind
where it is (was) dark and chilling,
a place to sometimes find the
bout of the unwilling.
A place to remain
insane
in constant pain,
as I.
A place.
A place which so elegantly
falls
away
at the mere mention of...
wait.
Please!
I implore you of your presence,
please.
But I shan't beg, no,
for you will certainly begone if I mistake
thee for a comman.
So I seek to express that which cannot
be expressed.
I seek not to cage, but to
so deeply swoon you and shower upon
the rightness of our pairing that anything else is
unthinkable.
But!
First I must prove such to myself,
beyond a shadow of a doubt,
that what I seek to prove
is something of a move
to the ultimate righteousness of the vast
universe.
But I must also consider the
curse.
The curse which must foul all things
with trepidatious verse!
The curse which must beguile and
tear asunder all that is beautiful
and all that I hold dear!
The curse which always brings the
forever loathing, cooing fear!
No!
I will consider you, curse,
but no longer is your power meaningful.
No longer shall I stay trapped
in the throes of my
ever-darkening think-sphere.
No longer shall I remain transfixed upon
the betwixt,
no longer shall I lie and say
no longer.
For I know no is not an option.
I know I am cursed,
and no amount of solitary determination will
ease my mind,
but you.
You are cursed also.
I see the struggle in thine eyes
which seer in the brightest fire this
world has ever known.
I see that which you keep locked away,
from the world,
but not from me.
The ambivalent mistrust of all things which
seek to know anything, even the smallest detail
of your singular life.
I see it.
I see you.
Within you,
I see me.
Within me,
I see you.

And so it begins again:
I pick the pen up as
my being must overflow into something.
I reach into the darkness in search of light,
come away with nothing,
but never give up the fight.
I dig into the soil,
I toil and I toil,
but what comes to be,
simply must be.
The seed planted, inspiration grown,
nothing sought, nothing known,
alas.
A sprout.
And it grows.
And it grows further.
A beautiful blue and purple tree,
a Willow.
I smile, and then, no...
A man-sized black pit,
in the the center.
So I crawl in and I sit
upon a throne of darkness, surrounded by despair,
wreaked upon by hatred and loneliness,
shown not the fair.
But then all is blood-scorching red,
everything in fire and ice,
and let it be said:
I never give up the fight,
for I know,
two darks make a light.

I dreamt of you last night.
It is fuzzy, as fuzzy as the memory of our love,
but this is what I remember:
We were broken up, not friends,
such as we are now.
But were forced into each others' presence
by a road trip with Grandpa.
It was an uncomfortable ride
with every word spoken being suffocated by the toxicity of the air.
And then it was morning.
We apparently drove to Michigan,
for we were all having breakfast in Grandma's living room.
You were ignoring me,
but I brought you your orange juice anyway.
I set it on the coaster beside you.
You didn't say a word, but Grandma thought it was sweet.
I sat and ate a humble breakfast
as far away from you as possible.
And then it was night.
We were sitting on a log somewhere outside in the dark...beside each other...
alone.
I told you of how I cried for days, and then, finally,
how all I felt was emptiness.
You told me of how you cried for the first time in years,
and how awful Grandma was.
I leaned my head on your shoulder, and muttered,
"I'm sorry."
I'm a slave to the physical,
but the physical doesn't fill the hole in my heart.
After a long moment,
you leaned your head against mine.
We wrapped in each others' embrace,
full of love,
full of warmth,
and cried.
"I've missed you so much."
"I've missed you, too."
And I was happy.
And then I woke up.
And I was still happy.
I looked around and felt the room grow bigger
as the loneliness filled it up.
I smelled the girl from the night before on my sheets,
so I threw them off.
I stood up,
and then I fell to my knees
in a broken heap of a foolish man,
and cried.
There are no words to describe how I miss you.
I am sorry.

No matter what happened, it was your fault.
I was never to blame, even if I pretended to take some.

I understand how a person would be unhappy with that.

I understand that it's ****** up.

No words can describe my sorrow. I can't even try because...maybe I can't attempt the futile anymore.

Maybe I am not meant to love. So, I will stop.

I don't know who I could love after you anyway. My standards are too high.

I just can't do it anymore.

I give up.

I am defeated.

I wish I had the words to say
what must and may never be said.
We build these walls,
and for what?
When we tear them down,
and all is for not?
Push each other to the ground,
and why?
Because we are scared of being close
to another, we lie,
and say it is the form of us
which is broken.
Say it is the slumbering beast inside
which has awoken.
We tell these truths to ourselves
until they are bent.
Turned to lies,
it becomes apparent:

We've both led hard lives.
Been faced with obstacles and adversity,
and still we strive,
to do more,
to hate less,
to love more.
We try.
And by some small chance we met
and shared our broken selves
just so that we could finally let
the other feel loved.
And so it goes,
that time comes to pass
and no matter the material,
it shapes all things at last.

So I look at this as I do anything else,
a test of patience and of will,
the kind of test we have not failed yet.
Two broken people with broken lives
and broken hearts leading each other
through a broken world full of broken arts,
holding on to a broken love with broken hands,
expressing it with broken words from a broken mind,
and taking each broken day
one at a
one at a
one at a
time.

And in these troubled times,
I seem to find that my love is no longer yours,
and yours is no longer mine.
And I stopped writing.
I'm no longer inspired,
by our love or my darkness,
I'm just sick and tired,
of running in circles,
no more can you hurt me.
And if we're both so scared of being loved,
why did we dare?
Flown too high,
sunk too low.
If goodbye is a must,
then what is to show?
But a love that shouldn't have been lost,
that is.
And a heart that screams don't be soft, no matter the cost,
but is.
Again and again,
I give and I give.
For it is in my nature
to live and let live.
It is in my nature
to heed and take heed,
to bleed and to bleed,
'til there's nothing left of me.
I hurt and I hurt,
until I give birth
to a devil that says
you'll pay for these wounds.
Trust me, trust me,
you'll pay for it soon.
So we plant the seed,
and soon it shall bloom,
and you shall read,
that a love once cherished
and a love that has been proven
to pass any test, any obstacle, it's shown,
is now a love withered and worn,
a love now gone.

That butterfly used to love me so true.
See how it flutters, and stutters, and flies?
One time, long ago, it would land on me.
And the meaning, the meter, the soft rhyme,
Would come erupting out, very much like
A cork trying to hold the rumbling sea.

And at the time I was inherently broke.
In such a way I would never be fixed.
The sadistic butterfly loved it so,
And would visit for days and days and days.
My masochistic self never stood a
Chance, but I never minded, no,
I hate me.

But I sought help, I fought self, I bought hell.
The butterfly took off from my shoulder.
It flew off and left my soul to smoulder.
And how I missed it so, I could not
have ever imagined life without it.
And so it continued for a long while.

But I fought help, I sought self, I bought hell.
I could not lose my butterfly again.
See it dance elegantly in the wind?
It loves me, and has returned to bring my
Sweet words into existence once again.
That bitter sweet butterfly,
It has landed.

I do what I do for my family.
If you knew what I knew, you'd be the same as me.
Lovers, haters, the weak, and the takers,
It's all the same to me.
*******, all of you.
All of you are family.

My Dearest Marie,

As I write these words, you
are hundreds of miles away from me, you
are asleep.
For each mile traveled, I felt the hole
of my longing in my heart grow until
it forced my heart to grow too.
Despairing and agonizing, I cried,
for I was sure I had lost you
again.
You never questioned it, to you,
it was something we'd work out, to you
it was unthinkable.
Thanks.
I know now where I stand.
It is with you, heart joined in heart,
miles apart,
until hand joins hand.
And I am so deeply sorry
my resolve ever wavered,
our love I ever doubted.
For I see now,
the further you go,
the more love I realize.
I will love you,
and only you,
to the end of the universe
and back again.
I will love you
until the end of time
and existence itself.
And how I wish I could show you,
my love, the true nature, the actual extent of
my love,
you.
And I wish I could produce happiness,
turn it into a product,
give it to the masses,
but keep the best and most
for you, my love.
And it is as well I am not a God,
for you would be a Goddess and all
would serve you.

So as you are sleeping, and I am too,
my arms will be around you,
precious you, and I will whisper in your ear,
No matter the distance,
no matter the time,
our hearts are as entwined
as the stars,
my dearest Marie.
I love you.

Eric

My heart aches.
I watch you walk away,
and I think,
This is it.
This is when I give up on love
forever.

I suppose I have always been the kind
to over-commit, to love too deeply.
I have always been the one left
after everyone else quits.
Always left standing alone in the rain
of my own tears.
Always.

I drive those I love away,
and destroy anything I hold dear.
Yet, it is not I, but the monster inside.
The monster is the real enemy,
but the monster is me so I suppose it is
I that am the monster.

Or maybe it is like you said;
We are just blaming the dark beast,
with no consideration of the fact that
we might be wrong for each other.
I don't buy that, though.
You are my best friend.
You are my only true friend.

I snap back to reality.
My thoughts, my perception returns,
and so do you.
You have not walked away, not yet.
I should know better.
I cannot trust my mind.

I try to imagine my life without you.
I try to imagine how alone I will be.
Maybe it is as alone as I am now,
but I'm certain it's more.
I'm certain I would be shaken to my center,
that I'd have my heart ripped from me.
I don't know if I can take it.

And just like that, my mind is made up.
If you must go, you must.
If I must be completely destroyed, fine.
But never again will I invest my heart in someone.
No matter what may happen,
I will never love again.
Never.

And forever and always
always
resolves to never.

Dear Sister,
Not Jessica, never Jessica
because we were never on a first name basis.
It was always so much more,
Sister.
My wonderful sister,
you have been my mother, my guide,
my friend, my crying shoulder, my rock,
my humor, my support. You have been
everything.
My sister.
And my only regret is that I can't be more,
I'm sorry.
Oh, Sister,
how I look back on our memories with such fondness.
The laughs we shared, the wonderful books,
and mind-blowing smoke.
The long talks about philosophy and politics.
We have always been ahead in those regards,
haven't we?
My lovely sister,
you took my hand when I was lost, when life
had become too much for me,
and showed me the path. You set me up
to become who I am, and who I will be.
I know you are proud.
You helped me discover what was important,
guided my moral compass when I trespassed,
taught me to love.
You made me see
things I never would have alone,
and consider ideas that the general public
frown upon. We've always been ahead.
Oh, Sister. My Sister.
May you live on
forever.
In my heart, and through me,
in the hearts of others who know not of
your presence,
dear sister.

I am unsure of the nature of my insanity.
I don't know whether I shall overcome this,
or watch my life come crashing down around me.
I don't know where this path will lead.
It winds and it turns and it goes over mountains
and through valleys and even further
down
into caves and I am lost.
I am so utterly lost and beyond rescue.

I hear voices.
The say they want to save me.
They say they care.
I believe them sometimes, but come nightfall
all is lost.
I have never been so shaken, so scared.
I cannot describe this aloneness, this
simple singularity.
I know there are those that would take my madness.
They stand by me, but
I am blind.
I could hear them, but
I am deaf.
I can touch them, but
I am not convinced of reality.

I cannot accept that my life may end in ruin, but
will I really have a choice?
Will my mind just take over my mind and
destroy all I hold dear?
I don't know.

I just don't know.

So, you reading this, remember me please.
As I am now while I haven't been consumed by darkness.
Take these words and savor them.
This is me.
I am not yet insane.



One day I might be.

Seems the only escape,
Under all of this pressure, walking
In these shoes,
Craving some sort of release,
I'm cracking under all of the weight,
Dreaming of my one and only
Escape.

There's a knot in my stomach,
I don't know what to do.
At this point, your silence is
deliberate.
Your absence is a message.
I want to reach out, but I can't.
No.
It must be you.

And so, I sit and I wait.
For what, I don't know.
A sign, a signal, some
semblance of your existence,
a peek of your thoughts, an
arrangement of your words into
a sentence to form some sort of
sentiment
towards me.

I don't know
what, exactly, I am waiting for.
And I worry, I worry so
I put pen to paper and paper
to fire to destroy my thoughts.
I obsess and I regret those things
I said; I'm sorry.

But **** it, you know?
I can't let you go unless
you let me go, so
I sit and imagine
you already have.
Talking to another, in love
with another, in bed with another.
It can't possibly be true, you wouldn't.
I know this.

But these thoughts torture me.
What does it all mean?
Where is the meaning?
Is this what you wanted?
It's fair, if you do.
I just want to know what
to do so I wait.
I wait.
While my thoughts turn my
stomach to knots.
I wait.

What am I to do now you're gone
Besides sit here all alone
What am I to do now that you don't love me anymore
Besides sit here and become rotten to the core
What am I do to now that it is you I've lost
Besides sit here wanting you back, no matter the cost
Baby, I love you, isn't that plain to see?
We could've weathered anything, you and me
Instead something came between us, what,  I still don't understand
We fell through the cracks like dirt in a hand
"I love you" you say
And you're still saying it, to this very day

I didn't realize how close I'd let you get to me.
I didn't realize your love was the only thing that made me see.
I wish you hadn't gotten this close.
I didn't know it would be you that hurt me the most.
So here I am, all lost and confused
Just wishing, maybe, you could take a walk in my shoes.
I wish I could show you all the tears that I've shed.
I wish I could tell you a life without you is to be a pointless life led.
I wish you could see all the blood that I have spilled.
I wish you to know it wasn't for attention, it was for me to be killed.
You took away your love, the only thing to me that mattered.
Without that, I shattered.
I didn't think this horrible pain would last.
But here I am, and several months have passed.
They say those who care the most fall the hardest.
And baby I'm telling you I've fallen the farthest.
I guess none of this matters now because I hear you've found somebody new.
But for the record, I still love you.

So delicate, so sweet.
Tis quite a wonder
why this cannot be.
I feel you.
You feel me.

I keep thinking...one day.
One day you'll be mine.
No...I must not lie.
One day I'll be yours.
But for now, this I know:

My heart, my soul,
must wander,
and wander on.
Unrestrained, Unchained.
Until I am sure...

Sure of what?
I cannot know, but
I know that now
would only cause pain
and end in grievance.

I guess...we both,
must just enjoy what we have,
while we have it.
No matter,
how much we love one another.

I just want to sleep,
yet don't know how.
I lay my head to rest,
my mind sparks up instead.
I feel the tears fall down,
and the emotions rise within.
I know what is coming,
there is just little I can do.

And so, I fight the tears,
I fight myself.
I should have no fight left in me,
for I am far too tired,
but it continues just the same.

My world descends to
chaos. My thoughts
                    fall
                 into ash.
The room s
                     p
                         i
                     n
                  s
and will not stop.
I am lost                   from me,

and even further                                                          ­            from you.

I am just so tired.
And it is trivial
because, like everyone,
I will sleep when I die.

I try to hold it in.
I feel it rising again.
I look around, I swallow.
Contain this, I say to myself.
It may have been coming all day,
but you can stop it short.
You can.
But that's not true.
I know it's not.
It comes as it pleases,
and I am forever at it's mercy.
I lay my head down.
I try to accept it.
I pick up a pen,
and flip to the next page
in my only solace.
I write, and I realize,
it's ******* pointless.
**** it.

I do the best I can
with what it is I'm given.
Many times
have I produced something
from nothing.
At this point, I am
the master of my world,
your world, and everything
else, I claim.
There will never be anyone
who can break me. For
I am the strongest.
I work the hardest.
I suffer the longest.
I am me, and
only me could beat
me. I come from
nothing, and, see now,
what am I? I am
something. Something more
than nothing.
And, take heed, even
nothing more than
something, is something
still the same.

I would give you everything,
yes, every piece of me,
and wish to give you more.
I wish I could describe it to you,
the amount of love I feel.
Maybe quantify it, so
we can visualize it.
Is it a million, a hundred million?
Maybe infinity and more.
The word "love" is just not strong
enough. So how do I tell you?
Adoration, and passion, and lustfulness,
and fondness. All of these words, no,
none of them are powerful enough.
So maybe my own word is
an order, for who is to say
I cannot?
Lishvilnesh!
Hesmelah!
Bakeldohm!
I cannot describe the amount
of love I have for you, so
it must be lishvilnesh! I'm
overcome by hesmelah! I cannot
contain the bakeldohm!
Ah, but it is not so easy,
for it would take hundreds of years to
attach such weight to a word, and
infinitely many more
to attach my feelings
for you.

I just wish someone out there knew how I felt tonight.
I wish someone could feel these tears, as they slide
down my cheek, past my lips, and, finally,
fall, onto the paper. I just want someone
to understand. I'm so tired of being alone in this.
I don't know how much longer I can do it.
I've never been so tired, so annoyed, so frustrated,
so angry, so torn up, so absolutely
******* SICK of any god ****** thing.
I've dealt with myself for years already, and
I'm already worn thin. I just don't think I
can do it. I'm tired of living, I guess, and
I just need, I NEED, someone who understands:
I'm okay with dying.

I'm tired of these lonely nights.
I just want it to end.
Simple words, or complicated,
cannot describe how I'm feeling.
There is no one who understands.
No one shares this pain, this absence
of happiness, this great devoid loneliness.
And no one knows that I'm
feeling this. No one realizes that I'm
slipping. I'm finally sliding into
my madness. What would happen?
If people knew. What if I tell someone?
Would they listen? No.
It wouldn't matter anyway. You, sheet
of paper, white with such straight blue
lines, are my only true friend. I spill
myself unto you. You know all of
my pain and sorrow and heartache.
You. You are the only thing fit
to judge me, yet you cannot. And
that is too fine. As harsh as I
judge myself, I can't imagine
me from outside. I cannot imagine the
brutality that could only come from
you, my love, my only love, my
true savior. And still there is another.
There is another who has
shown me her love. But I
could not, without great repercussions,
write hundreds of thousands
of millions of words upon her flesh.
And I miss her, for her absence
must be (what else could it be?) the
source of this loneliness. Not this
everlasting agony of and in my soul,
no. She is the only one to come
close to you. She is the only person
with the capabilities, the patience,
to ease my hurt. And now I
must go, for she has come to relieve
this lonely feeling. Farewell,
my true outlet.

People simply baffle me.
Existence much the same.

I cannot understand people, no I
will never understand people, so I
forget so it doesn't matter, and I
don't care anymore. **** this ****, goodbye.

I wonder who's around for me
and I wonder who's to blame.

So what is this life and what does it mean?
What if this is some elaborate dream?
What shall I be, and how does it seem?
Life is terrifying so just run. SCREAM.

And run from this, I run.
Whether it's prose or free verse, I'm done.
I'm ******* tired of this ****,
this runnin' around, this makin' me spit.

I don't know how to end this,
I don't. I thought it was over,
please say it's over, I won't.
Contracting these lies, this
murderous disguise. I believe them,
I do. Makes me question this
life and all that I'm given. Makes
me wonder and see
what makes me so driven.

But I need to stop, I must stop,
I must. Or I'll keep going and
going and drive it to dust.
I'll rip it apart, I'm taking
it down. I scream and scream
and make no sound. There's no
way out, there's no way in.
There's no way to start
except to
END!

I awoke today to a feeling of strangeness such as I have never experienced.
A feeling that I am not me, will never be me, could never be me,
but that I am a disease. A sickness. A plague of the mind.
A feeling of such hopelessness and despairity that my own existence
was questioned. Was ridiculed. Was proven again and again to be pointless.
And I am getting worse, so it would seem. Yes, it would seem
as if I have (finally) begun my slow descent into madness.
I do not welcome such, no, I try to push and keep it at bay,
I try so hard. But I know that it is inevitable,
for what else could there ever be for me? And to you,
run, I say. Run away for I am the sickness, the plague.
Run away, for I will destroy all that you hold dear, and if it is I,
then my. My oh my, the job has already begun!
And my life, what more could be desired? I have worked,
and worked and worked, and am in a marvelous position, but
I am not happy. I feel that my life is wasted on me, and
so, it is tempting to destroy that as well. Why not?
But no, I will try to hold it together. I will stretch
myself so thin that, when I fail, all in
my life will turn to chaos. All will be destroyed. But until then,
I will try. Until then, I will live.
Just as best I can.

I am so sick
of this dark place.
So sick
of being sick
of myself.
I just want leave,
absence, temporary
vacancy of this
darkness. I want
to be free.
Let me be free.
Let me be free.
Let me be free
please, I cry.
And I cry.
I scream into the
dark. And the
dark screams back.
It screams,
you. You are nothing.
I know,
I know it is right,
but I hope to rid myself
of this darkness
anyway. I need
freedom. I need
peace. I need
help. Help me!
Take these chains,
break them,
slash them,
for I cannot.
Take this darkness,
lift it,
banish it and send it
away, for I cannot!
Help me, please!
And in the darkness,
only an echo.
Please. Someone.
Anyone.
Take me. Take
me from this
place. I am so
sick of this
dark place.

I have lost all inspiration.
Into the night it has fled.
Of love, I have no care to write.
Of darkness either.
There is just a void.
A gaping expanse of inability to express beauty.
An inability to even see it.
And why?
For I am surely as out of love as
I am out of darkness.
And I am surely as truly
blind to beauty as
I am blind to the flaws of myself.
So why? Really, oh why?
Maybe I have been careless, ungrateful.
Maybe I must chase it down.
Maybe.
Maybe it is gone forever.
But then,
so am I.

You can see the effects,
but you cannot feel them.
No matter the amount of understanding,
in this, I am forever alone.
I try to remain strong, I try.
But the demons,
the fire and the darkness,
ruthlessly tear me apart.
And as much as I want to believe
I can control it,
they are separate               from me.
Once they take hold,
all I can do is reach for sanity,
which eludes so tortuously.
As the feeling creeps into my very soul,
I watch you, my friend, my lover,
become my enemy.
Your intentions seem vague and
sinister. Your motivations morph,
frightening and unreal.
I struggle,
against the demons.
THEY ARE WRONG.
I know you, they do not.
So they turn on me,
I am the *******.
I am the useless scumbag.
A willing sacrifice to be made
for you, my friend, my lover.
Are not my enemy.

I know this one girl.
She's amazing, let me tell you:
Her eyes,
they contain the depth of the deepest part of the ocean,
they are as brilliant as a sapphire under the desert sun,
maybe even more so.
they hold the pain of ten lifetimes,
yet when she smiles,
Her smile,
it radiates the brilliance of twenty suns,
it reaches as far as the furthest stars and makes them smile too,
it is enough to bring even the toughest man to his knees.
And when she speaks, oh my,
Her voice,
it is as sweet as thirty pounds of sugar condensed into one tablespoon,
it weaves into existence the most brilliant melody the world will ever know,
it has the power to melt away any troubles that may plague the mind.
And I know her,
and I am sad for those who do not.

I sit and I wonder
while I sit and I wander.
I think of what I do know,
and of those things that I don't.
Of what I need,
and simply of wants.

I think of this life,
then of our deaths.
How could we know
where to place bets?

Of course, I think of you,
I think of me.
And then of all,
that is yet to be.

Down these deep chasms of
my mind, I walk.
Questioning everything,
of which I'm unwilling to talk.

There seems to be purpose
to my life after all.
Who would have thought,
after such a great fall?

The train rumbles by,
the whistle keeps a-blowin'.
And I can't figure out,
just where I'mma goin'.

And so it comes,
as quickly as it came.
I have wondered,
and, Lord, I have wandered.
Only just to realize,
it's always the same.

And you drift
away. Again, but
can I take it?
This time. Will I
be alright? Without
you. All hope seems
lost. So where?
Do I drift? Along,
somewhere else? How.
Do I leave? You,
I cannot. But,
can I stay? I feel
no love. Anymore.
Than you, for I.
So, where shall I
go? To somewhere, or
nowhere. At all. But
it will destroy me.
Us. Must endure
together. We stand.
No, I fall. Into
the nothingness. Consumes
me. What do I do?
Give up.

If you, could see you,
through my eyes,
You would never doubt
yourself. No, never.
You would never have
the audacity to say
"I can't" because you,
yes you,
are amazing beyond anything
I have ever known.

If you, could see you,
through my eyes,
You would never be the
same. Not ever.
You would be blinded
by the beauty
that radiates from
within you, from outside
of you. The very essence of beauty
that makes up you.

If you, could see you,
through my eyes,
You would never be sad
again. No, never.
You would know why
I love you.
You would see the grace,
in every little thing
you do, say, and think.
You would see the endless
depth for which my love
for you grows. The never ending
abyss of swirling,
crashing waves of love
I have for you.
You would finally understand
the absolute perfection
of you
if you could see you
through my eyes.

To who,
am I,
more,
than just a passing face?
To me,
who,
is more,
than just a passing face?

All,
these people,
living,
their own,
separate little heartbreaking lives.
Me,
this person,
living,
my own,
separate little heartbreaking life.

They,
do not,
know,
me.
Nor shall they ever.
I,
do not,
know,
them.
Nor shall I ever.

My misery shapes my world.
Always.
Rather it be with you,
I, or
Everyone else.

The day starts.
Something feels wrong,
but what?
I make it through,
summoning every bit of
motivation.
It's hard to eat,
it's hard to move,
it's simply hard to live.
But I make it.
I pull through.
Then the night hits,
the creeping loneliness
surrounds.
The darkness seeps
from the floor,
the ceiling, the WALLS.
I am enveloped,
eclipsed,
completely enclosed,
by this.
My shoulders slump,
from the weight of the
DARKNESS.
The fire in my eyes,
gradually extinguished,
as the wave of hate
breaks over my soul.
I am broken down,
ground,
and chewed,
by the monster
darkness.
The monster that is
myself.
It burns, oh it burns,
straight through me,
destroying who I am,
who I was,
who I may become,
tearing through what hope
I try holding onto.
Every fiber it tears,
it shreds,
devours,
until I am but a shell
of my other self.
Confused,
scorned,
and cold, I can't remember
who I was. (who I am)
I try to remember,
what life is like
without the monster,
and can't.
Life isn't always this painful,
is it?
Doubt takes hold,
but what if it is?
Has life never been
worth it?
Surely not. Surely something
brings joy?
I can't remember.
I CAN'T REMEMBER.
It shakes through my bones,
echoing and bringing me
down, down
down.
I cry out.
Oh, God! Why?
Why me!
The tears fall, and fall,
in an everlasting
downpour, until
the room is full and
I am drowning.
I hardly care.
With the self-hatred,
sadness, and
hopelessness,
I'd rather die anyway.
I breathe the salty tears in,
a last, desperate attempt.
More and more
and more!
Be finished with me!
Because I am
finished!
Then I wake.
The day starts.

You said give me that,
and pointed to the moon.
So I set out,
saddled up,
dressed down, then up
in my space suit.
I built a ship,
grand indeed.
It could carry me
across the universe
and back.
But I don't need that much.
No, not quite.
So I tied a rope to the back,
and set off,
with your picture taped
so carefully,
in my space man helmet.
I launched my ship,
set off to the moon!
It took seven minutes.
Ok, seven and a half.
I landed on the moon,
nothing had gone wrong.
(Told you my ship was grand)
I took the rope,
wrapped it around
and round.
I took off again,
going back to the Earth,
the moon, not far behind.
This time, eight minutes.
We landed,
the moon and I.
There you were,
standing right where I left you.
I looked at you, smiled,
and said, "Tomorrow.
I will bring you the moon
tomorrow."

It's no longer a mystery.
This...thing.
This thing that plagues my mind
with the ups and downs,
ups and downs.
and downs.
I've wondered so long,
the root of my insanity.
And now it has a name.
An identity.
They call it..
Cyclothymia.
A mental disease.
And truthfully,
I don't know what to make
of the newfound knowledge.
To be happy,
or to be sad?
It is strange
to think of it as a handicap
when it has become
an integral part of who I am.
And yet, I have wished.
Oh, how I have wished
it away for so long.
No, I am not this disease,
it is just part of me.
But who am I without it?
This thing...
This..
Cyclothymia.

I have wandered a street.
A long and lonely street.
There were people, of course.
Wanderers too.
But it was still,
just a lonely street.
There was a chill in the air,
and the ever falling mist.
It was dark, lonely, and cold.
The people were just people,
so I was still alone.
I made acquaintances,
many of them,
along the way.
But I never meant much to them.
Nor they to I.
Because they were just people.
They could not understand me.
The could not love me.
And I never understood them either.
And loved only a select few
that I thought were different.
I walked with them.
We walked together.
But we were always different.
Yes, I loved them too much.
Perhaps I still do.
But we always walked different paths.
Except for you.
We crossed paths,
many years ago
when I was discovering myself.
We walked a while,
we talked a while.
I knew you were different,
even then.
Something was between us.
I felt it,
and I knew you did too.
You professed that it was love.
And indeed it was.
For a while afterwards,
we walked together.
But then something happened.
My path diverged.
Or maybe it was yours.
Either way,
we both walked alone.
The road became treacherous.
That dark and lonely road.
I was overcome with loneliness,
soaked to the bone in misery
and heartache.
I was molded in ways
no soul should ever experience.
But I endured.
I learned many valuable lessons.
Most of them the hard way.
I fought my own demons,
again and again and
again.
During this time,
our paths converged several more times.
We walked together again,
for some too brief times.
While our paths were split again,
I tried to survive you
with others.
But in my heart,
I always knew it was futile.
They were never different.
Not the way you are.
They were never..
you.
And I walked on.
On and on.
For what seemed like forever,
down the long and winding road.
I stumbled, I fell,
I hurt, I cried,
until I realized.
It's you.
I need you.
Our paths once again converge.
We are walking together again.
Hand in hand.
Together.
Finally, I accept that we are meant
to walk together, to talk together,
to laugh together, to live together,
to love together,
down this road.
Forever.
And, although my demons still haunt me,
at least I'll never face them alone
again.
And, though my road is still
terrifyingly dark,
at least I walk it with you.
I've found you.
Finally.

Tired
of being tired.
Yet I must continue,
must...endure.
For this is not the end
of my journey, my
time here.
But still...I am
tired.

More
is to come.
So I must pick myself up,
must keep moving...
forward.
There will be rest,
later, when I am dead.
Still...I don't want to do this any-
more.

Trying
myself. In the court
of myself.
Time and time
again.
Failing every single time.
So frustrating,
but I am still
trying.

Time
conquers me yet again.
Beats me down,
turning me into a slave.
A slave to...what?
Misery.
Still, more to come.
It is not my
time.

Fading
into the bleakness of
everlasting darkness.
It swallows my mind,
and weakens my
heart.
Until nothing is left
because I am
fading.

The end
It seems it will never
come.




the end.

What if you are too good...
What if...I am too bad.
Maybe you're the yin to my yang,
and I'm the yang to your yin.
But what if it's just...
a clash?

Your beauty, your goodness,
overwhelms me, and my,
dark, dark heart.
I am inherently bad,
so then, how am I good...
for you?

You bring light to my life,
but all I have to offer is...
darkness...
Yet, you love me.
This I know,
because you never wrong me.

And, I almost wish you would,
so that these dark thoughts
would have warrant.
And still...you never would.
You love me,
in all of my darkness.

And because of that,
because you...
you are the most wonderful person,
with all your light and love,
because you are the only person to really love me,
I will never deserve you.

But I will try,
to overcome all my fears,
insecurities, losses,
and darkness,
simply because
I love you.

**I will try.

I know that life is unfair,
and certainly it is cruel.
We've all been dealt
different hands.
All of them,
with their own special
advantages and disadvantages.

It would be wrong, to say,
I know how you feel.
Because I don't.
I can't even imagine
your life.
I can't begin
to even comprehend.

I do know this, however.
It's true what they say,
that, this too
shall come to pass.
And no pain shall last
forever. So, that being said,
stand firm.

And know this:
You are stronger,
than you can ever imagine.
You are the best there ever was,
and the best there shall ever be.
There is nothing,
NOTHING,
that can withstand
in the presence of your greatness.
So, if you're going through hell,
keep going.
For if there is darkness,
there surely is light.
And if there is light
then it must surely be me,
for I love you,
my beautiful, sweet,
Marie.