I spy the rising sun
How it peeks above the horizon
Pouring it's radiance all over our world
It's gentle warmth
Filling every jagged and rugged crevice of earth
I spy the soil beneath
How many civilizations
Have flourished upon it
Does it still carry the footprints
Of Adam and eve
Are the fragments of past
Still hiding beneath it
I spy the night sky
the profound infinity
In which it abounds
And wonder
If those blazing stars
Still carry those that are gone
Does that mean
Our hearts may stop beating one day
But our soul is eternal
Till infinity and beyond

I think I wrote this 30 times not knowing how to explain or shape the sentences but here goes nothing

Pop, one pill in the morning.
This one will make you happy

Pop, one pill at lunch.
This one will make you numb.

Pop, one pill at night.
This one will make you sleep.

Pop, another, whenever.
This one, will calm your heart,
Make you get out of bed in the morning,
Make your work harder,
Make you concentrate,
Make you
Make you
Make you

Alice feels jealous, her pills make her larger or small
But not happy.
But Alice doesn't know,
After every pill,
Headache,
Nausea,
Dizziness,
Fatigue,

Alice feels, but I don't

Three hundred sixty-five days and some other dozen
After pills
Slowly but surely
I started feeling again
Sadness had a taste
And so did food
Laughter had a meaning
and so did tears.

And If you ask me what I remember of that time,
I'll tell you, not much.
It is no way to live, when you live numb
When you should feel things, but you don't.

When the struggle is no longer sadness, but the lack of it
When it is not finding happiness, but not feeling it..

Another three hundred sixty five days and some dozen
I feel things on my own
Get out of bed on my own

After pills,
I pray nothing gets in my way of feeling things on my own.

All the flowers you left me,
when water went away,
died on my back porch.

These hours manipulate,
disguise the days,
smells like rain.

For every lucid hour,
weeping on all fours,
blistered bones felt the pain.
blistered bones felt the sore.

If you were so special,
would you look me in the eyes,
they're red like a dust bowl's,
allergic surprise,
forging our guestbook,
we invited the lies,
she said it was useful,
to hide in the sky.

I find a way to relate anything and everything to home.
Oh look, it's a bag of chips.
               I used to eat chips at home.
Oh look, it's a pencil.
               I used to use pencils at home.

And each time it makes me cry.

Someone passes by me wearing perfume that smells like Mom's,
I start crying.
I see the words mom, dad, parents, home, family,
I start crying.

Am I just a crybaby?
Or am I allowed to feel sorry for myself once in a while?
Because if you were in my place, you would too.
Anyone would.
Don't deny it.

Please just let me feel sorry for myself now.
Don't call me weak.
Don't call me over-sensitive.
Don't call me a baby.
Don't tell me to cheer up.
Don't tell me to focus on the good.
Don't tell me to shut up.
Don't say I'll be okay.
Don't say it'll all be over soon.
Don't say I'll get over it.

Just let me cry.

We always think of Hell as down.  I wonder if it's not up
And evil souls are burning in the sun, returning the warmth that they stole from the world.