he wasn't an angel--
but he wasn't the devil either.

like most of us,
he was caught floating
somewhere in between
wandering
and wondering
who
      exactly
               he
                  was.

i am
healing
the wounds
now.

bit by bit
piece by piece
they sew themselves up,
leaving little bitty scars.

this is not the first time
and it, most likely, will not be the last.

every year the cycle repeats
its ups and downs.

the more familiar i am with the cycles
the more i embrace the darkness.

summer's sunny disposition warms me up
like butter in a microwave and i
melt into some sort of vision of contentment

but sooner than i realize, winter comes again,
angry and cold, to plunge me into its icy depths
where i stay, waiting for some sort of solution
to a problem I rarely address in any serious sort of manner.

they all say, you can't do it on your own.
stubborn natures persevere, fighting against other instincts
that say, this isn't right.

every time I climb back out of the hole where I live,
it is impermanent.
the dark, sorrow-filled, and angry  abyss is my home.

if you have any interest in taking it off my hands,
i hear the price is just right for that sort of neighborhood.

they say with the highest highs
come the lowest of the lows.
i am pretty **** low.
lower than i told myself was acceptable.

and i have you to thank.

not in a facetious, bitter way
because i mean it:
thank you.

appreciation for the high
is the only hope i have left.

and i want to think i'm fine.
because in the grand scheme of it all
i am. i'm fine.

but.

nothing replaces the emptiness,
the large gaping hole,
the anger and sadness.

nothing fills it up and keeps it secure.

tears fill my eyes when i see your face.
only in photographs, a video,

a constant reminder that you saved me
and for that,

i thank you.

it was like if colors could make sound:
an aria of light and I was the soloist,
slowly singing, linking each note with the next:
dissonant noises.
not all sounds are pleasant.

thank you
for teaching me that hurt heals
and anger subsides.

lessons worth learning are hard.
hard as rocks, which press you, mash you into pulp.
but even mush and marrow have purpose.

(thank you). the bitterness of my
appreciation does not escape me.

signs say: moderate yourself
I put up a sign, too.
one that no one will read but
its important. You must—
Leave your mark.

I lost my mark (my point)
I can’t find…
Who I am.

unidentifiable places in the
creation of time and space

Wait. Suddenly I am in the Milky Way.

I see them: my points
They battle and break.
I weep.
They show me who
I could have been

random ads with nonsensical jokes
fill the space between my ears.

i can't understand what they mean
but they keep talking to me,
asking me to listen.

the music that follows is only a trick
to make myself believe that something
in this godforsaken world
brings me joy.

the music is dark in color
and tastes like disinterest.

it's funny

i thought i finally understood what it was
that i wanted:
i'm no closer than i've ever been.


so i stay still.
i refuse to leave
to move
to speak

to figure out what i want.

i haven't been in the mood
to keep up appearances--
but it appears the more i distance myself
the more people appear to be close to.

i want to disappear
to no place in particular.