Dashing madly across open fields,
following an arch of multicolored joy,
filled with hope, happiness, love;
Everything I cannot have.

Enduring cold, pouring rain,
icy, whispering winds,
stabbing rocks against poor soles;
Carrying on, following dreams.

Serenading ideas, tricks of mind,
gracefully leaping through death,
gently landing on weathered stone;
Arriving at the end of the line.

Mirages fade fast, no life, no scene,
nothing save a fleeting glimpse,
what could have been,
what was in mind;
Now just millions of miles in the ever-growing distance.

This is how the kids write poetry.
Line by line,
Word by word,
Just to get a letter on a handwritten page.
They scrawl out symbols and make some pretty pictures in their mind,
Fill it with preservatives, additives, and starches,
Maybe an occasional crocodile tear,
But like robots, with mostly artificial intellect;
They lack heart.

Tears hit the letters of the keyboard,
and I stare at the screen hopelessly because;
I know.
You tried so hard, too much in fact,
and in the end it was your demise.
I tried so hard, too much in fact,
to save you,
but in doing that I almost lost myself.
So here I am now,
staring upon your messages,
re-reading them until I have convinced myself,
You're still here.
I reach back in time,
to pull you out of the way, but you know,
as well as I,
that you wouldn't come either way.
The light before me dims, low battery,
just as you always were, my friend.
The computer, your home, dies,
and with it, I accept;
That you have as well,
and when at last I plug in the charger,
glance hopefully upon your conversation,
I send a last message,
Rest in peace, I shall miss you.

I hold my breath, and go under,
The water is cold, and surrounds me;
Almost comforting me and caressing away,
Everything.
All that is left is me,
Watching through the ice of the lake that,
Holds me, raises me, keeps me safe.
I press my hand against the glassy surface,
But nobody presses back.
I think it’s cold, but I don’t know for certain,
For I have always been so cold,
In heart, and mind,
And life.
I lie between the realms of death and living,
My heart beats out like cracking glass,
Threatening to end me while supporting me.
My hair flows around in the water like smoke,
And blackness slowly spreads up and through me,
Until I am but a skeleton,
Cold, and dead,
But still living;
And still cold.

My hands are cold,
Numb, and they lack a pulse too,
It would seem;
As do my feet while I walk without feeling,
Anything I could ever hope to.
Ice flows delicately through my veins,
And I find it beautiful,
Nobody else does;
Being dead is apparently,
Not good for your health.
My skin is colorless,
Like a corpse,
Or a cloud,
Whichever works for the person who sees me and,
How the sleepless nights have added up,
My eyes are glassy,
Certainly not holding the spark that once flamed,
Within my heart and everything I saw.
The colors have faded.
My lips,
Cracked, bleeding, and dry,
Whisper a last word nobody hears.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but
Oh how words hurt me so,
Dueling cards; Of hearts and spades,
And the diamonds lay neutral between.
These scars invisible to **** eye,
Are poisoned and burn me endlessly.
This war has gone on too long,
And now all three sides are losing,
Mind,
Heart,
Sanity.
An everlasting cycle of pain and recovery.
The Heart rebels and the ***** controls,
Whilst the Diamond attempts mediation.
The Joker is in play, passively,
And the Old Maid watches from a distance.
Only a fire can burn the paper,
But instead, water’s life is needed.
The Heart works away, the *****, the day,
But only to crash at midnight.
The only true way to solve it all is,
To give up, to let go,
But nobody does that.
I know.

Living cannot be the most painful thing,
Right? No, I don’t believe so.
For when life doesn’t give you lemons,
But squirts them in your eye,
You cannot deny that it hurts.
Even the sweetest clementine can sting like a wasp,
When crushed into your perspective.
Really, anything can hurt when it hits home plate,
Right between your ribs, that is.
Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up;
It’s not so funny once you think about it.
You get better,
But you’re not the same again;
Can’t people see that,
Or perhaps,
Do they have juice in their eyes too?