Well, you’ve got yourself a problem,
Don’t you?
When the days rush by and;
You cannot tell where you are,
Who you are,
Or even when you are.
When you move like a zombie,
No thoughts, no feelings,
Ah, you can’t feel at all.
I see, I see,
Let’s throw you on pretty pills,
Answer nice questions,
Play comforting music,
That will help, right?
Oh, you can’t feel that either?
I wonder why.
Here, peel this potato,
With another potato!
That’ll solve the problem.
It won’t?
Oh well.

How does anyone expect to                                   **** me

when I am already dead and                                  please,

don’t mind my monotone self, it                             cant

help the way it grew up; not being able to             feel.

anything it wants to, only what it doesn’t               desire

and sometimes it really is painful when it            hurts

to love and smile and laugh because                  when

the simplest things suddenly become                 complications

in life  and emotions pile up and                          overflow.

                                I think to myself I should just

                                          *d i s a p p e a r.

Lifelessly, I drop to the ground,
but fall straight through, already a phantom.
Seeping through the dirt, weeping while going down,
eventually I hit rock bottom.

Where are you?
I reach my hands up,
claw at the rock above until bloodied.

Did you leave me?
Fists slam against the boards,
punching until bruised and knuckles broken.

Is it me?
Hopeless cries to the upside,
screaming until raspy and sore.

Lifelessly, I drop to the ground,
and shatter against the earth.
Nobody can hear my pleas,
and Nobody cares.
Where are you, Nobody?
A whimper in the night echos.

Colorful leaves swirl through my thoughts,
I get carried away with them so often,
for the warmth of their hues remind me;
When the world is cold, nature remains warm,
and as the winds pick up and play with my hair,
I know I am not alone.

Eyes dart like arrows, following movement, avoiding light,
seeking, chasing, hunting with curious paranoia,
diving forward into the vibrant thrills of the world,
constantly watching, observing, analyzing all surroundings,
settling with calm, calculated responses to a constant data stream,
typewriter-read, scanning all, no threats detected,
forever alert to the split-second movements and signals that count.

A blade of scent cuts through my mind's forest, sharp and direct,
a slap to the face, an awakening, a trigger,
close-range proximity, long-distance remembrance,
lingering like visible clouds in the air,
tasteful, able to be tracked, subconscious gravitation,
melting into the sweet-smelling void,
glazed with natural laughing-gas, my feet already move,
locked on to something I can't even have.

Branches crack, leaves rustle, neck twisted instantly,
turning curiously towards such a dance on eardrums,
nature's symphonies rushing like rivers through my mind,
lifting me into the air with every vibration and harmonic syllable,
carrying me away from the chaos and into perfect harmony,
floating through time as music shifts and pulls my limbs into motion.

Various flavors glide over delicate hills,
gentle, explosive, I never know what to expect,
stinging or soothing, sweet or bitter,
will the swirls of savory life caress my soul,
or rip it to shreds and bite the tongue it feeds,
a beast to be tamed, but never conquered.

Toes dig into rich earth, springing forth with power,
muscles tensing, relaxing, hands grasping for life,
velvet's gentle touch, water's enveloping embrace,
submerged in nerve endings shooting lightning across the abyss,
like a stone skipping across a rippling pond, balanced,
bounding into endless skies as clouds swirl and the sun shines,
forever living within the terrarium of our Universe.

It was there that I waited, in the middle of the barren landscape.
Cold winds whipped my hair and nearly pushed me back.
I continued to wait.
Slowly, I became numb, and blind as the sun pierced my eyes.
I could feel the chill rising through me.
I continued to wait.
Lost voices screamed in the winds, deafening me.
My joints stiffened, as if losing youth to the old winter.
I stopped waiting.
Step by step, I moved through the cold.
People passed by and allowed me to continue.
I continued on.
Striving to reach somewhere, anywhere, my salvation.
The weight on my back hindered me, but I couldn’t remove it.
I pressed on.
A glimpse of a house on the horizon, with doors unlocked.
I fall before I can reach it.
I cannot go on.

When wounds open yet again,
tears never failing to flow,
I curl up in the lion’s den,
listening to lullabies they think they know.
I cry out like a mewling lamb,
my hopes and dreams clawed to death,
thoughts flood out from a broken dam,
though on my neck I feel their hot breath.

Mary, I am a little lamb,
but my fleece is not snowy white,
take me in as company, if you can,
so I may see the light.
The journey that has dirtied me,
it’s lonesome, weary, true,
but perhaps it shall not be,
with a nice friend such as you.

You took me in and fed me well,
now I must say goodbye,
to wander down where monsters dwell,
I’ve avoided them too long and to face them I must try.

Mary had a little lamb,
her fleece became white as snow,
it seems she has run off again,
and this time remains alone.

Pardon me, dear, but I shall take my leave,
I intended to stay, yet I see I’m not needed.
Was I truthfully ever?
What hope was there, funny little speck of joy,
Has been ****** out by a single;
Word, breath, phrase.
I shouldn’t reach out,
Lest I get grabbed and forced to drain myself of,
Time, energy, caring, love.
When it’s just an insignificant boost to their day.
When I am nothing more than words on a page;
When I have faded to nothing more but a conversation.
I’ll stab my heart before I let myself feel that pain again.
Anything is better, death even is better, than that feeling,
I’m a toy.

The silence is so loud,
especially when you cannot see,
more so when you cannot sleep;
Always when you feel the least.

The room is so empty when you’re alone,
with nothing there but comforting darkness,
comforting silence, comforting nothingness;
When there’s nothing to distract you from you.

The night can be quite frightening,
as the hours grow long but time grows short,
when nobody is there to save you from yourself;
Especially when you give in to the abyss of it all.

Dearest child,
I see you have tried to outrun me,
My little crows tell me so.
You know you cannot escape me,
And I just thought you should know;
Give up your hopes, brush off silly dreams,
For they’re all going nowhere, it seems,
Like tiny butterflies,
In my clutch, they die.
Oh, but as do many things I tend to grasp,
Nothing can defy my wrath.
I’ll be gentle, dear, why don’t you come here?
It’s so much nicer than almost anywhere.
I’ll reach out my hand, you take it lightly,
Escape the fears I know you have nightly.
Don’t hold your breath, it’s safe to go,
For I shall be your friend, alone.
You will not rest in lands above,
This is my letter,
From Death,
With love.

Carry me home gentle,
to a land where angels sing,
where there is no pain;
Where I belong.

Wrap your arms around me,
so I may not be so cold,
so I am protected from my thoughts;
So I may feel again.

Whisper worries away,
putting my heart to rest,
my mind to silence;
My soul assured.

Give me a lift some day,
help me to escape myself,
my troubles;
Along with nothing at all.

We smile, laugh, send kind words each way,
radiating joy and sweetness,
though it is stopped by a clear wall.
Voices travel smoothly though our ears,
but there is no touch, no warmth,
no matter how close together we become,
we are blocked by this clear wall.
Attempts to punch through it are feeble,
for the pane is miles thick,
you’d need to go around it,
maybe swallow a pill and float through.
My heart is mechanical, typing hearts,
filling my brain with pleasant feelings,
but the remainder of the beating flesh,
knows this to be true,
but refuses to accept it for it remembers;
Human love.

There are some flaws not even Porcelain 110 can cover and as I slather the spackle on over this mask,
I notice that the cracks run a bit deeper this time,
the shadows a bit darker,
the eyes more red from sprung leaks and sleepless nights.
I find myself with bags I never bought and chuckle at my mother's face staring back in the mirror; there's a quiet realization that I never understood how she felt until now.
Because the cracks run deeper,
the shadows a bit darker,
the eyes more red and I can't help but wonder if I too should let this home crumble.
After all, at what point does a fixer-upper become a lemon,
nothing more than a void to pour money into even though it's not going to improve?
In this economy I suppose I ought to re-market it as not having cracks but character while telling potential buyers not to worry because the basement only floods when it's raining; but of course, this is Seattle, so you might as well just make a swimming pool.
The repainting, renovating, heart break only adds another pile of shattered glass to the corner I've got to clean up at some point but am too exhausted to because the cracks run deeper than I can handle,
the shadows darker than I can hide,
the eyes more red from sprung leaks and sleepless nights waiting for the wrecking ball to do its ******* job and level me.