5 years or more it's been
and life has been a haze
time both relative and irrelevant.
I'm sure it no longer matters
but somehow, it is still the vantage point
from which I have to live.
There is no direction,
no upward, onward,
only away.
Ever away.

my ear is ringing
the road is singing
the light is filtering in
the cat is curled
and words unfurled
and silent in the din.

I sit in corners
eyes flashing
up and around, looking
for a face
to alight on
and suddenly there are many
too many
and they all alight
on me

                                                      eggs, eggs for
                                                         breakfast
                                                   penises for lunch
                                                 crafts in December--
                                   I think I may know
                                   what hides in
                                   the wrapping
                                   under silver bow--
                                                I think I have a hunch.

Two years
and she was gone.
We're still going.
Clapping my hands
I tried for months at a time
to catch the air she left behind.
She left us with
her scraps, her scrawl
jagged, stabbing upward
I still run my fingers over their shards
and spires
wishing I could
bleed.

Door handle
     spin.
paint splashes onward, marching to oblivion
or false understanding
     and tweets are crawling
          nestling in elbows
                 making hinges creak
           and the net can't stop the rust
                  of its human counterpart
                                   mind.

I lost my voice
when I forgot
the secret of the craft.
What secret, love, is that?
The written word
not born of mouth,
no mother, none at all,
not even you
Not I?
It’s true,
Yet, can’t escape the draw;
composing with my maw—
So choking on the weight
of all that I have written;
hands are bound behind me
with all that I’ve forgot—
Oh, words that I’ve forgot!
*(It’s only writer’s block.)

The precipice
The fall, un-fell...
                      To cliffs, successful cling.
                       I see the sea,
                       its foaming maw,
                       wide open, just for me.

                       To step or not to step,
but there cannot be a question.*
                       Face is pale and rope is frail,
                       "REPEL!" The crowd does jeer.
                       But I can't expel the fear;

                       For if I succeed--cling till I die--
                       or tie my noose right here,
                       the end result is clear.

                       Must cliffs be so sheer?

hole, hollow, cup
chest, breast, *****
drain, stain, empty
void, jagged, ragged.
Filled, still, treading
thick, dense, dreading
foreign, matter, matters?
broken, blood, letting.

             The world is ripe with words
                         void of understanding.

share all feelings i can’t say
through gritted, numbing teeth.
call my bluff
pull my words
out of my throat
until your hands are tough
calloused with my
eventual, sober
regret.

Love is a dream
or so they say,
my winter heart,
it begs to play
“unfreeze me please”
you’ll hear it say
“for I miss the warmth of summer.”

And love is young
though I am old,
they say it can
unwind the cold
like ticking clocks
and bells of old;
echoes fading into silence.

And love is kind
but I am scared
of fangs beneath
the lips you bear.
The last one said
he also cared,
so I am slow to trusting.

‘Cause love is cruel,
and I’m not new;
affected words
and lover’s cues,
strangled trust
and selfhood, too,
I’ve the eulogies to prove it.

But love is birth;
it can give life.
If I could let
the dead horse lie,
and promise you
that I will try
to want to become different.

To love at all
is to have felt
your stolen heart
transcend yourself,
blessed by the hand
of God Himself,
the seeming giver of your dreams,

but to love again,
it is a choice,
to speak aloud
in broken voice,
“Though it may hurt,
still I rejoice,
though it may end,
still I rejoice,
take all I am,
still I rejoice,”
and try, though hard it seems,
to remember how to dream.
Remember how to dream.

“I think that I love him,”
I wrote down in my journal that day.
Words scrawled across the page
curling like timid spring tendrils.
I swam in it all afternoon,
turning pruney with the feeling.
Indulging in the thought that this
was what I’d long been needing.
But day turned into night,
things changed within the hour;
lovely feelings, slowly budding,
became shrunken withered flowers.
With a friend I had been talking,
he asked, “What do you know about Justin?”
The air was cool on my teeth as I smiled,
“It’s hard to know about Justin.”
In that moment, my heart was swollen
with hope that my friend would spill
words that I could indulge on
like red wine to the ears,
and I felt my face turn ruddy
with anticipation of the pleasure,
it was almost too much bear—
my beating heart could hardly wait—
And within that same moment, he said,
“Well he really likes your roommate.”

I'd like to be burned,
to have flames lick my sides--
so when I peel away the skin,
see truths I have to hide.
I'd like to be burned
to have flames lick my lips--
so when I go to speak my truth
the rawness of it drips.
I'd like to be burned,
to have flames char my heart--
so when I go to love again
it's the newest of new starts.
Yes, I'd like to be burned,
But I am not so brave--
I wait and pray with all my heart
gods throw me to the flames.

I suppose I can say
          that this is the end,
and that was the start,
          and I can't pretend
to be who you thought
          that I should have been.
                                   As to what you expected;
                                   we're not even friends.
I guess we were both kinda wrong in the end.

An animal
set free by the sound;
thunder growls, and I to mania.
I set out from refuge
into the storm,
high tides in a low sky.
A flash—
I could not catch it.

Hail pelts, impales houses and me
as I reach out, breathing,
dying in darkness.
I flash a grin
and a laugh, blown to silence
by a crack and a rumble,
roar of a leviathan cumulus,
and a river of light,
stream for the monster,
stays seen for a moment
and I delight in it.

Rain pedals downward,
slaps false tears on skin,
then softens, and soundless,
so I walk to the road.
The afterglow, silver,
the mist rising
like ghosts from the ground;
past lingers, swirls,
evaporates
under the silver shine
of moon on the pavement
and the trees glistening in darkness.
And all things are angelic,
in the phantasmal scene,
glazed in petrichor
and an otherworldly quiet
that follows, always,
a passing storm.

I almost cry
watching god
make herself known.
And listen for
a proverb of silence,
birth and death,
beginnings and endings,
the sky and I.

"He's brilliant."
Well, you are brilliant too.
"Only if you say so."

Subdued warm in my breast is
a long-forgotten embrace of my worth.
Unhindered by
suffocating imprints,
old behaviors.
I face a screen of the moment, shining clear
in high-definition of reality,
a new definition of what it means to live.
Outside the sinister assumption
that protection
keeps our Fear at bay,
when, actually,
the very, very same
will keep the hated fiend
in your soul,
at play.

You were to me as a pear on a shelf
In a sterile world, claimed friend to my health.
At first sight, yellow, spotted like the rest,
A little more so, (they say those are the best)
So I picked you out, wrapped in my plastic love,
I took you home; you were attractive enough.
I touched you, cold, weathered leathery skin,
From the several storms you stayed tethered in.
But I didn't mind the flaws you presented;
I held you, bit softly, your smooth skin consented.
You filled me with sugar, smelling sweet and yet biting,
Dripping, so wet in the half-hindered lighting.
Gritty and crisp like a World War II gunner,
Yet syrupy sweet like an indulgent summer.
As time welcomed shadows, I chewed to your core;
your succulent nature was less than before.
Silent in sorrow, I gazed at the truth:
Stringy and course, your manner uncouth.
Thus, as with most, you cannot sustain
Someone biting deep, digging into your brain,
For a bitter brown core is all that remained,
And your friendly façade was never the same.

I lay here awake
Speaking past the plaster,
To wind, blown north,
Past where Jesus was born,
And some mother is being abused somewhere.
As I spoke and cried inside,
I cringed at the thought of water.

The red lining of a white cloud
Glares me down
Past the cut grass,
And the ***** houses
With the nice front doors.

I wanted pain for you
I wanted pain for me,
But no one would learn,
Because no one would feel pain.
We are a world of the immune.
Numbed by the convenient fog
Because the clouds are too lazy
to feed the Earth
and
Rain.

I don't write of beauty.
I've tried to reconnect with the world,
In the simple way, perforated innocent youth,
But they know. They sense I am not pure.
The woman across the counter:
The spunky pixie cut and cherry red lips.
I hand over my cash and a smile,
asking, begging with my eyes to be smiled at, too.
She drops three dollars and 73 cents into my palm,
and a suspicious glance into the air between us,
I leave with a sorrow, seen unwarranted.
Sitting outside in a chill and an iron chair
where others may dare to enjoy themselves
I attempt to compose, finding that my heart is closed,
and my hand is scribbling nonsense into empty space.

The life a man does boast is but a tryst
Between the egos of his Cosmic gods,
Who jest at gnarly oaks and monoliths;
At twigs we humans foolishly are awed.
Yet such does not render us simplified;
Too great is Cosmo's pride in their amour,
But secrets we'll uncover, stratified;
Acceptance, such a silent petrichor.
So let the veil be lifted, let us see,
Existence as gossamer as the veil,
Fragile as the primrose, less the beauty,
On us, we hope, these Lover's dreams won't fail.
At night we dream of worlds beyond the stars;
Sits on their smallest finger, all of ours.

Poems never written,
Pain, never placed in aesthetic positions,
for other's enjoyment, or my own ego,
but left to float away
like butterflies in the ether
of nothingness that is forgotten.
Yes, rest in peace,
and no we don't bury you with gold,
we don't wish you a thousand slaves,
we don't even have flowers.
But these are my gifts,
my art, gone unwritten,
they go out to you, dear.
Out, and on to you.

They always told me to let go of the past.
As if it were at the end of a taut rope,
as if my memories were burns on my hands,
as if my tears were simply sweat of exertion.

"It'd all go away if you'd just let go,"
They assure me in their uninterested gaze,
Scoffing at me in their self-assurance
"She's probably just thinking too much."

Surprisingly, though, on a long drive to nowhere
A monstrous plume of smoke caught my eye
glowing hellish and orange in a grey night
billowing from a crevice somewhere downtown.

It occurred to me then that I was afraid.
If I let the rope slip, even just a little,
whipping through my hands, setting them aflame,
I'd crumble to ashes then and there.

Without the distant past, the rosy memories,
the hot-aired idea of who I was
The self-inflicted punishment for past wrongs,
Who the hell am I?

And passing the place that I knew nothing of
I swear I knew more of myself in the aftermath of you.

Under the three lights of Linden I saw
the pages of my life flipped over by a careless wind

As I sipped my iced coffee, blankly staring
at my story as if I'd really rather be somewhere else,

As if I'd heard it all before, if it meant nothing to me;
It couldn't mean much because it didn't mean much to them.

But who am I? The three lights beg the question with ruddy faces
like that of my father at last night's awkward family dinner.

I answer with a grimace and a sound in my throat,
something close to a gurgle of a child and cry of a dog.

The night sky clouds sigh my name and the silhouettes of stars
whisper of the future, of fairies, of other unimaginable things.
So I wait for new beginnings in the town of all my endings.

Must **** to be so miserable
pining on, day after day
wishing that there was a way
to make your life more livable.

It must **** to talk so much
about people you know nothing of,
people that you claim to love;
It’s safe to say, you’re out of touch.

It must **** to envy me
To wonder what you did so wrong
for me to leave you for so long,
ignore you so, and be so free.

I hope it ***** to see me there,
looking, feeling better than
you, and all your failed plans…
Your mass destruction's but a stare. :)

Be my baby canopy,
cover me in emerald joy
in gales and gusts, sprays of rain,
Be the shield I shan't employ.

By the seaside running out
of staggered breath, though you know
how cherry my cheeks do get;
hurry, kiss them while they glow.

Be the leaves upon my arms
Flutter, whisper, rustle down
Till all I am is but a noun
held in your mouth, your throaty charm.

Brave the hurricanes with me,
I'll be the one who will not fly,
You'll be the baby's lullaby,
above the rain, so anchoring.

Watch the window, hear it creak
above the pitter patter plain,
bathe in the sorrow of the rain,
come up cleaner, with a squeak.

Be the breath upon the hearth
breathe deeply so your lungs are warm,
feel orange among the grungy storm;
grow a greenhouse in your heart.

Follow me out to the Mar,
walking down into the deep end
and down reproaches Heaven will send;
the solemn tear drops of a star.

Up we go, and all around,
Spin with me, collapse and cry,
Until the clouds do say 'Goodbye',
All we hear are hearts that pound.

In the aftermath, it shines,
Angelic pools, a chorus clear,
The silver light plays softly here
like no one once had shed a tear.
Now my heart chokes water, dear,
So hold your pluviophile near.

Glum am I, engrossed in grey mourning fog,
Wherefore, I do not possess knowledge of.
My present is but "now", this ashy grog,
Yet, there am I, in youthful days of love.
I bounce on bubbles of a buoyant laugh,
Expelled from throat that swore his perfection.
Denouncing prophets of a coming wrath,
I dance upon clouds of this connection.
Now I return, and laugh in bitter mirth.
It fits; two types of innocence should die.
Three years pregnant, my sensible rebirth,
For death does dwell in letters of a lie.
These swells of fog recede, I am alive;
A better woman, left, to live and thrive.

What is this? Oh what is this?
My word, my Love, I thought I’d missed!
And in the darkened depths of deep,
I saw no light, but dreams in sleep.

Yet, hark! The blinding light of day,
For from the depths, I’d come away!
And in the water, pure and clean,
I float so softly down a stream.

Alas, thought I, must be a vision,
dream of Sublime with great precision.
As my heart sank, so did my body,
(subconscious world should be so haughty)

I struggled soft, now sitting straight,
the word around did not abate.
I looked in awe, what should I see?
My love there standing, smiling at me.

I ran to him, tears flying so,
we fell beneath the tulips, low.
We laughed and cried,
Groaned and died,

Beneath the flowering cherry tree,
Beside the stream, singing to me,
Below the sky of dreams to be,
Betwixt the tulips, thousand three.

Could this be true? Oh how are you!
I ask my Love, facing the sky.
He turns to me, his face is blue,
Shocked, but still, I ask not why.

And out of silence, this I hear,
disturb’d water, splashing thus;
I turn to look, and this I fear,
a darkened demon; run, I must.

Yet petrified I do remain,
the greatly grinning gargoyle barks,
I clutch my Lover’s hand in vain,
for he, still blue, is frozen, stark.

“What shall we have for dinner, say?”
Was demon’s question to be solved.
“I must ask you to go away!”
He cackles loud at my resolve.

And flies to me, hands ‘round my neck,
Somehow, now, my Love is gone.
Should I have kept my heart in check?
For love is what demons dine on,

Beneath the flowering cherry tree,
Beside the stream, singing to me,
Below the sky of dreams to be,
Betwixt the tulips, thousand three.

Upon walking slowly from my despair,
I saw a turn’ed leaf.
Amongst the others, dark and rounded,
This one sat soundly,
Inverted,
Displaying bones and veins
For all to see.
Vulnerability is not the culprit
it’s been made out to be,
For the leaves seemed natural;
In chorus, their colored-symphony.
Were they all upright,
Green and bright in shining glory,
One might think it a picture
From a children’s story.
I sigh,
Gazing to the sky as I walk,
Farther, and farther away,
To felids unknown, but surely shown,
To my heart, I say,
“Let thyself be turned.”

The outsider is inside,
Inside the house, staring from the crusted window,
The latch calls to her in rusty tones.
She stares upon its existence,
wishing nothing more than to answer.

But the outsider, she is inside,
Her back turned to what she’s built,
Her eyes upon those who are outside,
Can they save her? Would they care to try?

Her elbow rests upon the dusty sill,
Eyes glossy like Rapunzel, the Golden One,
But she has grown old inside the house,
she has grown blind and deaf and dumb.

The outsider, she once wished,
to leave the depths of her understanding,
to venture into the clashing world,
to face the blatant nature of love,

But the outsider, she is inside,
over much has cried, died and lied.
The weight of gravity holds down the fort,
and her as well; she doesn’t fight.

She holds the hope she’ll someday be tempted,
to leave that which protects her so,
to venture through the grimy view,
lifted by that which holds her low.

The outsider, she’s still inside,
Forever more, should she still hide,
You could say that she should have tried,
She wanted to, with all her pride
To leave that which keeps her inside.
To leave that which keeps her inside.

You may not be
a grotesque vision,
But you're a ****** pain
in the ***, my friend.
If you weren't so busy
trying to hinder my sleep,
Maybe you'd cross
To the side you belong.
Bug them all night long,
For crying out loud.
I'm sure those spirits
Are in need of someone
With the sense of humor
That you clearly possess.
After all, mocking me
Is your favorite endeavor,
Like a cheshire cat
With a moonlit grin.
Maybe that's your name.
Call you "Chesh"
For short.  
And laugh at your antics
Until you finally become bored.

But seriously though,
go away.

Sometimes I think I'm going insane.
Other times I think I'm being dramatic.
Both thought patterns are seemingly logical.
But they can't both be right.
.... It feels like insanity.
If there's a hell, I think being in my head is where it's at.  
"Welcome to Hell"
right on my ******* forehead.
I hope I'm not destined to depression for the rest of my ******* life.
I asked the Universe for a sign.
I **** you not, it illuminated the "No".
**** me, right.
I don't know. There's no reason to be upset.
No clouds. So no silver lining.
Just nothing.
Floating down the depths of dark abyss in which nothing is felt under an ominous ebony cloud of are you ******* kidding me why am I writing no one's reading this anyway.

Crystal gleaming, blinding sight,
I crawl, small seeming, though tall, I tried.
So hard to stand in dark evolution,
the solution claimed as stark;
Yeah right.
I need a change under the sun,
But forest ranger is my part.
So only night, lit by lamplight
Conceives revolution
in this Dark.
What choice do I have?
Which paths to take?
Green stained machetes
Dictate the stakes.
Long for the sun,
And long, we may,
Alas,
Must do with a lamplit day.

I drove slowly down
The depths of the dusk
As she chewed on the stems,
I tried on the tusks.
As she entered high
And I crawled down low,
I wished for the truth
Of what she soon would know.
Oh what joys could it bring?
Patterns was she seeing?
I wondered in silence;
A sleepwalking being.
I admit I cannot,
Though I wish that I could,
Or not that I "can't",
Rather, if I should.
My stability's lacking
My sureness unsure,
Good trips need good backing
And a soul that is pure.
As of right now,
I am less than demure.  

So dull grey is life,
Forced laughter is love,
But the answer to existence
Lies in a questionable, edible drug.

Why on earth
did I run, you ask?
Well let me lay
it out for you:
I cannot change
what I have done,
Neither can you,
to be true.
We might have been
Strong as we once were
But those days are gone
Not to return.
Even if we tried,
Gave it a go,
Memories of my wrongs
In your mind, would burn.
You wouldn't be able
To let it go.
Don't kid yourself.
I know you know,
As well as I:
"Forgiveness is divine,
But never pay full price
For late pizza."
Basically, you can't forget.
I know you can't.
Anyway,
what I should have done
Was told you the sad truth:
That I still love you.
That would have scared you off,
So this void i feel now
Wouldn't be my fault.


Shoulda
coulda
woulda.

Why did you do this to me?
For I, in seriousness, was fine.
The lines were drawn, walls were clear,
For once in years my heart was free.
I'd slowly grown, building strength
To forget all that we were.
And at the mountain's top is where you found me,
Pushed me back down that ******* hill.
You crashed all that I'd carefully built,
And not in the good way, mind,
In less than, what, a millisecond?
My common sense, you killed.

What possibly posessed you.

To push my hopes skyward.

Only to ignore me since then.

I'm broken again, it's true.


Thanks again. I hope you're happy.

Born so silly, grown so tall,
A reckless rebel in the wings.
Though they say we had it all
We played not with given things.
A rusted barrel, broken sticks,
A junk pile hidden yonder.
Now as the sun rides up the sky
We sit and talk and sonder.
Remember still those days of light
('Cause mostly now we live at night)
Like mornings spent over caffiene,
We wish it lasted longer.
Now you're grown, and brighter still
With childish light and older mind,
I wish upon you certain things,
To the front of your heart
From the depths of mine:
Be kind, be careful,
'Cause no one knows
Where a person's life has grown
Be cautious, caring
I know you're tough
(But you can be a tad bit rough)
Be happy joyous,
As always, dear,
It's sometimes hard to find it here,
Be thoughtful and ponder,
All life's questions,
And don't settle for anyone less
Than the best one.
Most of all,
Don't forget how you got here
and not just in the physical sense.
Never pass off your state of mind
As just a sheer coincidence.
"So happy happy birthday
From all of us to you
We wish you happy birthday
So we can have one too! HEY!"

<3

The feel of the bending breeze
Soft and kind and brushing brisk,
Underneath the cotton socks;
Lazy, calm, and full of ease.
There's nothing like a todler sun,
Innocent with morning light.
Reinventing what I am
Since this new day had begun.
And each migrating mind we know
Just above the martyred heart
Glides along the new age win.
Confide in us what makes you glow.

Is this how they felt?
Those women, adulterous?
Those men, thieving?
Breathing in the bitter metal
Of their shackles,
Just before treading the welcome mat
Of Death?
I sit here, breathing,
Aware of the awkwardness of breath,
Fearing everything, when nothing
Threatens me within this night.
Still, I can't help but wonder
If my mind is crazed or
If human kind is crazed.
Which is it?
If reality does not exist
Without my perception of visible light
And awake consciousness,
Then isn't everything just a reflection
On the mirror in my mind?
If I slow down the shutter,
All is over-exposed.
If I warp my vision,
Sanity's window is closed,
And no breath of fresh air will I feel,
Until my body's decomposed,
And I'm floating freely in the dark...
It's normal, I suppose.

I really shouldn't have gotten ******.

Yes, that's surely quite a few,
but you don't give a ****, do you?
To be quite frank, neither do I,
but sometimes I wish that I knew why.
Don't get me wrong,
I'm not depressed.
I rocketed out from that cannon
long, long ago.
Okay, two weeks ago.
Shut up.
Anyway, dear readers invisible,
I'm happy now, and it's incredible.
It was a door, it was a light,
that led me from the longest night.
And now my only taunting fright
is if my lungs will be alright.
For I was screaming so long and hard,
that now my voice is broken shards.
In retrospect, it was meant to be,
but now this mess, I have to clean.
I'd like to put it back together,
Ideally so it'd look brand new,
but I can't find any
super glue,
you don't happen to have some,
do you?
Hmmm.

Christ, fine. I'll do it myself.

I once heard that sadness gave birth
To the greatest of art.
But where is the beauty in cold doom
And darknesss?
The beauty between the lines, perhaps?
The possibility,
Of some cracked conclusion?
To end all delusions, with either mental upliftment or demise?
Upon heavy thought,
I channeled this pondering to be written, only to realize that this is the answer to the questionable beauty in sadness.
'Tis only beautiful when seen,
And 'tis only seen when shown,
And most of us are too scared to do so,
Other than to type our stories here.
This is where beauty in sadness is born. This is the art it creates.
So to all my fellow poets,
To my comrade lovers of prose,
Fret for as long as you need to.
Your beauty is seen,
Admired,
Appreciated.
But let it be known that,
On the flip side of your mind,
The world sparkles, glittering
For all of those who pull their hearts up from the wreckage
to see it.

A high rise tree against the dawn,
A rooster crows nearby,
A high-five from the Universe
Asks "Now do you understand why?"
I answer yes and bow my head
And thank the clouds above,
For a grey back-drop is always best
In illuminating love.
Looking back on three years past,
I see the struggle, clear.
But all it seems was just a dream
As I am sitting here.
I watch the sun glow past the line
Where sky and earth do meet,
I stretch my fingers, curl my toes,
Somehow I am complete.

Once more unto the breach,
dear friends;
We tremble, we
withdraw our pens
We sit still, listen
Calm, collected
To prove our brains
Have not defected,
Once more letting them teach
Our heads
We caw and flutter
Fresh from beds.
We wait long, patient
Trudge the trenches,
to stave away
Failure's stenches.
Once more, until we meet
Our ends;
Continue calling
What luck might send,
We want most, if not all
The gifts unknown,
To make them known.
And yet this day
Is clearly done,
We slump away
Back to our homes.
We write our fingers,
to the bones.
Sleep and toss,
(A dream's a peach)
Then once more,
Unto
The Breach.

It's not fair, its true.
You love me, yet,
I can't love you.
The fault is not yours,
Nor is it mine,
It's fate, therefore.
In all your hopes demise,
I hope you see
With wiser eyes
That love cannot be forced
Nor pushed or pulled,
Despite remorse.
I'm sorry it was me
Who you held in mind
So perfectly,
But I can't live a lie;
I'm sorry dear,
This is "goodbye".

It's hard to believe
But it's over now.
And it's been over.
And I watch my life
Flow in front of my eyes
Like I'm flying towards a light
Away from this lie
That encompassed my being
Away from this sadness
That became who I am.
All that I am.
He's left me forever,
So how do I breathe now?
Why do I still love him,
When it's been a year and a half?
I'm flying away, so fast
So very very fast
And it all falls in front of me,
My feet trampled on the roses
That were us.
I told you I would be the best,
The best girlfriend you had ever had,
And I know that I made that statement
A lie.
I know you won't ever read this
But if you ever did,
You would feel my soul
Crying for your own.
My heart, hugging your own.
My tears falling on your shirt.
Me, falling, falling on you...
Can anybody hear me?
Can anybody... Understand...
Does anyone care...
I am flying...
And I've fallen.

What is another day?
What more could the universe
Possibly have to take from me?
Me, who gave up everything
For an escape from my consciousness.
The worst kind of criminal,
Lies inside these bones.
But I have yet to find
Anything worse for my path.
I sit here, and wait for him
He, who is never
Coming
Back.
I know this is the sentence.
But how long must I suffer?