In all that lies, all that will.
For truth to tell and false shrill
Tent of being in the grass,
Yet many go and so pass
The wonderous life inside
When all barriers are set aside.

Surrounded by the dark,
Enclosed from your heart
The warmth of friendship escapes me.
Your rod and your staff-
They do not comfort me.
I feel the your gift,
The weight  of your eternal breath,
It falls upon my chest as I fall,
Fall low,
Down to the ground,
No longer a soft forest floor,
But the hard and grainy
Asphalt
Of reality.
What once comforted
Now feels numb:
The pressure of your rod
Of your staff
Of the Tree of Life,
They fall upon me.
The breath you have given
My eternal soul,
It feels like
A constant
Morning Breath.
The pain of once
Seems morphed into
The torment of eternity.
What started
As mere scratches
Has grown large,
Slicing through my now paleing skin,
Leaving the rivlets of blood
Which I so desire.
God,
Adoni,
Ha-Shem,
Eternal One,
Whatever your name may be,
Whatever name you may go by,
Your gift feels a curse.

Emotion?
Yeah, kinda.
Friends?
Oh bit definitely.
Lovers?
For the *****.
In love?
Nope.
Fun?
Totally.
Do again?
Would love to.
Date?
Maybe.
Ask her out?
Nope.
Worth it?
Oh, so very, very much.

Beauty is pain, they so often say.
Well, okay.
Life is beautiful, they say as well.
Indeed, we may say.
But if life is beauty and beauty is pain,
Then is not life pain?
For my life surely is.
And is not our
Biological goal
To seek an end to the pain we feel?
But surely genetics have made us so,
So that we can escape pain.
Death
Is the end of life,
Or at least of this one,
On that all may agree.
And so if death
Is the end of life
And life
Is pain,
Then is not death
Our goal?
Is not death
The desired release?

Feel like ****,
Worse than that,
**** doesn't trip on its *****
And hurt someone it loves.
Stay up late,
Maybe all night,
Wishing on things
Shouldn't have said.
So dumb,
So very dumb.
Perhaps apologies
Will never be enough,
Perhaps, just perhaps,
They will be.
Stumbling blind through the dark,
Entering a land of infrared and
Ultraviolet lights,
Ones I cannot see yet
I manage to find
The roughest, toughest, darkest spots
And run full-force into them.
I must sleep,
Yet know not if I can.
I have less than 4 hours to rest,
Yet cannot away to that dreaming world
For knowledge of what I have now wrought
In this.

It's been a while
Since I've written here,
The dust has grow
Upon these words.
The fluidity with which once they flowed,
Gone.
Gone is the promise of a new day,
A new sun,
A new poem,
Gone is that ready elegance.
Words come out now, yea,
But forced.
The line breaks choppier,
The rhythm forced and staccato
Rather than the smooth sailing
Or the fierce and glorious torment
Of a summer tempest
O'er the high seas.
But here I am,
Time have I,
And so
I write.

They say be true,
No to me, true to you,
Be who you are.
When I entered school they said,
"There will be times
When you need help.
Ask your teachers."
But what they mean is
Be true,
Not to you,
But to you as I
Imagine you,
The you I want.
And ask for help, yes,
But only for your math
And history,
Don't talk to them about
Life or depression for
They are commanded to report that.
If you really need it,
They say,
Go to a therapist,
After you've already tried,
But don't you dare admit
That sometimes,
Some days you just want to
Take a knife 'gainst your skin
Slice down through the pores,
And let the warm red blood spill
'Cross your lap.