It is in the days of eager tastes of everything
The peculiar perspectives of knowing less than not knowing assuming that you did.
When attempts at being valid came coupled with often hindsight harsh clarity.
No longer a child, limboed outside of the person you would one day become.  
When each mistake, taught to one of that one had sense enough to listen.
Often it was the first immersion into love, and lusts fueled by the awkward beauty of changes each must go through. You liked her and she liked you.  The dance of nerves and firsts that introduced amazing and intimately discovered trusts, betrayals, love and consequences very real and some life changing.  Love when so young, so fresh and near sighted, allows the best and worst of any who try it. But long after those lessons are lost to the cadence of life song. Those memories stay rooted firmly and come to thought in vivid clarity.  For me, I see her as she was. I smile at the promises only youth can dream up.  Wonder if only, to some.  What if to plenty.  How might I have done or said, to one's I never did say, or acted in honest declaration.  They were all I wanted but I did not tell them. The ones that got away will be the ones I miss most.  Thoughts on a page.

My red face in my hands
Pride dropped lack of nothing
Save relaxation or doubt
Any kind, brings folly

I no longer practice
Too easy to hide from eyes
That shift, dialog broadcast
With no words from lie laden lips
Troubled smiles please end it
One more bump of judgment
To bring down the guilt upon
Beneath the avalanche finally
Smiling at my luck in fact
Free of the mess of existence
This state that is...
Hoarding
T

Eyes may seek throughout a thousand lifetimes

To find upon the very definition of light

Magenta, through to the blue, green red even yellow

Stretching ground to ground too far away to touch

So bright and a sight

But that gift of that trick of light dies the moment one's angle becomes skewed

Rainbows Die too.

Melancholy Me,
even when in treatment.
Hit like do the waves against the cliffs face.  
Almost myself,
the inkling concept whispering
Almost.  Almost.
self inflicted, taste familiar

My own sick habit, or need unwanted
why I force myself,
to the place,
below, inside to the embrace
weak, true to my form

Knowing only this way.
that facet, the path that
leads me, calls me irresistably
Pulling to melancholy

Down, deep, worn
to my misery never earned
in the torment undeserved.  

Why?
When almost. Almost.
normal and Me.
Trying
Trying.