Even the strongest branch needs the rest of the tree to live, or it breaks off and dies. Just as the emotional balance is a thin line of chaos and tranquility. Lost in a dark room with no light to see, welcome to real life. The constant pressure of feelings of nothing brings the emptiness of being alone.

Posey 2019

As the waves of time crash upon your mind and soul, reminding us that one day our lives are just a temporary. Holding the notion that you have all the time in the world to say what you are scared to say with that regret like that on my mind, weighing so heavy as if there is an elephant on my back and there is no way to get it off me. The ever presence of the ghost of the past haunting your every conscientious thought. The waking nightmare that consumes you till all you are is an empty shell with a smile and some jokes.

Posey 2019

The emptiness of being empty.
The longing of being wanted.
The understanding of self.
The realization your always alone.
The past mistake that haunt your every thought.
The love that hates me still.
The smile and laughter I still hide behind.  
The hope it gets better even when all seems hopeless.
The love I have to share, these are the things I hold dear.
The darkness that sometimes reigns.
Posey 2017

Crazy is me and I am insanity's friend,
Small stillness of empty, consumes me.
The rage of anger is always welling up inside me,
It so easy to forgive others yet I can never forgive myself.

The dissolution of nothing, is the elevation of all existents, within the terrible nothingness that holds is self plausible to a higher purpose, for within the grand scheme we are all just players and teachers.
Posey 2015

The black mask of death, the proverbial dark elephant in the room. Looming over your thoughts and emotional state. While pondering the very notion of all of this, and the question of why this all happens. You either live and deal with the emotional state or you dwell in the black hole of grief. Time is precious not to be taken lightly as it is fleeting in the ever moving forward into seconds, minutes, days and weeks that give away to the progression of time itself.

Posey 2015

Life is but a second spread out amongst the perils of time in the precision of hours that make up the moments, till death herself calls you into her *****. As for love which transcends the perils of time and is heard as a whisper. To which the perils of time, parts letting love dwell in the procession of time itself. It seems that darkness reigns in this flurry of emotions. As do flowers wilt and die so does everything. Precession of memories haunting in a never-ending thought.
Posey 2014