If hers is a long and lonely climb
Atop her distant perch,
His then was a lengthy trek
Across the endless earth.

You and I,
We are merely specks.
Specks of nothingness.

This world
Has two kinds of people.
People who are
Everything to Everyone.
And people who are
Nothingness and Nonexistent.
My friend,
I tell you once more,
We are the second kind.

You and I,
We are merely specks.
Specks of nonexistent
Dust.

Reality is not what I see
I know this.
Yet, I believe what comes before me
What my eyes scan.
I know it is merely my mind
Playing tricks
It wants to fool me
And laugh while I struggle through the images.
I know this.
Yet, I do nothing to change it.
My insanity is my escape
It is my way out of reality
Out of my repetitive excuse of life
And I feel sane in the world of the insane
I know my world is a paradox
Yet, I never want to leave it.
I anticipate that without me
It will begin to die away.
My world of insanity
Of my escape.

It's described as suffering
Distress.
Some people don't know what it means
To feel pain.
Its not a graze on the knee
Or a broken arm.
Pain is . . .
Well, it's much more than that.
It's when you hurt so much that it's impossible to stand.
When you can't talk without
People hearing your voice tremble
Or seeing your lips quiver.
I'm in pain.
Because I loved him.
I loved him.
I did, and now he's gone.
And I hurt,
I hurt more than I thought it was possible to hurt.
This is true pain.

I see
Squirrels
Filling their mouths
With nuts,
And scampering to
Their tree to
Hide them,
Store them away for winter.
Deep in the
Woods,
Bears begin to hibernate.
Near the river,
Beavers are putting
The finishing touches
Onto their dam.
All for the coming winter.
Me?
I have all
I need
To keep me
Company.
I have my
Cozy, warm bed.
A cup of
Hot chocolate or tea.
And last but not least,
My books.

They are said
To be
Just whitness in
The sky.
That's not how
I see them.
To me,
They are
White fluffs of
Cotton candy
That bring me
The wetness of
Rain.
To me,
They are
Images that move.
Shift.
That bring me
The clash of
Thunder.
To me,
They are
What makes looking
At the sky worthit.
'Cause without
Those cotton *****.
There is only
A ceiling of
Blue.
To me,
They are
The
Sky.