I just got home from taking a really
long walk and it's cold out
almost too cold I had to wear my
hood because of the wind but I kept
it up because it was a reminder
you are alone
you are alone but you are worth it
I could barely move my chin but with
every muscle that I had I told myself
you are alone but you are worth
I kept walking and didn't keep
conscious with my legs
they knew how much i'd been
needing this
I give myself comforting thoughts
because no one else can and my
brain is always thinking I don't think
I'm never not thinking
you're tormenting me as I torment
myself
you are alone
really
you are alone but you're worth
something more than anything
you've ever gotten or felt or sensed
or decided or cried over useless ****
that won't evacuate any part of me
I took a walk longer than I should
have but I wanted to I couldn't stop
myself
walking around this place keeps a
warm on my shoulders
I need to be here
I am here but I am alone
I am alone but I am something far
from what's racing through my
bones
you mean something
maybe I want you to mean
something
you are alone
you will always be alone
I looked up more and saw more and
felt so lonely I was happy about it

why is it that you only remember kissing?

or fumbling with plastic buttons in dim hallways, or folding his pants alongside your dresses
or laughing, or heading home to a bed you both could call yours.
why is it that the nights you spend crying in the next room- why does that fade?
you remain always dusty. god, all those days and months seperated by borders and waters you spent rationing these precious packages of recollection, closing your eyes and watching from a distance, as a younger, softer you rested her head on a pair of shoulders that were always there, a pair of shoulders that grew arms to hold you with, and a mouth to kiss you with, and fingers that would trace you and taste you and smudge you. now you know everything about love with nothing to show for it. now the safest place is nowhere near you.

you remember reaching out in the middle of the night, you remember why you quit smoking, you remember how he tasted, how he pulled you closer under the covers on cold sunday mornings. you would make room now when you would never make room before. now that it's too late, now that you are not fine. you remember kissing.

I am standing in the
middle
of this
buzzing road
surrounded by heavily crowded pools
filled with plenty of other souls.

                               there's so many of them
                               too many of them
                   how can I ever feel alone?
                               but I am
                                                 alone.

they came in pairs,
in triplets,
quadruplets,
and a million more number variations that I am too lazy to mention!
they are going about the day,
basking in the sunlight of their current successes,
bragging.
I wish they would shut up

                               there's so many of them.
                               too many of them.
             how can I ever feel alone?
                               but I am
                                                alone.

I can feel the temperature shift beneath my feet
as I slightly stumble on a
rough patch
they were helping each other ever so kindly
...but not me.
                              there's so many of them around me
                              too many of them
            how can I ever feel alone?
                              but I am still
                                                      alone.

bu­t I don't much care about that lot
there is another lot
and there are worse feelings:

                 like feeling shrivelled up in your own
                           world and left to rot,
                                      lonely
             with the people who are supposed to be
                                  your home.





                              **I am alone.

is just a word used
to describe me.
You don’t look
long enough at me to really
see though.

I didn’t laugh when I realized
what I was.
It wasn’t new, I knew
how my mind worked.
The word wasn’t new either.
Just the label of being a
psychopath.

The insanity of my sanity
has long since made me
comfortable relaxed amused by my
wild
untamable
uncaring traits.

Who I am
what I am-
it taunts me so dearly,
never leaving my mind.

Resting in the crooks
corners
nooks
that my mind has available.

They tell us, in school,
to read all these books
by great minds;
H.G. Wells, Arthur C. Clarke, George Orwell, Ray Bradbury, Aldous Huxley;
but, at the same time,
they tell us,
even if subconsciously,
to ignore the grim implications
coming evermore true with each passing moment
of these Prophetic authors.

Love in an open hand
Free
Unhidden
And I am drowning in it