Whatever happened to those days
when 2 good friends was enough
4 was pushing your ability to see them all in a week
and more then you could count on one hand meant you were that kid with more money then social skills

What happened to picking up the phone
going 24 hours without texting someone
or god forbid
leaving the house without your cellphone, tablet, E-reader... ext... ext

Where did the enthusiastic answer Hell ya! go?
when was is swallowed up by the strange awkward silence usually following the question

Are you busy?

When was it converted into a hesitant and half hearted lie

I'll message you on Facebook...

When did the world start revolving around spray on tans
because no one goes outside anymore

When was LIFE exchanged for online credit
birthday reminders for people you've never met
high scores that wont matter tomorrow, or even 10 seconds from now

Farmville, Mafia wars, Bejeweled

and loneliness...

The train stops in front of me
first of the morning
get on the last car and walk quietly to the end of the row
a lone passenger sits in the aisle across from me
they wear only a thin coat even though the morning is cold and damp

It takes a moment to notice that the only foot prints down the aisle are mine
made of slow melting snow, it clings to my shoes
I wonder about that for a second...
but it’s early and the thought is brushed away leaving only the silence

No one else gets on the train with us
just the lone passenger and I
sitting silently
an impossible silence

The train runs along the track and I chance to look over at the lone passenger
they are looking back at me
unblinking, their face is weather worn and tired from life, long and hard

I want to look away, turn back and watch the darkness passing outside the window but they smile before I can
been worse, they say it softly as we look at each other
they nod slowly both to themselves and me
yes been worse they repeat
we sit again in that impossible silence

I open my mouth to question the statement
question the words of this lone passenger who passes through the world without leaving any foot prints in slow melting snow
but my words die before they have passed my lips

The automated announcer calls out my stop and the train slows
I get off and turn to look back at the lone passenger with the weather worn face
but the row is empty

There are no foot prints following mine out of the train door

No other foot prints in the slow melting snow

Again they have passed without leaving any

I stand on the platform watching the train pull away
as I stand there alone the words echo in my mind

Been worse... yes it has been, so much worse
but not anymore

I still leave foot prints in slow melting snow
not too worn to smile

Been worse...
but not anymore
not anymore

Roll over my waves and
                                  Sail ashore.
Let the wind take you home
                                  And rest, love.
Sway in my harbor and
                                  Drop anchor.
Warm yourself on the sand,
                                  Sleep awhile.
Go on, forget your cares;
                                  You're safe, love.
Take off your boots, darling.
                                  Come to me.
Can you hear me singing?
                                  Now kiss me.
Ignore the fluid cold,
                                 That's nothing.
Aren't you tired of life?
                                  I'll free you.
Listen to my song, love.
                                  Stop breathing.

I come from the shower, dripping and
you're slipping into bed,
nodding your head,is that
an invitation, will I
measure up to your expectations?
murmuring sweet exhultation
I guess that
I did.

“Be glad when things hit rock bottom because then, things can only get better.”
But what if I am falling into a bottomless pit,
one that winds deeper and deeper until I am surrounded by something so dark,
I can’t even see my own fingers.
“Please stay by my side”

What empty words, hollow of meaning.
I know its hopeless – we all do.
When push comes to shove,
depression make promises sealed once-upon-a-time lose its value.
I thought you knew me.
I thought I knew you.
I was mistaken.

I can keep wishing for better days:
of smiles and promises that you would never leave but I’m still alone
and some days, I am attacked by vague memories that should not matter anymore-
On the bus 14, on the way to school after lunch
Late night phone calls talking about our feelings and dreams and aspirations

I used to be invaluable –
now I’m cast aside like an old toy that a child has got bored of.
She moves on, but I’m still her;
Picking up the remnants of the meaning of “friendship”,
or should I say “the friend who sailed away on the ship”

On some days, I am happy.
Those days, I am not me.
I am blissfully unaware of the pain fourteen years of existence had inevitably caused me.
I am a collection of scars that still hurt.
On some days, the sadness grabs me by the neck and refuses to relish its hold on me.
On those days, I will be in my room,
a blanket over my head and music blasting a little too loud on its good.

That’s sad – a perfect life, a perfect family
and yet, I am still so full of pain, scars and insecurity.
I can only hope; hope that something good comes out of this.
I hope that this wouldn’t end up as scars lining my hands –
scars that wouldn’t heal no matter how much time has passed.

{d.c}

Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
  This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
  Sick of the city, wanting the sea;

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
  Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
  Of the big surf that breaks all day.

Always before about my dooryard,
  Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
  Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;

Always I climbed the wave at morning,
  Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
  Stricken with noise, confused with light.

If I could hear the green piles groaning
  Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
  And the black sticks that fence the weirs,

If I could see the weedy mussels
  Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
  Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,

Feel once again the shanty straining
  Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
  Dread the bell in the fog outside,—

I should be happy,—that was happy
  All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
  Shells and anchors and ships again!

I should be happy, that am happy
  Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
  I have a need of water near.