Depression is art
The kind few actually understand
It's poetry is embodied in the paint
That covers the artist's hands.
And the canvas drips words
That fill up the empty space
With colors of black and blue
To fill up the feeling of grey
Within the emptiness
Of the corners of the artist's heart.
But the design isn't yet finished
The last stroke waiting to breathe
On the canvas to complete it
Before the world can see.
Slices of red added to the portrait
And specks of tears too
To complete the last touch
Of the masterpiece for you.
...
But you know what they say
Most art isn't understood
And the poetry behind it all
Is lost in the colors too.
For you would only know
If you knew this:
That the art was her soul
But the canvas was her **skin

Music again.
It always comes to music.
Always good, in its misty perfection.
It is the bridge to your yestermind.
The smiles in the way far back.
Even for the lost. the dying.
The electric guitar in my veins.
Stinging strings ripping my soul.
Not for damage but for greater growth!
The cancer everyone needs.
Like bubonic symphonic coos
from metal head doves
of golden fired mustering.
A parade down mirrored streets.
Gliding like fireflies
across all the paths that are you.
Dead on
right on
cried on
thoroughly you.
uncontrollably you.
Fathom the fullness of chasing something
that resides entirely in your soul?
An alchemy of pox - e, moxie,
and all things cobalt blue.
The moon light see of answers.
Only an ear away.

pulchritudinous rolls off my tongue and on to the pebbles beneath her feet; i bend down to pick it back up, to pass it to her, to be like "here, hey, i got this for you, this is what you are to me" and she smiles.
it's a smile that never falters, it's an introverted "my mind is an alice in wonderland casket" smile. it is a pseudo smile and her persona speaks in the same tone.
i don't understand her language which is why i keep throwing words at her feet - i swear i'm trying not to but she has these eyes and i swear i've died and relived my entire life in parallel universes within them.
i tell her "here, hey, i don't know much, but i know that pulchritudinous was probably invented when someone saw you up close for the first time and didn't know how to speak and hey i know this pseudo smile hides so much but please note: i would let pulchritudinous roll off my tongue and pick it back up a million times over just to see it again and again,"
she smiles.

she smiles.

I remember the way your fingers danced across my skin
a waltz, a tango, a salsa, a minuet
I remember the way your voice crashed against my ears
a whisper, a heartfelt love note, a scream only I could hear
I remember your eyes flashing that crooked smile of yours
an inaudible laugh, a joke between you and I
I remember your lips locking with mine
a distant memory from a distant time
I remember you now as you were with me
Not with you fingers lying still on her arm
Not with your voice mild and somber
Not with eyes retaining a picture-perfect smile
Not with your lips on hers
They would never fit
Her key does not match your heart
I have it here
Safely wrapped around my neck
And when I touch it
It reminds me not to forget

Live your life as if there is no man of your dreams.
Live your life as if you will never marry or have kids.

Provide for yourself and make the lifestyle you want alone.
Don't expect anyone to come save you.

That's what men do.

They don't wait for anything or anyone.
Neither should you.