everyone has dark cellars
scattered within their body,
vanishing, pulling down planets
and cobwebs from the forgotten
corners of the room.
please enter my confetti filled castle
and slip elegantly on the rain soaked floor.
laugh at the paper airplanes we used to
make as kids that barely flew straight and
how every grandpa seems angry when they type.
nothing is important unless you allow it to be.
i'll buy a needle and thread and stitch together my words into
the warmest blanket for you to sleep under,
but falling asleep seems like a waste of time, and
we will probably get complaints about that.

far from asleep, anxiously waiting
for the sun to peel away
the husk of the moon so
i know that i survived another
long lonely night.
nowhere feels like home anymore.
i'm stuck in the shadows of my
own thoughts, i am being consumed
by the darkness.
the authenticity of my escape
begins to wear thin and is
beginning to seal shut,
            
               I RUN FOR IT, BUT I'M NOT FAST ENOUGH.

hands covered in white paint,
a paint brush is in my hand.

instead of leaving to be set free from these shadows that haunt me,
i stayed to create something i could have had.

*i am my own worst enemy

i suffer from
that kind of
sadness that only
creeps in the
darkness of night,
forcing tears out
of my eyes.

                      i suffer from
                      that kind of
                      sadness that swings
                      like a pendulum
                      in your ribcage
                      for days, destroying
                      every heart vessel,
                      that soul-blackening
                      sadness.

i gazed upon the fields
of deceased memories
and i found
black and white photos
of how things used to be

i cut away
from all those things
i cut away
   from everyone
leaving myself stranded

i lost every connection i once had

and somehow
beyond the disconnection
   i found myself
     comforted
       by the company
         of my own

*and that's how it's always been

i am a withered tree
as i wake up half heartedly
"good morning"
rings throughout a desolate room
while clinging to the thought
that misfortune goes up and down
like those graphs we used to draw
and the persistent side of me
is surely convinced
that i'm running trails
to something much brighter

it is a nice feeling of tragedy
when i let the bathwater
gently slide into place
and underneath the door
through the threshold
blue wisps from the television
keeps your face lit up
throughout the course of the night
i hear birds and those sounds they make
not just in the early morning
but always
leaving spots translucent beside me
every noise is subtle and
sinister
staring at the dark corners
cadaverous
forgetting only means that you’re
making room for something new

you sought, you pondered through ideas, thoughts
of life and death
you scribbled them out
with harsh lines and heavy ink
you began to see the big picture
and your eyes of realization
should have been of those
in movies
with a loud applause