I'm drunk,
and writing poetry,
about the idea of love, lust and the pursuit of happiness.
But to get out of this funk,
and to stop writing poetry,
I need to pursue happiness.

The calm ocean engulfs you and I as we sink down below,
holding hands and dropping down as the pressure overwhelms,
with each passing second the tension starts to grow,
and you attempt to take the helm.
You begin to kick,
rising up to the air,
but I fall like a brick,
and all you do is stare.

I am looking off my balcony down into the street,
the occasional passerby looks up and meets my gaze,
only to drop it down to his feet,
as my own stays.
I begin to think of where he is headed,
to what lover he will meet,
perhaps he is already wedded,
but going off to cheat.
Possibly the man just committed a crime,
of ****** or ****,
while hes running from time.

I think of him again,
the next day on the road,
thinking of the worst that I can,
until I slowed.
I looked above me,
and saw a man looking down with blame,
I knew what he could see,
as I had seen the same.

As you sit next to me,
under this golden apple tree,
above us are the golden crisp,
while the rotted are at our feet.

Looking back on when I died,
and the things which I would hide,
I don't think that anyone cried,
on the day that I died.
The moment before my life ended,
I did not look back on my life,
as there are so many that I had offended,
as my decisions caused strife.
I cared for myself with only selfish desire,
pushing my family and friends to leave,
with my habit as a compulsory liar,
coupled with my drive to deceive.
With no one in my life to love,
leading me to live in a tomb,
hoping to be saved by someone above,
as I die here alone in this room.

I found myself today looking at the first sign of spring,
the quiet blow of the wind introduced me to the silence,
one I had known but forgotten.
As the sun glared into my eyes; illuminating the scenery to create the false pretense of tranquility.
But behind my dirt smeared window I can see the shadows,
as a mouse gets eaten alive by a hawk,
looking to explore, only to find the gallows,
and with its decision, it's fate had a lock.
So while I see this comforting sky,
and the potential to fly,
this fear keeps me in,
from finding what could be within.

Are you cold?
Here, take this jacket; I made it from my sweat and blood,
Sewed the skin together with my veins,
ignoring all the pains.
As I piece together my skin bit by bit,
it falls apart with the slightest slit.
So be gentle with this jacket; it is held together by what holds me together.
So don't be the one to tear me apart.