I. I have spent too long confusing living and surviving. I have not felt alive in months, I'm doing just enough to get by.

II. The urge to go back to sleep doesn't root from my sleep deficit but more manifests in the gut feeling that being an active member of society will cause me a great deal of pain.

III. Going back to sleep is not always the best option, but sometimes its the only option.

IV. Depression isn't cute or romantic, it's life-******* and exhausting. That being said, I have been holding hands with this illness for far too long and I have yet to learn why.

V. When you're little you take for granted how often you were truly happy and how little you were sad. I'd give anything to feel that free again.

I have been fighting wars
On empty battlefields
The soldiers left many moons ago
But I remain, not ready to admit defeat

Funny how time keeps moving even when you feel like you're at a standstill. Life goes on for everyone but you. Time is a funny thing, I think. Two months has passed and I can feel the wounds of your goodbye as if it happened to me just a moment or two ago, but in the same respect, I feel so far from the way you held me as I cried that very same day. It's as if time picks and chooses what it wants you to remember vividly and what is allowed to fade into a distant memory. I only wish it would pick a little more kindly as to not leave me at war on an empty battlefield.

My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can weave
Your lovelier design,
'Twill make my lyric, I believe,
More yours than mine.

I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -
'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name,
'Tis you who wrote.

Yours is the beauty that you see
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody
'Tis you, dear friend, who bring.
Yea, by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that lures
Your thought to starry heights of dream,
The poem's yours.

Crashing waves
The steady wind
Chirping birds
The wind chimes on our old porch
Sounds of thunder rolling into our small town
The most beautiful noises I can think of.
These are the sounds I hear when I close my eyes.

One sound is missing however.
*I can no longer hear your voice

I'm happy that you're happy
I wish that's something I could be

I find myself searching for you in crowded places
But I never see you among all the faces

I feel myself longing for your touch
But you're so long gone

I'm glad you were able to move on
I wish you could teach me to do the same

I'm happy that you're happy
I'm sad it's not with me.

If being sad at two pm or two am
For no real reason
Doesn't make sense to you,
Congratulations, I hope it never will.

And if you never lose your breath in public
Because your anxiety decided to join you
Then I am happy for you,
For I wish peace and simplicity unto you

But there is so much you do not understand
So much you should not really want to
So much I cannot begin to explain