The light is dim.
The wings of a crow
beat the clouds thin
into wisps of fog.
In the residue of silence
I try to think of ways
to make you see me,
only to realize
how naive i am.
There is no forcing sight.
The eyes either see
or they don't.
One in love
and the other not;
the blind cant lead the blind.
One must let go.
I must let go.

Here lies a scar
a short cut to a shortcut
on the journey home
to the heart
I almost died trying to
find a way out of myself
to release my own demons
free the inside of me
in the split second
of a split vein
the moment i almost lost
all of my moments
the breath of life
i realized its importance
there is no easy way out
you will hurt the ones you love
when you are here now
then suddenly gone tomorrow
there is no easy way in
there will always be trauma
that aches beneath the skin
things you want to escape from
escape into
life is full of paradoxes
you want to live
but self sabbatoge your life
though the same God
who created the stars
created you
you feel yourself undeserving
to be among the living
Yet you are here
In almost giving it away
I learned life is a gift
i must not squander it
eventhough I feel squandered by it at times
that I am wasting my time
These ill feelings pass
and ill get past my past
and the future will at last
be the last thing I grasp
my last will and testament
that I faced the present
my sadness, my fears, my anxieties
deep depression
fought them all tooth and nail
raised hell
to be comfortable in my shell
accept myself
And I outlasted it
won the battle
Lived
Survived
Thrived.
I am here.

I walk in the winter rain
and feel its breath
stunt the growth
of long buried seed,
the cancerous disease
of depression & anxiety;
revive the root
of dry-bone soul.

"Out of dark matter the light will form; every trial has an expiration date."

Unbearable dark,
the kind that's pitch black;
inescapable.*
Fierce and formidable chaos
consumes everything.

On nights like these
I long for a piece of light,
peace of mind,
a sliver of moonlight
to gleam in the gloom;
an ending to long suffering.

To find shelter
in the open arms of hope,
uplift my soul,
I will cast my burdens
like stones into the riverside,
watch them sink out of sight.

Feast my weary eyes
on the bulb of fireflies,
let my mind break free
of impossibility,
explore the astral plane of dreams;
far from view
of obscene reality,
safe and secure,
knowing this too shall pass.

I will escape the empty glass,
elude the shadows overcast;
outgrow the dead grass.
No longer outcast
I will Breathe
and bloom again at last.
Outlast, the storm.