who i am is so far from who i was
even further from who i want to be

feeling useless
as though the point that once stood tall
in the name of my existence
is now on the ground, withering away

the ideally painted, colorful portrait
that my life once was
now possesses spews of ink
and bleeds only black and white

resorting to discomfort
in the most unfamiliar places
when really all i want
is to feel life once again

to dance with the flowers
and sing with the trees
to lust after adventure
to see, trust, believe

but everything is now so askew
the print of letters is fading
hazy eyes and darkened thoughts
without consent, everything is rearranging

i need to be freed from this hollow
the empty being i feel i am
what was it like before? i almost can't recall
but i would like her back, please

who i am is so far from who i was
even further from who i want to be

The summer was full
of wonder.
Many a bottle in we danced on the veranda
and many a drunken shoulder I cradled.
Little did I know, you were six cherry vodkas in
When I called your name.
And As my heavy  body sank to the bottom
I knew I hand sunk my teeth into something
That was already dead.
This is where i hear the sirens
And all I can see is the Picasso outline
Of your torso, flailing about, perhaps a hand
pointed in a gesture, incase they could not
Locate the colorful mess
Below aqua blues and cement white.
I may have been half dead
But as they pulled me out, the bikini strings
yellow and white tied placid
amongst intravenous liquids,
It could have simply been another day
In  summer of  grace.

Beneath this cloak of darkness,
I feel a hand.

A hand that guides me,
and defines me.

And when that hand's grasp loosens,
I am shot back to oblivion.

Too lost to be found.

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
    Spring, the sweet Spring!