The sun rises in the east, it's
making way for a grand new day.
The moon, she leaves for some time
the way she gives light to the dark
to return to me the following night
shows me above all that she cares.

Night,
dark without her light,
silent,
not a sound to be heard.

I look up and see,
the glowing light
she's waiting to be seen,
to be observed
waiting for appreciation

sometimes she's not out
to me it means that the moon
has things to do.
Has things to see.
Things to give to other people
of the world.

Then some one tells me you're out,
again.
A sign of a new month,
a new cycle,
of the cosmic timeline.

When I begin a realization of anything
I look at the moon or,
I think of the moon,
and that's advice.

The advice that I need

I sit and stare at the wall

and I think about many things.

Invisible words on the wall,

I see them written

of peace

of war

of love

of hate.


I look down

and I see my feet

these bony toes have supported me

through the best and the worst of times.  

They are my oldest friend.

I've been everywhere,

My dad's job makes it so.

Army's known to do that sort of thing.

It's been life since

I was newly born.


All the places I've been

that have been a "New Adventure,"

I can't remember my first friend,

or my first kiss,

and the day at midnight

when I lost my virginity.

The memories took a walk from my mind


and I can't remember a thing.

Why do we make ourselves unhappy?
every time we walk and talk
we are unhappy.

Happiness is a choice.
The only thing that causes depression
is a lack of happiness in one's life.

Yes there is hopelessness,
despair,
grief,
and sorrow,
but we can make all the pain (suffering)
go away with happiness.

We wake up every day
(or just decide to start the day
after a night of sleepless thought)
and the first choice is not sleeping in,
or what to wear,
or what to eat,
no.

Our first choice is "how do I feel today?"
because happiness is but a choice.

we choose to be unhappy,
you and I.
We are single, and in that right,
alone.

So then we ask ourselves,
"is it better to be happy
with a person for temporary happiness,
or fight through the pain and loneliness
for someone who gives us true happiness?"

We know that it's better to be truly happy.
So we are single, and in that right
alone.

I know you are sad,
I am too.
But I'm here for you
to lean on,
or to cry into my shoulder,
or to lay your tired head on my lap
and sleep till morning.  

So hug me when you are sad,
and talk to me when you are worried,
because you deserve the world
and one day someone will give it to you
in the palm of their hand,
and you will want nothing else from them.

Trust me I know.

****!

you burned me.
my body is mangled and blistered from it.

It stings afterwards for hours.
An uncomfortable feeling that wont stop,
wont ease,
never ends.

I can only sqwirm around in my chair,
covering my wound with my shame.
My orange sweatshirt brushes against it
constantly. non stop.

eventually it stops,
after hours of discomfort,
and I decide to do laundry.
so I drag my bag full of ***** clothes
down the four flights of stairs, into the dungeon...

****!

I hit my arm against the wall,
you are hitting me over and over
to worsen the pain.

Now it burns like fire where it was hit.
Destroying my every hope of anything
to survive your wrath.
I lift my sleeve...

******!

It is bursting with red,
like your rosy cheeks after a day in the sun,
but much much worse.  

Carefully I pull the sleeve down
to cover my discomfort.  
and I load the washer.

******* ****!!!

I see that blisters now form.
they are large, and tender.
Three radii of a quarter,
and the height of dime's diameter.
(the change in my pocket was all i had to measure with)

And then one pops.
The clear pus pours from the small hole made
by trying to pull out a hair in the center of the growth.
it streams down my arm and drips off
as I struggle to find something to mop it up with.  

Finally my sorrow-filled pus is finished
draining from my skin.
Now I cut away the flap left by you.
pulling it back with tweezers and snipping away at the edges
as the raw skin underneath burns like a thousand suns
burying themselves into the depths
of my skin.

It takes about an hour to cut it all away,
every last bit of your biological destruction
done to my fore-arm.  

Sitting there all I can think about it your burn,
the way that you scarred me.
And of course I wonder,
did I do this to myself?
Did I cause the pain?

I did.

It wasn't you who singed my arm,
who caused these blisters.  

It was me.

I did.

I deleted our texts.

I erased all your voicemails.

Why?

because everything I see reminds me of you,
reminds me of the pain you caused me,
of the burn you gave me.

so I erased it all
like it never existed

hopefully I can do the same
with my mind

I feel what you feel
I feel it like we feel pain
like we feel love.  

it hurts beyond belief,
to some people they cry for no reason.
they cry because they are

SAD.

are we sad?
do we deserve it?
should we deserve it?

you and I are in the same boat.
this tiny ******* boat that
keeps rocking back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth.

I wonder if the boat will rock too much
and tip.
then what?

DROWNING.

we are drowning, fighting for life
but maybe we can survive if we hold onto eachother,
and we embrace our sorrows together.  

I am here,
you are here.


We both are suffering from the same thing.
but it's not sadness that we feel.
it's loneliness,
it's grief,
it's asking ourselves,
"what could have made it work?"

you and I are in the same boat.
So let's just row to shore
and get the **** out.