You're going to be running for a long time.
Your eyes are on the finish line, your eyes are pointed towards-
What was that? Happiness?
No, that's not what you're chasing.
You want to be better than them, but that's not being happy
Because, and I'm sure you know,
It's all
A
Competition.
You run and you run and you fall and you get back up
To beat them, of course. To show that you can go further
You can push yourself to do whatever they're doing
(Your friends, your enemies, what's the difference anyways?)
But a thousand times better.
Better yet, make that a million.
What you don't understand though, is that the tables have turned
And now it's a race to see-
Who's sadder? Who's suffering more?
Nobody pays attention to what you feel, you think to yourself.
You have to show them. You have to fight.
Show them you're hurt or make something up!
As long as the attention is on you!
Are you happy? No.
Are you successfully taking advantage of others' pity?
You're **** right.
But it's all a race, a fight, a competition, a
Pile of crap, that's what it is.
You won't get anywhere pushing yourself to be more ******* up
You think you're outside of the box and unique because you have feelings.
You're just like everyone else, you don't even try to be happy.
Have fun fitting in with those who bury themselves alive.
It's not a game.

A hammer has a face and a claw
Let the painter paint , the sketcher draw
Two rowers to the right , two rowers to the left ,
one man only at the vessels helm* ...

In a valley down by the danger,
surrounded by silver-naked-trees,
there is trust and there is dust
on plaid blanket, pressed by knees.

Where the orange orb floats through darkness
as midnight and finite as deathly intentions,
they surrender, known pretenders,
**** and pink, among green-glassed drinks,
living as common competition, in a silicon city;
living as voices-of-a-generation, in the pretty gritty.

Not bonded in any blood relation,
they were so close
Brothers by choice.
They shared the smallest of things
Thought, when they grey older,
ones life blossomed
and the others' doomed
He surrounded himself with pain
and darkness
Into a dark well, he fell deeper and deeper
Soon, he just breathed...
His betterhalf,
did every possible thing to bring hope
but there was no way out of the well
And so, he made him his favourite drink
and let him free.

I Painted Myself Black..

He felt awkward and embarrassed
Hesitant to talk or smile, may be stressed?

O he is dark as hell! people would say,
But he never had them much attention to pay.

He hid behind trees and watched us play,
He might have wished to be on the ground some way.

I gazed at him and smiled with delight,
But with fright, he turned away the sight.

So next day I painted myself black,
The beautiful color we people lack!

He stared at me for a while and then laughed
O what a innocence, I too laughed..

I approached him and pulled him on the ground,
Freeing him from the racial rope he was bound.

I saw him confident, and we played for very long,
Feeling happy and singing that song...

I painted myself black... I painted myself black..

O his happiness was the reason, I painted myself black...

This is for the people who don't have the suicide hotline number memorized just in case.
For the people who have never cried sitting across from a counselor because their lives are actually perfect.
For the people who have never chainsmoked a pack of cigarettes while their brain flirts with the danger of "what if..."
Whose hands don't shake uncontrollably with the memories of what used to be.
This is for the people who haven't drank an entire bottle just for the peace of sleep
The people who haven't wondered if waking up isn't the scariest part of their day
This is for the people who weren't diagnosed with PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression all in a spin of words.
The people who don't have to hold themselves together with fake promises that survival is only half the battle.
To the people who have never met the call of a razor blade with the skin of their bodies.
This is for the people who say that mental illness is just whining.
Do you realize just how lucky you actually are?

I take deep breaths inches away from the pillow
I take deep breaths to center myself
I am here
I am now
But have I forgotten who I am?
   Am I the boy who went to New York on a weekend trip and visited MacDougal street and Washington Square park and didn't see a single folk singer?
   Who ate a date cookie in Chinatown and a cannoli and little Italy because it felt right and good at the time
   Am I the Woody Guthrie Pete Seeger wannabe who asked the audience to sing along to a song they didn't know and no one sang but you didn't care because the words were yours yet you didn't write them?
   Who freshman year read On The Road and Howl and told himself he would be a poet and saw beauty in the world and thought about all the people with beating hearts
   Who sophomore year got his heart smashed against the pavement but decided not to blame himself for convenience sake and is still reeling from his poor choices
   Who took a trip with friends to the Ohio river and held rocks in his pocket because he was prepared to fight his way out if he had to
   who fed his own delusion that he would ever fight his way out
    who lied to himself that he had the spine to fight
   Am I the one who read Siddhartha and vowed to be better and looked toward a golden and eternal time where the words would be simple
   Who cried at Ginsberg who cried at Wolfe and who cried at the Bible because he knew what things were holy
   Who drank tea to center himself who ran to keep himself in shape who had a good time because the world was full of love

Or am I nothing more than what I am now
Breathing inches away from my pillow
Breathing to center myself
So I can be here
So I can be now