the most dangerous weapons are depressed minds with sharp objects

A 40 year old wine mom sits in the same room as me.
She says that her problem was destroying her life.
She share stories about how in the course of a day she would drink a bottle of wine and how her problem was getting really "out of hand."
I guess she never knew what it was like to drink to stay warm, what it is like to look at a bottle of wine and know that it will do nothing to me, it is as good as water.
She then breaks down saying that she were growing apart from her family, I guess she never ran from home. She had never deserted everything she had once knew and loved in an attempt to chase after yet another high.
But sitting in these rooms has made me realize that pain is universal. That the wine mom may not be going through the same things that I am but she knows pain. Pain is something that we all know. Pain teaches a lesson to all of us. We can all learn from pain. We can think that we have suffered more or less than others but in the end we all have been hurt somehow. All we can do now for each other is try to understand, to be a set of ears.

Call you but no inspiration to
I quit my job, free time and what to do
Cider I like how it makes me hyper
But will I lose my looks?
Yeah I'm from maine I can't deny it any longer
But I long for those lonely roads and suspicious people

all is fair in love and war so darlings, load your rifles.

A certain peace envelops
The second hour of the night,
A little mellow, a little electric,
The ratios positioned just right

I'm sure this chai I'm dreamily sipping on,
Would not seem as delectable in the day
As it is right now, with its caffeine
Making all my senses with abandon, sway

That's the thing about this hour, I say,
Its still tranquility, its silence and calm
is merely superficial; if you're up this time,
you're part of a storm

A simmering storm, with a quiet surface,
and a whirlpool of life concealed within,
A psychedelic fiesta booming with
A myriad of emotions beneath the brim

Indeed, Silence turns Audible,
Colors turn Tangible,
Misery turns Defeatable,
Loneliness turns Affable

Music begins to make all the more sense,
When freed from the cacophony of the day,
In fact, the night will tune a sweeter melody
If you'll put those headphones away

And listen! Listen to the solitude,
The slow tick-tock of the clock,
The distant horn of a car somewhere,
The occasional howl of a street dog,

The rustle of leaves as they dream in their slumber,
The whisper of the wind as it strolls outside,
The sound of Papa's snoring the sole interruption,
To the fluid rhythm of the night.

A certain contenment surrounds me tonight,
As I bid goodbye to the second hour revelry,
Where my sentiments turned to words,
And words turned into my long departed but duly returned,
*Poetry

She's never been the type
that loves large crowds and
booming parties;
the stress of conforming
weighs too heavily on her
sensitive heart,
and quite frankly, most
people don't fall on the same
end of the color spectrum.

Everywhere on this earth is
home to her, and Mother
Nature is her muse.
A black sheep born with a
wild heart; an indigo
child infatuated
with change and fueled
by tranquility. She is the
virtuoso of her own authenticity.

I had a dream the bananas in our garden were ripe.
You: shiny eyed, ragged nailed in the dirt.

I dreamt of you-
Licking the honey that ran off my chin, slip sliding down neck, pooling in collarbone.

I dreamt you called me your honey;
the hum of worker bees woke me up.

I can't remember if it was a dream-
the day you would bruise the bananas in your fist,
saying it was a bad year to grow.