The problem is with my eyes.
You see the problem is that my soul sits like a question mark in them.
The problem is that whenever I hear the sound of the "Wah wah" details of your day - you can see the question mark start to flip.  
And my eyes roll back into my lids.

The real problem lies within my mind.
It tends to detach and retreat to a blank state.
The problem is that whenever it decides to come back I'm in the middle of driving  and I can't remember if I passed any red lights.
And my mind just don't feel right.

The daily humdrum of the mundane day
has left me feeling empty.
I'm sleep walking through the hours that make up my day.
I'm night thinking in the dark to avoid the nightmares.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being resilient...

of being in charge.

I'm tired of responsibility

and society.

I'm tired.

Some days are blackholes
That inhale every part of me.
Days like that pull apart all hope
and swallow my dreams whole.


Some days are like sunrises
That shine on the dark parts of my mind
Days like that illuminate new perspectives
and usher in endorphins that carry me to a dimly lit abyss.

I can recall the way the morning dew sits on the fresh budding flowers in spring.
Ignorant to the winter that melted away before them they grow towards sun.
Youth have a unique talent of being able to stare directly into the sun.
They know-it-all while remaining  empty and full of angst.
The cold heart of youth keeps them bold and detached.
In the summer their necks are bent and their spines are crooked.
The youth are feeble, vain, and gullible.
They are easily swept away by the first wave of interest.
They drown in love and vices.
They fantasize about their celebrity
And they love to hate any flowers that lived through the winter before them.

Just you wait till the world pollinates you.
The world hangs above you like an Acne anvil suspended into the ether.
When autumn comes it will fall and explode on them like dreary dark piñata filled with children, debt, taxes, and new displeasures that no one ever warned them about.
The world will pluck every petal off you one by one
"They love, they love me not, they love me, they love me not".
Then the clouds will stroll in.
And winters first snow will began to shimmy down and settle on every stem.

Sometimes I wish that someone would notice the dull death sitting in my eyes
Or even share the same lament that sits on my lips.
But day after dull day my bones go into autopilot and
My mind needs to stay detached
Because when the lights are on and it looks like someone is home
That someone is drowning in a graveyard of memories

Now that the years have passed,
Was I really that bad?
Now that summer is gone
I will haunt your halls.
My laughter painted on these walls.

Now that you're all alone
Drowning in you're thoughts
My ghost crawls in your skull
Yesterday is gone.
And tomorrow you're memories will be just another song.

How short should this poem be?
Should it be as long as Love and war
And sing about such wars that we fight in our head right before we thought we were going sleep instead?
Would these words on this paper be deeper than 1000 leagues under the sea?
Or will it read like an abyss of thoughts...
Can they be deeper than a dream?
I want to know if these words will transcend to another space or time.
Or will they drown in a cloud?
Only time will tell.