It's impossible
to sleep for all these wayward
thoughts concerning you.

Your calling ends and I, instantly, am
eagerly awaiting the next. You change
me from introvert to extrovert, causing
me to seek out your company - you are
the warm place to restore my energy.
This is the week which will last a winter,
and this snowfall turns to vapour
as you thaw my frostbite.

Nothing. There is nothing within me, I
don't feel anything except the overwhelming
burn of tears in my eyes. I am
cynical and bitter, sad and destroyed,
and apathetic towards everything.

Except you.

You have brought a lighter colour to these
rotting walls - you are a vivid, emotive
shade of life. You brought me back to this fervent,
dizzying wildness that never stops tossing
and turning within me, even in the
motionless depths of darkness. Apathy
has been turned into an eager chaos,
the weather dissolving into northern green
around me as my tireless eyes gleam,
reflected in yours.

For a moment, everything lingered. Words
lay suspended in the evening air between
us and we sat together. The silence
cradled us and we had nothing except
enjoyment - the enjoyment of experiencing
one another - yet my eyes fell to the
floor as I realised that this was a mere
dream, being half the world away from you.

I'm afraid that I don't have much to offer
the world - I've had this dream of being an
artist since I was able to dream, and
as the reality approaches, I
grow increasingly afraid. What if these
words, these hands, the things that come from these fingers,
what if they are not enough for this cruel
world for which I have nothing to offer? I
only offer something to the people
of this world, yet that isn't even enough
anymore. Depressed thoughts push me into
a cycle of pushing and being pushed
away by others, yet the cycle is
a circular behaviour pulled into
the swift motion of a line. It is a
ball bouncing between two walls for eternity;
an object always moving forwards yet
only through the same two points, in a constant
state of deja vu. The happy face of
this out of time clock seems to be one which
people like to use, being friendly no
matter what. This depressive face, bleak and
lifeless and filled with wretched longing, is
one which those who cluster around other
faces are eager to abandon. Their
friendship is superficial; their love is
superficial; their faces are superficial.
Everything dissolves into superficiality,
a fog of poison around my dilapidated
mind, and I am left, alone, with nobody to love me.

This red sanctuary of want guides me through
the sacred breeze - memories of autumn
leaves flying and kissing against trees in
the moonlight. I am backwards in motion
yet forwards with my words, so listen to
the green winter as I give you the wild
despair that is my everything.

Shred this paper weight hanging from my mind
and watch me change into someone better.
The mists will clear and I will heal, becoming
new again. The colour will rush back to
the earth and the grey sky will evaporate
into vast stretches of iris. The deathly
creep of rot will fade and I will change,
watch me change into someone kinder. My
evolving personality will cause
this murky world to be shrouded with light,
to be clouded with right. Hatred will dissipate
and so will the hatred I hold for myself.
I will unbutton this skin of self loathing
and unsheath the gleaming within. I will spread
my wings and be free from this cage of expectation,
watch me change into someone stronger.