When I'm around others, I'll talk and laugh.
I'll smile and tell stories and listen to them.
But when I walk away, I am empty.
Emptier than the vacuum of space.
Blanker than a sheet of untouched paper.
Inside, I don't feel happiness anymore.
I don't feel anything.
I'm just here, existing.

There’s a marred reflection staring back at me.
I wish I could tell you what was wrong with it.
Its blank gaze and happy expression say everything’s alright.
The pressure builds and sweat beings to seep
The mask begins to slip, but I dare not show the underneath.
I need this face to present to others
For I need their acceptance to feel some worth.
But it’s only what they considered worthy in their eyes
So I’m beholden to their stares as I shift to conform.

The colors that have drained
from the dreams of people,
lie cluttered on the doorway
of their homes.
Everytime they try to leave
for something more practical
and more safe life, that they chose,
that awaits them everyday
and does not keep them worrying
about what all they can loose.
Everytime they step out,
even in hurry,
they sidestep that clutter.
Look at it from the corner of their eyes
and for a second their heart seems aware
of the frost that is killing it.
For a second the reasons for the
sleepless night and blank gazes is recalled.
But the limbs keep moving
to keep a distance from hopes
that never materialize.
On their way back home
they dread to see
the clutter of discarded dreams.
But they want to believe
that ignoring and forgetting it
becomes easier with time.
Although it never has.

And he set the world on fire...
A futile attempt to revive her long deceased smile
His eyes more manic, more frantic, as the flames grew higher
Embers danced through the sky to the song of the crackling orange and yellow hues
Yet, as more and more ash filled the sky,
Her pale, porcelain, face remained blank
Her eyes remained in the same melancholy, empty, gaze
For her smile perished long ago
His fruitless efforts could never bring it back to life

Something once had sat upon, no- clinged to, my mind
Gripping and clawing
until I would cry

Remember, remember

But who or what was it?
coming to question this
Previously making myself believe
it does not exist

Remember, remember

That print on a page
that error the same
My hearing isn’t working
I am deaf to that name

Remember, remember
What Tom-foolery is this?

Remember, remember
He no longer exists

To me.

Sterile…by Jessie 8/05

There isn’t much in a sterile life
There is no color, the walls are white

The floors are cold, on my feet
There is no flavor to the food I eat

The only smell, is of alcohol
In this sterile life

People come and people go
None of them really want to know

What it’s like to live in a sterile life

They look at you with big blank stares
Don’t get close, don’t you dare

Contaminate this sterile life

Not much to do but sit and think
Hours go by and I never blink

Time is slow in a sterile life

Wipe things down, one more time
Make them sparkle make them shine

No room for germs in a sterile life

Well… day goes by and night will fall
No excitement here at all

It’s just a sterile life

It gets sunny, if you let it in
But then why bother, you think again
It will only ruin a perfectly good sterile day

Don’t try to love don’t try to hate
You’re living in a sterile state

There really isn’t much in a sterile life

This is a poem about
how I can no longer
write poems
like I used to.

The colours are all
drained.
The pen is left
with no ink.
The paper, empty
blank.

What's the meaning of life?
To breathe, to love,
to write?
Why is there this emptiness;
why the lack?

When will my inspiration
come back

to me?