“Post a time when you were at your lowest but no one noticed”
But the thing is when I was at my lowest, I never hid it, at least not in the long run
I let the blood from my struggles pour from my eyes,
It runs down my arms in vein-like trails and seeps into the creases of my palms
It runs down my fingers, filling the whorls and arches of my prints
Every touch contaminates and floods
I spread it on the surfaces, smearing and painting with red: startling like a cardinal in snow and thicker than wine
At times I regret being so open, thinking I should just keep things to myself
But that would be to go against my nature
To go against my deep desire for those I love to know every single intimate part of me;
To see me at my weakest.
Maybe it’s because there aren’t any secrets then
It’s just me showing the world that when im strong, im strong,
And when I’m weak, I’m weak.
I suppose I don’t feel the need to hide how I'm feeling or what I am going through.
To hide it would be far too much work
And I don’t have the energy to hide.

Feet so heavy, let's stay grounded today
Sheets so white and crisp where they lay

These hands are so twisted as they move to fold
Cracked and dry making the linen go crimson in their hold

We messed up the work with our blood
Go to reload the machine but alas, a flood!

Open up the exit, pushing the filthy water out with a broom
Sweat, blood, and bile pile up in the concrete room

Goodness! Our feet are no longer grounded
They are embedded into the floor as if they had been pounded

I thought to leave soon before my life fades away
The corporate world is hard to exit, and offers little pay

I’m a total mess and need a shower
I have a meeting in less than an hour
There’s no hot water – we have no power
Should I **** it up and take one now, or
Call in sick to work?

I like being busy
There's no surprise in that,
It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head.
I like being busy
It's the only way I've known,
To burry down those feelings
That keep on surfacing on their own.
I like being busy
I enjoy being burnt out
Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut.
I don't want a moment of silence
Because that's when
The voices in my head are
The loudest.
They Mourne, they agonize, they miss,
They sympathize.
And then all I have is this burning feeling which is
The darkest.

He wore crooked windows
Beside morning coffee
And her spilled milk

It's a nightmare
Being the burnt out
Shooting star
Replaced by the light
Of a full moon

It's a nightmare
Being hidden underneath
Clouds and overcast skies
Replaced by angel eyes
That makes you swoon

It's a nightmare
Being darkened
By nights that glow
Replaced by a shooting star
Brighter than you ever were

It's a nightmare
Being overshadowed
By dreams of the sun
Replaced by love,
Hope, joy, life... **with her

it’s like
the clock is still working
but the gears are no longer turning

i’m burning up on empty

fuel
dripping,
leaking,

no longer capable of containing
contemplations too volatile
for proper taming,
and so i’m just… resting.

a dormant chamber of magma
underneath the bedrock is often
due for massive explosion
but i never liked being out of control
and the last thing i need are
for my insides to get torn open.
a tree bearing great fruits
brilliantly disguised to hide its
reckless disharmonious motion.

That is fear speaking.
Apprehension.

Avoiding the waves because
what follows next is spinning
down through the vortex**
violently into uncharted oceans.

I run to my friends with all these fears and they tell me it will be OK.
I cant put it into words to tell them how I cant sleep, I cant breath
How I lay in my bed everyday and cry... Tears that stream down my face are of mixed emotions, but the truth is I am tired
How I wake up every morning with a pounding head and how long I have been popping pain killers.

I keep chasing shadows that I will never catch, In my own highway of dreams I  have been letting through people's dreams and never mine.
I am tired of society's high bar, the stuff we  have to do be accepted to be loved.
This is a burden I cannot carry, a cross I can no longer bear.
So in this open space I crucify my empty soul.
In these empty space i divorce society and life because I cant any more.

Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?