I asked him, "When will I be set free?"

He grinned, "Very soon."

After years of 'very soon', I stopped asking.

It was then that he broke my silence,
"Will you not ask when will this be over?"

I chuckled, I am now wiser.
"How can I ever escape from my demons?"

we got bored
so we got together.
now all we talk about's
the past and the weather.

I have nothing left to feed the phone lines.
No tiny crumbs of conversation for us
to flick back and forth across the table.
The silence pulses, heavy, over dinner;
it lingers in your nostrils and lunges
down into your chest.
I am the white handkerchief you pinned
to the clothesline: whipping in the wind
in a wave hello, or help, or surrender.
(I am not used to how weightless this feels.)
It rained all over my fresh laundry this afternoon
and there are no more sounds left to swim.

Flex your philosophy
under the influence
Oh weak hearted,
don’t you know that life is meaningless?
will you find value,
or just pretend?

To love is to know,
To love is to live

In time you will find
what this perplexing
fence
truly is

Here I am
Where am I?
I stare at you
You stare at me

I see you speak
But hear nothing
My mind wanders
I hear some words

Birds are chirping
Why am I hungry?
I just ate lunch
Is the Earth calling me?

Phones are ringing
Tweets are tweeting
Are you ok?
Are you paying attention?

I nod my head
But heard nothing
You look apeased
My goal is accomplished

If only,
by destiny,
I would
someday
find the
one,
who is
special
and sweet,
he will
give me
cuddles
and bring
me warm
soup when
I am feeling
tired, to place
his cheek
gently
next to
my tear
when I
am sad,
our hands
touching
as I feel
his warm
breathe as
a comfort
of home,
he will hold
my hands
as we walk
under the
moonlight,
the waves
touching our
bare feet as
we have the
deeper
conversations
about the
simpler
things,
as we
hold our
coffee by
the sea,
as the
seagulls
float
across
the sea,
under
the lullaby
of the night,
we walk to
our home,
and rest
peacefully
among the
lights
entering
their shining
lives above,
we would
close our
eyes and
become
angels
as we
stroke
each
other’s
hair,
our cats
warming
themselves
at our feet,
the soft
tumbling
of thick
wool
socks
on the
floor, the
opening
of books
and the
rising
of tea,
days and
seasons
spent in
the company
of flowers
until they
grow old,
and we
become
together
In spirit,
and then,
they will
be reborn
again, for
love lives on,
evermore.

It's a delicate thing
To talk about suicide
Apparently you can't talk about it
Without wanting to do it
You can't reminisce upon the feelings
Without falling down the hole

Even if you're feeling
Ten feet tall
Fully equipped
Metal fists
At the ready
You still can't talk about it

Other people don't want to hear about it
They all assume
That you'll do it
Even if you don't want to
Even if your metal fists
Are feeling secure
No shake in sight
It'll make other people
Uncomfortable
Insecure
Scared
Even when you're not

She says your not good with money.

I agree.

She says these books can not feed us.

I disagree.

I say they feed my mind and that's all I need.
And that I am sorry that you're not hungry.

She says I want a house.

I say we have a roof.

She says I want a big white house with a red door.

I say I have a hammock and a tent and a red sharpie.

She said goodbye.

I went back to reading my meal.