I'm made of cobwebs, shaded grays,
echos faded by the murky streetlight;
Festive blobs signal the holidays -
and ricochet off me into the night.
.
A thick, dull fog 'tween me and them,
a brick wall no one can see;
seamless weights in my hem,
and dust inside what used to be me.
.
And then there's you, a year away,
waisted tears, and prayers null;
an end thought for each void day,
a whisper-scratch in my old hull.
.
The words avoid me, skittish things,
like birds that flutter fragile wings;
the right ones are only fledglings,
too young for new beginnings.
.
And I wish that I could care for cold,
worn out flat 'tween mortar and pestle,
a forlorn growth ring in a tree of old,
trapped inside a rotting vessel.
.
.

I'm hollowed out
From within
Feeling empty
And barren

Laying on my bed
Fading away
Into the thoughts
Of nothing
As my eyes begin
To unfocus
And everything around me
Begins
To
Fade
Away

Fading
FAding
FADing
FADIng
FADINg
FADING­

Gone

we are waking up every day
with so many things on our plate.
Even if the whole day feels empty,
our minds are heavy like lead.

We are leaving early to live our life
but we are always arriving late.
We are ******* the air in
but we our lungs aren't breathing.

We are searching everywhere, we are trying all the time,
but we don't know what we are wishing to find.
We are living every day
but no one is feeling alive.

We are fantasising every night
But we aren't sleeping.
We are wanting more everyday
But we are gaining nothing.
We are talking about living life
But we are burdened by everything that's  coming

I sit at my desk
The window’s open,
Or it's shut. I don't remember
But I feel cold
My hands wrapped around a pole at a skating rink,
trying to keep myself from slipping
On the cool, smooth surface.

I am walking on the freshly fallen snow,
I am thinking

I stare out the window,
Partially obscured by dark curtains.
They are caught on my plants;
Never fully closed,
Never open wide.
This is what makes me think
The inbetweeness that is what makes

nothing good or bad,
But I used to think there was.
I twisted the sheets of my perception until
The bed was unmakable and I gave up the fight
I sunk into the mattress
And closed my eyes

But this monotony is getting old;
A cut spoiling behind a worn bandaid.
I hated myself for caring
But I now I don’t.
That’s the point. I don’t care about anything anymore
I am trying to hold on to the things that once mattered
But the merry-go round is only going faster
Soon enough I’ll have to get off.

I am looking out the window
Because I can’t focus on anything anymore
I let my eyes glaze over
Because it's easy
Painless.
They don’t focus on anything.
Everything is white, white, white