Chill seeps from the river
Current rushing over me
Barren tree, standing
Branches listless in the wind

All i could count on
In the howling of wolves

Pull these roots from shore
Wrap me in, this cold embrace
In the cold, I'll become one
With withering frost,
It seeps into my veins
Across my eyelids
The crystals formed
From my extremities
Ice

Love is such a funny thing
Or at least it is when it comes from you
In my eyes you were a king
I didn't have a clue

I will never forget the pain
Caught in your web of lies
Playing your games with my brain
While my hope dies

Stabbing me in the back only to come and save me
Ripping me apart
And the silence in my plea
The dying in my heart

I hope I never see you again, that you're **** alone
Rot in your misery while I rebuild my throne

The winds and bright dying
of the leaves of fall
have brushed away the turning season
into the callous cold of winter
leaving behind a brown texture
of oak and pecan
scattered on the still green lawn
where they rest humbly,
their identity as living species
shriveling into the fog of memory.

I wonder what I can learn
from those leaves and the trees
who gently let go of all the little lives
and lay them on the ground
first to decay and then transform
from drying aching olding  
into a mysterious unfolding.

I.
Most days I’m great,
I’m pretty average looking but I’ve got a personality
That’s much bigger than my physical body
I’m goofy more than I’m serious
And I procrastinate more than I should
Most people call me the energizer bunny;
Always running around brining energy and smiles
Most days, that’s me.
Just your average normal person;
Not every day is perfect…
There are good days,
                      bad days,
                             better days,
                                  worse days &
                                         worser than worst
                                                          ­           d
                                                                        a
                                                     ­                      y
                                                        ­                       s


II.
How can a day be so bad that you make up your own version of “worse” you ask?
Well those days go something like this:
The air is heavy,
My senses are heightened
I can feel every droplet on my back
My lungs are tight, but not quite tight enough to be suffocating
My throat is dry, I can’t tell if I’m burning hot or freezing cold.
I get dressed, I go about my day.
There are good things.
There are bad things.
The bad things always stick on these kinds of days.
Inevitably, I can feel my anxiety begin to grow
It begins burning in my chest first,
I can feel the toxic attitude begin to bubble beneath my skin
Destroying everything inside
I am painted red with an unexplainable anger and rage
I sit alone, until my anger devours itself feeding on its toxic irrational thoughts


III.
This is when it happens, the (worser than worst)
It’s always when I let myself let go of the anger,
When my voice resumes its normal tone and pitch,
When my breathing is in sync with my heart,
And my once raging and thrashing thoughts
Begin to quiet and wind themselves down
It’s always when things start to feel okay again
Then it happens.
I’m walking in a crowded subway station
Hundreds of voices around me, yet they all drown out each other
Until a loud one breaks through the rhythmic hum of a busy commuter city
My body responds automatically searching for the noise
I see her in the distance,
Dressed in all black
For how cold it is, she’s not wearing nearly enough
She’s old.
Her face tells stories
Through the hard-pressed lines and crevices of her weather-beaten skin,
Her skin shows it all,
A Face that has laughed, cried, and experienced
Her eyes are glazed over
Chills run down my spine so suddenly I’m almost startled
It’s the eyes,
It’s always the eyes, they always trigger me
I can feel you in the atmosphere
Pressing your cold pale lips to my ear and whispering
“You couldn’t save me”
“You’re forgetting me”
“I won’t let you forget me”
I stand motionless trying to will my body to move
It doesn’t.
I watch the woman for a bit longer
Lost in her own world, eyes glazed over and lost
I feel sorry for her and then I feel it
Like all the muscles inside of me are suddenly limp and weak
With all my effort I push my feet off the ground
So, focused I don’t notice the tears streaming down my cheeks
I walk away in disappointment
I do what I do best,
I leave
And as I do, I hold my breath
And count
I count until the numbers feel right
And until I force myself to forget your presence
And the lingering guilt that still takes root
In the void you left behind.

IV.
Most days I’m great,
Just your average normal person,
Most days are easy enough to get through,

It’s the few days,
The ones spread so thin throughout the year
The days that remind me
That eyes are truly gateways into other places
It’s those days
That being to engulf the great days
Beneath its roots of your memory
And I am reminded that after all of these years,
If you can manage to keep resurrecting yourself
Through the people still on this planet
Than my words, will once again resurrect with you.
For you.

What are we doing?
Our words are growing quieter
Our touches strained
Our hearts building a small wall each day
Hurting it's hands pushing the bricks and material together without us even knowing
Why are we here?
It's like there's something in our minds still fighting tooth and nail for a war nobody believes in anymore and our bodies are just following along
Maybe it's time this war came to an end
I don't think either of us want to deal with the casualties of our love dying along with our hope