What I would give
to have somebody
who I could trust
with catching me
as I fall,
but at the same time
it feels unfair
to expect this
out of the ones
we’re supposed to love.
Should we trust in the fall
or fall in the trust
of one another?

I've often soured at the strangest season
in a yellow June;
for heir-apparent Fall's sublimest features
flower when the sun of Summer shades—

I, too, come alive in staves of October
whispers—then, with whiskey cupped—am peaked amid
the Autumn's auburn-stringèd
boughs.

I am done fighting.
I am done struggling.
I am done.

There is nothing, no strength.
There is nothing, no willpower.
There is nothing.

I let myself fall,
something otherworldly I hear
but I feel no fear,
it's darkness's call.

I let go of all,
and still I fall.

A long sought sensation,
I now am darkness's creation.
I indulge into the depths,
as they welcome me
a part of them to be.

I let go of all,
and still I fall.

I am darkness.
I am depression.
I am.

People write such cliche poems.

True love that goes on for lifetimes.

A gray city in the rain, colored only by the music of life.

Hot coffee entrenching the soul with warmth in the crisp autumn.

The perfect snowflake landing on the nose of his winter angel.

The smell of northwestern pines after a heavy storm.

Her unparalleled footprints in the sand with each angelic step.

Tailgate stargazing on an ideal summer night, hands intertwined.

But isn't that what poetry is all about?

The most heartfelt descriptions about the broadest of beautiful moments?

~S.C. Kelley

I fell out of love
with the thought of
falling in love.

Sometimes I question
my circumstances,
why I’m always
the weakest link.
Inferiority
has always been
a synonym
to all I think.
What more
do I have to do
to convey
that I’m afraid?
I’m tapping scars,
thinking of all the stars
that burst in my brain.

Pacing back and forth,
constantly in a daze.
The edge of this cliff
must be miles wide,
because I’ve been
on it for many days.
Leaning forward,
I haven’t fallen yet.
Looking down into the void,
suddenly the fall isn’t so scary.
Put me out of my misery,
I see bliss in the kiss of death.

My life,
full of curses,
written in cursive.
I feel guilty,
awful, pitiful.
Life alone
should be enough
to be grateful for,
but they say a cup
with nothing in it
is always useless.
I’ve given up,
can’t act tough.
I’m hardly living,
a shell of what I was.
Death, swallow me up.
I’m sick of living in this.