I’ve been MIA since you’ve been away; I keep walking around with my head in the clouds and getting high off paper planes.
Give me a pen and a notepad and allow me to document all the unforgettable memories we should’ve shared.
All the memories we should’ve shared never came to fruition because half the time you hardly cared.
It has been a while since I’ve heard from you, too many days since February.
Too many days since I’ve been patiently waiting so I had to give up eventually.
You had me under the impression that you actually gave a **** about me.
You gave me the impression that you cared about what we shared, but half the time you were never there.
I’ve been feeling hollow like the men T.S. Eliot wrote about, I’ve been feeling pain just to hold on.
But how long can I keep holding on when all this pain and depression is gradually affecting me?
How long can I keep holding on when all this pain becomes an indication of everything that’s bound to go wrong?
All the memories we should’ve created never came to fruition because half the time you were never there.
It has been a while since I’ve heard from you, too many days since February.
Too many days since I’ve been patiently waiting so I had to give up eventually.
How long can I keep holding on when all this depression becomes a reflection of everything that’s bound to go wrong?
I keep walking around Pretoria with my head in the clouds while getting high off paper planes with my feet on the ground.

i helped a lady
take her groceries to her house today.
it was the same lady
i watched cross the street
it was the same lady
i didnt hear walk into the corner store behind me.
it was the same lady
i let the door fall onto.
i couldnt hear her.

she ended up ahead of me on the sidewalk.
grocery bags on the pavement.
phone on her ear.
i walked by her.
she apologized
said she was trying to get help.
we walked together.
she told me 'help' was on the patio
drinking a beer.
she asked where i lived
and i said a street over.
she said she hoped she'd see me around.
and i said maybe not, im going home for the summer.

she asked if i was getting out of the rat race
im too young for the rat race.

she thanked me a lot
and said
'some good karma will come your way
im a firm believer in that'

me too
i said.

i walked home and thought
i should write a poem about
that conversation.
about giving a second chance
about being a kind person.
about karma.

usually when something like this happens
i write the minute i get home

but i didnt.

i realized, i dont think i can write
about happy things
because when they happen
they always ferment until
they're not what they were.

it was a quick high
a genuine moment.
if karma is real
and that woman is right
either im the devil himself
or theres a big check
with my name on it.

before i started writing
i googled seasonal depression symptoms

apparently not talking to anyone between the months of february and may every year is still a horse with no name.

how do you **** a love
you made yourself.

i leave this town in a week
and i feel as broken
and confused
as the **** i tried to leave

all i want to do is jump in the river
to see if i can really swim
and figure it out from there.

Match off
Burn the cigarettes
Read my eyes, tell me my regrets
****, I got depression
I got ******* passions
My mother was asking,
I'm a burning mess
I'm a disaster
Don't you dare lay a hand on her unless you ask her
I hate all these cowards
These addicts
This magic
I hate all the pillagers
Who destroy my villagers
I hate the rapists, and abusers and catcallers
Cause when I get my hands on you
You're gonna be running and falling
Off of the edge of your world
Don't think you'll get away with it
You ******* idiot.
AHEM
Sorry, I got carried away there,
Hey Mr. Internet,
Thank you,
You saved my life in February, yea
Thank you,
Because of the internet
I got an audience,
To hear the stupid **** I wrote down
In class on a sticky note with my red pen
Thank you,
Because of the internet
I got a bunch a friends
But because of the internet
I got a bunch of mood swings
And I'm losing grasp of things
**** the internet
I love the internet
I love this girl
I'm talking to, through
A screen
But is that real love?
Because we only know each other's words and not our voice
But is that really a choice,
Man, I'm ****** up.
It's ****** up because like
You get so lost in someone
That the only way to get out
Is to just,
Delete them
Because you can't really delete people from real life
But you can
And it's ******* horrible

my shoes scuff against the pavement
my head's in the basement
i need to learn to have patience
hiding in my safe haven
i get the news clearer
she's not the one for you

i look in the mirror
and hold my pills nearer
i get the news clearer
i'm not the one for you

recalling my ex-girl
written these songs full of acidity
when i lost her bitterly, no
oh no i see these feelings twisting up inside me
like a double helix
i'm a realist
but my dreams are poetic
i might've made mistakes but sometimes you gotta let it
happen
tragic
hanging with slum kids
illusionary magic
i'm an addict
eyes red
cooped up in the hotel
i'm that dude
that's passion, obsession
my gift
my curse and my blessing
different's infinite,
living in open emotions and poems
my life is filled with
"i used to know her and know him"
but now i'm that kid
thinking that i'll just
fall off the wrong side of the sky
but after all, all i wanna do hold you tight

Deep in the woods of summer gleam
Where fairy's float
And daffodils smoke
Mushrooms of purple polkadot green
I'm there singing on the breeze
I'm there flowing on the streams
I'm there always in your dreams
Please don't forget me

Deep in the woods of trees dark green
Where fairy's float And boats afloat on the streams I'm there always in your dreams  on the streams
Please don't forget me

Deep in the woods where flowers flirt
Where the wee men are hard and work
Trees all talking hearing your words
As they all whisper
Please don't forget me.
I promise you dad I forgive thee
I've told the trees and they can tell thee x

I promise you we all forgive thee x

That cold, harsh,
February rain slashes against
the panes of glass in my bedside window.

The sycamore tree in the front yard
with it's thick lashes,
groaning,
rattling,
has chased away the coo of the owl.

I've grown used to it's lullaby
and, as I drift off,
I worry a tired thought:
will he come back?