How can someone feel so alone
In a room full of people who love them
After being so happy
But only for just a second
And then to be helplessly falling
into an ever darkening hole
How?
To go through hell
To know others have been there too
To see constantly the impression of those who didn’t make it
The ones who couldn’t see so didn’t believe
But to know that your not the soul survivor
Yet still through the  torment and hope
The love and pain
The knowledge of knowing it’s worth it
The unwavering loyalty of love and  faith
How do I feel forgotten?

I was once your world
Now just an afterthought
We planned our future
Now you've forgotten our past
We dreamed together
Now a nightmare apart
I loved you then
I still love you now

Deeper darkness,
I hark the harness,
I drown

Sleeping caress
A sinking forest
To out

The darkest darkness
It has no hands to hold
A possibility exists within my mind
Untold

Suffocation
Sweet deprivations
Mutate

A broken nation
A whole, we take one
Our fate

The missing masters
They build their hearts of plaster
Because the nothing matters
We laugh, we laugh

Taciturn trouble
Undergrounded bubble
O’erflow

how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?
we lived with artificial feelings for so many untouched mornings,
without knowing who we are,
we used the word "I" many times, describing ourselves in many ways
all deceptive, half-truths

we are like a wax spilled on a half-burned candle,
a candle that really wanted to burn, but died out before it was born,
muted white flames fluttering have confessed silent desires,

if we could start over and remove the wax, dig deep, maybe we could light the quenching soul to find out its secrets

there is no empty soul only emptiness in the soul
unseen things are hidden there in the dense depths, forgotten, breathing more and more rarely,
they are butterflies of powders of hope which want to fly only once

how can we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't do?

Places left forgotten
And memories still swaying
There's no place left to say
How it could've been this way.

Places left intact
To say how I should react
It dismembers itself
And displaces the rest

An empty swallow
A withering remembrance
A place left to show
Where nothing else will grow

If I call upon myself
What do I let summon?
Nothing but the pain it brings
Nothing but the place that sings

Seldom do I hear your three syllables
Ringing along the airwaves
Seldom does anyone fighting
After the war to end all wars
Consider you or think about
A cessation of arms

We even gave you a different name
Armistice, how did you become
So out of favor?

Let the world pause once again
On the eleventh hour
Of the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month
So we may sing, dance and discover
The joys of your three syllables
Ringing along the broadcast’s airwaves

⁠—March 24th, 2019:

I told my happiness that I wanted it home at 11pm tonight;
it stumbled in at 3am drunk;
except it wasn't happiness at all actually,
it was anxiety that ****** grief one too many times
it was the ugly truth staring me in the face
daring me to change.

I've cried over one too many skeletons in my closet
in between the winter sweaters and lingere
I can't decide what to do with myself half the time.

I have this gaping hole in my chest
and I've been trying to fill it with alcohol
like my father does
still does
will continue to do
except it isn't working so why are both of us trying.
solutions are like old dogs
you can't teach new tricks

and it's finally spring time and the rain
has dealt poker faces and smeared makeup tears
and I just want the blackjack joke to end
when will the tsunamis be here
when

and yet now for the first time in a long time I know what it's like
dealing with losing somebody that you haven't really lost
just he's having fun somewhere else
without you
and you aren't.
a tough pill to swallow
more like a harder bullet to bite

there's too much
too much too much too much
sickness bubbling inside of me and every word
that attempts to comfort me.

maybe I'm not drunk texting anyone
but maybe just ******* maybe
I'm drunk writing because honestly?
the wordsmith within has died and come back to life
and it's out of practice but not out of mind and I
haven't come to terms with that yet.

I have laid in bed all day and now I will lay in bed all night
wondering which is the best way to silence the swarm of bees that constantly produce chaos like honey in my pretty little head cause;
nothing makes sense like it used to
like it used to

asking for help these days feels like a punishment because
I have this undying thirst for constant attention or validation and
it's worse than cancer
the symptoms are raging
the doctors don't know what cure could fit into these veins
and nurses can't stomach the dark and ugly memories beneath my skin
only once centimeter down.

"to be, or not to be"
is such a silly thought strung up with fictional mourning
but somehow we make them flesh because Shakespeare seemed to get it,
he seemed to be able to wrap his head around all of the nonsense and translate it into a language we could comprehend
how does one do that
take the impossibles and make them
plausible.

cause one day the earth is going to hear me
roar, whisper,
electrecute the heavens---
I will speak for the masses
and I will speak for myself.

And this world,
will rest in perfectly in my palm
like eggs in a nest
that the universe set an alarm for.

⁠—

for i am a collector, seeker of beauty
appeal drools out of the pockets of my mind
death creates an entry to preserve, why must a take
this chance for granted?
for i am a collector, i take what i see,
and reform its original refinement by nature itself
a life form is only dead if one preserves it to be, taken to a frame,
it creates a form of life on its own
unable to move, unable to gaze,
but able to be wondered and admired by others
that is life, if it sparks a mind then surely
it does so within itself

I saw your face today in the crowd
I knew it wasn’t you
It couldn’t be because you’re not here

I miss you so much
I wish that I could hold you
And tell you that I love you

Somedays you feel more like a dream
Did I ever really feel your touch?
Or hear your tender voice?

Come back to me... even if only in a dream