Daria 4d

I long to recall the embraces of my childhood,
Imaginary friends comforting me as only I wished real friends would.
Speeding down the path of distant memories,
Collecting the thoughts everyone passed down to me.
Street lights shined the way back home for us,
Oh, how I wished our magic was continuous.

sitting in a coffee shop
a man is grinning while
he stares at his laptop
the light from the screen
reflects off his glasses
and his eyes are great
white orbs and he
smiles and smiles and
all I can think is
that I will never
hear you sing again

cold cement under my feet
contemplating a deep colorful galaxy
humming to myself the tune we love
you are not mine
as the breath within my lungs is not mine
I take you in, and then you are gone
we are worlds apart
a century between us as we embrace
the soft night air is our home
adrift on a sea of doubts
lovers and friends
and at last friends
the universe expands
and you float away from me

I smoke a cigarette
at 11:30 p.m
it is cold
even with your absence
I am alive in a world that is home to you
that is enough

Thinking of the time they did coke in my apartment,
and they suddenly realized
I was beautiful

I would have been before, too,
but you were always worried about your tutor
and the white sludge
dripping down the back of your throat
tap tap tapping
on your brain, that couldn't take it anymore, but did.

Now, you live with a woman who works with children
they hear the tap tap tapping
on their brain
and they would have been beautiful, anyway.

You are somewhere with no answers to questions,

no weeping
no laughter

and the tap tap tapping on your brain.

You are old, and you cannot see the sky.

We smile into our text messages after planning a day to see each other. OMy fingers hovering over my phone in quiet hesitation. Any misplaced word could demolish the delicate balance we have established, "I can't wait to see you," I type. Anxious at his reply, wondering if I stepped too far over the line, I wait. I stare at the three dots, the endless three dots. Finally, I get his reply after about ten minutes, "Yeah, me too." I know, his fingers lingered too. He is afraid of throwing us off kilter too. Of making things messy. Of risking what we have so carefully built for just a single misstep of feelings.

It is hard to be just friends with someone you are in love with.

Come on friend get up now
You're not alone at all
Take my hand
Pick yourself up
Piece by piece
I'll help put you back together
Take my hand
I'll set you free
Come on friend get up now
You're not alone at all
I know you try
But sometimes it's too hard
So take my hand
I'll help you up
Lean on me and I'll help guide you
And show you what you can be
Come on friend get up now
You're not alone at all

One of my more optimistic poems

Last week,
I chatted with a fellow
Along Denver's Cherry Creek
Who thought he was God.
Most Psychiatrists
Would say that this man has
Schizophrenia
If he's hearing voices inside his head.
However, we ALL "hear voices inside our heads"
To some degree.
The Question is,
Are the voices of those closest to us empowering
Or discouraging?
Compassionate
Or denigrating?
Helpful
Or indifferent?
If the voices inside your head
Are all NEGATIVE,
After a while
You don't want to hear them any more.

Dread crawls up my spine,
originating at
the small of my back
and leaving
penetrating
residue
on each
vertebra
as it climbs.
It sneaks
into my heart
when I'm
not looking
and POUNCES-
its incisors
clamp down
and its
venom
ejects
into my chest;
paralysis begins there and races outwards right into my limbs and brain until I can't think or move as the hallucinogens take over my mind's eye and play me a reel that boils my stomach.
Loss and
loneliness and
heartbreak
flash before my
eyes in a
sickening torrent.
I feel a
W  A  L  L
of irresistible
time behind my
back,
pushing me,
heels digging in
and pleading "no, no"
the whole way,
slowly, but inevitably
towards the end of everything I've ever known,
and everyone that
I've so
recently
grown to truly,
dearly love
as my friends.

So many around me
are counting down
to that day,
bound to the
same force as I,
but feeling it
instead
as a leash
that will only let
them go
inch
          by
                inch,
                      ­   day
                                 by
                                       day.

For them, a prison break;
for me, a life sentence
of aching for
the people
I've only just
claimed as mine;
among them,
the boy I've held on to,
just starting to become a man,
whom I love
with all my
bruised
and scarred heart.

I don't want to leave.
                                     .
                                      .
                       ­                .

Basically, I'm terrified to graduate.

Running trees and sun rays,
wind brushing and pressing on to my skin
Saline taste, that will be with me, always.
But a genuine smile will be a sin.

Yes, I am almost there,
where i found myself,
where i found them crystals, so rare.
Before that i was hidden in the shelf.

My sorrow and pain will wash away,
the second I touch that ground.
The power of the mask will be tamed ,
and the masked people will be astound.

Loving people and their vibes.
The epoch of my past will be revived.
The fruit of jollity, again, ripes
And the agony resigns

But something scares my heart.
The goodbyes.
Will I be able to start again after the depart?
Would I have to, again, live in lies?

No! My mind is ready to take it all.
To absorb the pain of the departure.
It will sure be a hard fall,
but it will merely be a fracture.

So, yes, I'm here, where i found myself,
where I found them, my rare crystals,
who pushed me out of the shelf.
But the departure will hurt me with a pistol.

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