Please don't ask me how I'm doing,
I can't answer you.

Please don't tell me to hold on,
because I can no longer do.

Please don't say things will be fine,
I won't believe you.

Please don't talk to me,
I'm afraid you'll see right through.

Creativity is a weapon.
Giving up is not an option.
Imagination is a strength.
Knowing your flaws is not a weakness.
Knowing you have them is a strength.
Pride is important,
But too much pride is deadly.
Love is key,
And hate is the beginning of the end.
Death is an adventure,
But life is as well.
Perseverance is admirable.
Crying is okay to do.
Taking a break,
Catching your breath,
That's okay.
But with all the things working for you,
Giving up is not an option.

Stare at the universe for a little while, you’ll see
Something resembling you and me: a quite sobbing vacuity
Draining all pellucid stars of luster and bravery.
I won’t be home for the rest of my life, hard as it is to take in,
Something went missing in what never was
That all the timbers strip away at the passing years
In anger and patience that slapped me in the face
When I said I’d never be happy again. My pockets are full
Of icy penance for crimes distance and apathy revealed.
Shimmer do the walks ways in the missing parts of the night sky
Shaped, somehow, by you and every blazing heart
Is a comet to earth: ******* vibrantly a poorly strung bandage.
And every light to cross the concourse of hopeless prophesy
And my constructs of relative suffering, an oil-light suicide.
History is always-already the behest of malignancy, but it’s sweet
The protection as I’ve weaponized every interaction to be,
We could have been cause-and-effect and danced like
Idols, gods, and fools in the sky of our experience, but
The God of Small Things, I, bear down on dis-eases rejection.
Like surgery, the tiny cells bereft of the cause of blood, the cause
Of complaint, can do nothing but new hearts reject.

He is drowning,

          drowning down a well I cannot reach.

He is drowning,

           I call to him, "Come back, come back my love!".

He is drowning,

          does he not hear my cries, my despair?

He is drowning,

         I see the darkness engulf him, carry him away.

He is drowning,

         he is cloaked in the comfort of emptiness.

He is drowning,

        I cannot save him for he is one with the dark now.

He is drowning,

        I succumb to the darkness with him....

My heart
dies, an ancient
awful death inside
this chamber of
silence.

I forgot what's it like to
trust whole-heartedly
in someone, or something
to raise my hands
and close my eyes
and know
know for absolute
certain what the story
is, that I'm acting in
and how it ends.

When I go every week
to sit in pews to remind
myself what I'm supposed
to be believing
I can't even sing.
The words fall like
raindrops and needles
soaking and bleeding
my eyes as I read
them, my anxiety
overflows.

Here I stand empty
and coming here
adds emptiness
to my emptiness
till I'm carrying around
more containers than I
can hold.
They're strapped to
my back and my chest and my feet
and I can hardly
believe no one
notices.

How do they not
see all the rain
that never hits the
ground?

I stopped coming
to this place for
answers, they're
too hard to find
and I'm starting to
believe they may not
exist.

So I sit here with
my questions
burning holes in my
heart, or maybe
they're openings?
Sometimes they hurt
so bad I can't stand
it anymore.
And sometimes I just
listen, resting my
aching soul on
someone else's
trust for a minute.

If I can't believe
anymore, than maybe
someone else can

It's a funny thing
giving up
or almost giving up
but at the last second
finding a touch of
peace or grace and
turning the whole
train around.

The stillness scares
me and haunts me
yet it's the only
place I feel safe.
It's become my new
home, here in the dark
with little flashes of
light sometimes
coming in around the
edges. The quiet
here is calming
a cool balm to
my wounds
little shelves for my
questions to rest
upon in this waiting
place that's become
my friend, my solace
my hope.

When I leave here
the room fills up
with panic, coming
in on all sides
with teeth and
razors and voices
screaming and
judging and trying
to fix what can't
be fixed, and I'm
not even sure is even
broken.

This is
the end. This is
the end of where
everything that was
can take me, and if
I step over this line
will it be gone forever?
Or will I come back
around?

Will there be a time
when the stillness
leaves, and light
floods my darkness?
Or will I only know
sparks and sputters
from now till...

Some days I can live
with that, most days.
And every once in a while
I'll come across pure
trust. Certainty.
And I want to whisper
to that person

Stay here.
Cherish this.
Because when it's
gone, it's ******* gone

And maybe it's an
illusion in the
first place, but it's
still nice.
I can't go back
to black and white, and I
wouldn't, if I had
the choice.
But sometimes I
wish I could have
that peace of mind
that isn't built on
paradox or mystery
liminality, the
in between.

But here I am
wading in and out
following the waves to
the edge, or the center
I can't be sure.
Surprised by who I
meet floating along
out here.
Maybe my little boat
can bump into your's
and we can just
breathe, knowing
someone else feels
this same suffocating
peace.

And sitting around
the table
we can be together
in our aloneness.
And if we can't
touch a little bit of
light, we can at least
sit together in the
darkness.

I miss the days we never had
and your hand that never fit
so perfectly in mine
No, I never did get to feel
your heart beat against mine.

These days are endless.

They say you can’t
miss something you never had
But I do.
I miss your laugh
your voice
the way you talk
the way you filled my days.

Things only you could do.

You’re gone
away.

Talk to me, please
I swear I’m listening.
Hanging from every last word
I wish you would have said.

My hands are open,
tired and tried,
fallen at my sides.
What am I holding onto?
This is me giving up.