She sat down
I put the page in front
She merely stared
And painted a sea with teardrops on the shredded wood.

I passed along,
Pencil, charcoal, all that needs free
She sniffed, 'Better?' she said,
'I will feel better?'

Taking up her shivering white pencils
Of thin frail fingers, gripping graphite
Scratch, scratch, like a cat
Wanting to leave a locked room

The grey became black
The dust became mountains
And, she saw in here her life
As the clouds became rains

'But look', I put in
'Look what suns I make,
With a caring hand' I
Pushed a finger into the depths

A sunny print came out

Lisping, she rasped her breath back
And put a hand to the black dirt of the breaking
And made a hand-print;
Simple, like her delight

'You will learn to make
Suns of the shadows,
You will learn to make
Smiles of the silences

Your lines will be straighter
Your circles more graceful,
More curved to your *****
More jagged, if you wish.'

I smiled and she nodded
And watched her last tear fall,
Splashing down with tidal forces of sorrow on the page
An artist was born.

What do you do
When a loved one lives in suffering?
What do you do
When every sentence spoken starts with, "Unfortunately..."?

What do you do
When you see an endless void of pain
By looking through their eyes
Where logic and reasoning lay slain?

What do you do
When you cannot calm the storm?
And have no other option
But to pray that new hope is born?

What do you do
When you want to stand, take action,
But can't?
Feeling so hopeless
As you watch your only one
Struggle to advance?

Hugs and kisses don't alleviate the pain
Logic and reasoning have been slain
Helplessness is your only reaction,
To the inability to take helpful action

What do you do
When you are afraid to lose
The only person who truly gets you?

The only girl you've ever had,
Needed, wanted, been with
From the start thinking
That the end is just a myth?

I love her with all my heart,
I hope she reads this and understands
Why I feel as though I'm falling apart
As though I'm stranded in a ravaged land

Guilt is a massive hurricane,
Wrecking havoc like a tornado.
Stealing your emotions, leaving you blank like a wall.
Screeching in you ears,
And clawing at your soul.
Smothering forgiveness in the flames of hatred for yourself.
Attacking your will to live.
Leaving you like a whimpering baby seal.
Or screaming like a baby craving human touch.
Until all hope is lost and

You're looking up, drowning in a sea of pity, and helplessness.

Screaming from the top of your lungs on the ledge:
**"I'm Sorry!!"

Saturday morning were spent swallowed up in books,
Instead of surfing channels,
searching for a show to try and satisfy my thirst for adventure,
Yet each one was a satisfactory and savor-less as the last.

Instead, I lost myself in novels,
Books filled by dauntless tales
Of daring heroes and damsels in distress,
Of dreams who dared to dreams,
Of champions decided their own destiny,
Not deterred by the disheartened and the disturbed.

But these glory days faded away
because  apparently growing up meant
Giving up my golden dreams
To gluttonous people who tried to play god.

I sank low into my self pity,
Sadness slowly swept over my thoughts
Sorrow spat upon my sorry face
As I slowly submitted to the cold surrender of solitude.

Soon all music became mediocre,
Each melody, meaningless.
Mirrors became mortifying, for I could see the merciless monster inside me
turn me into a mental mausoleum;
It's mocking hammered through my malleable mind,
And bombard me with a myriad of maddening thoughts.

And so I isolated myself on a insomniac island,
alone with the insidious thoughts,
Inventing an imaginary monster to
inspire my icy heart.

Alas, there crept a creature, created in the cobwebbed corners of my mind,
cold and cryptic -
A creature I couldn't control.

It began setting siege against me,
Attacking the architecture of my mental mind mansion,
Tearing through my train of thought
Creating chaos that completely corrupted and  corroded my consciousness.



And the beast's name is Anxiety.

It was like the western movie kind of doors.
The kind that would swing back and forth
in a slow creaky kind of way.
The door lead into my kitchen from the living room.
I could tell when mom was angry
because she would use the doors
as a release.
I would watch her bust through them
and then lean against a counter
with her back facing me.
Whenever the subtle creaking noise subsided
from the back and forth motion,
she somehow always found a way
to gain her composure.
Like clockwork.

Except
the one time
that
to this day,
leaves an unsettling
motion of
helplessness.

Back and Forth.

When I get low I get way down
Everyone's around
But this feels like a ghost town
I want to scream but I can't make a sound
I wish I could stay but I'm floating away now

I want to be alone
But I don't want you to go
There are words I can't say but I want you to know
I want you to stay but I'm going so low