All people have a Wall of Life painted white
"Draw, experiment, write, be free," it says
So why is mine still blank, save for a wandering line
This wall has begun to atrophy
Crumbling from the sides
It looks so frail
But this is more than I've been able to do
The cracks spread through the line
The line that goes nowhere
Breaking, peeling, fragments falling
What have I done, what have I done?
           Nothing. That's why you're in this mess
What do I do, what do I do?
           Nothing. It's what you do best
Please help, please help
           No one will come. They're busy with their walls
Go away... Go away....
           I'm the only one you've got
I've grown to trust the voice
It speaks the truth more often than not
But I want a different truth
Please help, please help
The atrophy is killing me

When the glass falls
from your fingertips
And you know you
won't be fast enough
to catch it
And you cringe,
waiting for the loud
sound of such a
fragile material,
bumping heads
with the solid ground,
to echo in your
ears.
That is what
helplessness
feels like.
(And though the
fall takes only a
second,
the wait is
so much
longer.)

Sticks and stones may not break your bones
But a 40 ton truck sure will

You could break my heart into
Tiny
Little
Pieces,
And I'd still pick them up
And put them back in your hands.

Her finger falls,
crashing like a wrecking ball,
through the desperate blue of Toronto,

pulling a single brown petal,
back splashed by the emerald of her eyes.  

She mutters something I pretend not to hear,
and pours the heavy water over the city.

Then she sits back in her chair, with a knowing smile,
and coughs
into her marigold
tissue.

what? she shouts
what do they want?
how many, she counts
how many more commands

bounded by shackles
but, she tries to calm down
wondering in vain
when will she get out.

happy is what she needs to be
and thinking isn;t helping in anyway
putting up a bold smile
she walks and talks
but inside all she does is shout, shout and shout.

What do you know about silence?
Silence on the other end of the phone.
No breathing.
No laughing.
No crying.
Silence.
The white noise of fear.

What do you know about helplessness?
Helplessness in your own eyes.
Nothing you can do.
Nothing you can say
Nothing but watching
Helplessness
The catylyst of fear

What do you know about loss?
Loss of you mind, your friend.
It's too late he's gone
It's too late he's forgotten
It's too late you're crying
The post-mortem of fear

What do you know about me?
Me and my tired eyes.
Numb is my mind
Numb are my fingers
Numb everywhere
The desolation of fear

*The Suicide Diaries

I really wish I didn’t give a **** about so many things.
    I care about things and people that I really should not care about. It isn’t good for my health.
    It’s  absolutely exhausting.
    It wears down on my soul.
    Over time I’ve realized that my soul is like an old ***** dish rag that has been tossed and burned and wrung out too many times by too many people I’ve cared for.
    I’ve had many people go down the wrong road in life and become shells of who they once were
    …I’ve had too many die.
    I’ve reached out far too many times and each time my hand gets burnt.
    I’m absolutely exhausted and I can’t learn from all the times I’ve been burned.
    I’m becoming uncomfortably numb to these situations.
    Someone may die tonight…” oh…”
    Yeah, You know what they say, right?
    ”You can lead a horse to water, but you cant make em’ drink.”
    All my life I’ve been trying to force horses to drink the ****** water and I have to sit there and watch them shrivel up and die right in front of me. Time and time again.
    "Get up, ******* it! PLEASE get up! All You have to do is ******* drink this! Do you hear me? I’m trying to help you! PLEASE GET UP!"
    …Do you have any idea what that’s like?
    I feel like a fool who should stop fighting.