Maybe this time will turn out different
Running from my worst fears
All my past experiences
Problems housed between ears

I am just tired of this ****** life
Had enough of fake concern
Just cold to every watching eye
Shadow haunts everywhere I turn

I feel like darkness is chasing me
Following roads I chose to take
Burned in fire are charred footprints clear to see
Waiting for repurcussions of each mistake

How can I change the outcome?
Fear slicing right through each nerve
I yearn for happier days to come
Same love that I deserve

The hurt is supposed to decrease
Feel worse each passing week
Afraid to search for a silver lining
Rarely find and it's thin and weak

I still harbor foolish hope
Patterns not too deeply ingrained to reset
Tried erasing pain to cope
Some thoughts I can't forget

I know I need to let imperfections go
Falling headfirst into pools of sticky remorse
Love a shield to keep me dry
But there's too many puddles on my course

It seems too familiar somehow
Didn't choose a different enough route
Now old routines return with vengance
Resentment weaving it's way throughout

Scars serve as a reminder
To turn the **** around
I smile like their screaming is a dare
It's "what if?" that has me bound

A question that keeps haunting
I love to predict the best
Perhaps it's time to face the facts
This try will end like the rest

I have a thing or two
on my mind
one is you,
the other to find

a safe place
a refuge
a place to
let truth

be itself
but not known
left unsaid
and alone

Maybe I'll share it
when I'm desperate
I'll sadly pair it
with you

Death is inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any easier to witness, especially when it’s someone you knew. A friend, a sibling, or even a lover. Tears don’t make you weak. No matter what others may tell you, caring is never a weakness.

On the creaking wooden chair in the corner, hanging on the scaffold, in the circular mirror, distorted and twisted and folding. It stands in the shadows. It lurks in the school playground while parents wait for their children, it’s a runaway train, and it’s the ink streaming down the window pane, it’s the clock melting inwards.
its golden fluidity and baby blue subtleties.
It’s the reason why you wake in the middle of the night,
gasping into darkness and grappling with loose ends... it was just a dream.
The reason you turn a corner just to look back behind you, why you double-take in the mirror, question where did I go?
Looking at nothing, staring into the bleak dark, it lurks. Awaits.
It waits in the form of a child holding a red balloon, staring into our blind spots.
Like shadows, when the sun rotates away from behind the playground wall you know, just then, now, in that full circle...
it’s about to run out.
You bend over backwards to relate to the moonlight dancing on the floor of its own reflections. It shows itself on beer bottles from better nights, you cross one leg over the other, position yourself,
folded linen.
Rushing to endless deadlines for nowhere o’clock, last call for the runaway train, struggling with human concepts.
You’re simply a sum of parts: an addition of flesh, limbs, old and broken battered bones, blind spots.
All the places you can’t see, can’t feel, can’t reach.
Loose ends meet themselves in the corner of that same old dusty room,
the folded linen crumples to the floor,

the red balloon bursts.

The horizon is laid out like a flat dead line.
An end with no push or pull.
I don't remember when it used to be this way. Decided.
It seemed as if the land could stretch the volume of the sphere it claims to be, like the soft sheet of a bed.
Now, all that can be seen by the naked eye is the invisible aggressive gate, weighing its prisoners trapped.
The key thrown in space.
How could I attempt to find this key? The action will only be useless.
I will only swim through blurry haze , never finding the solid ground I once knew. Decided.
The more I fill with unbearable ending, the further the lifeless horizon appears; every last bit of hope disintegrating into star dust.
One day the gate will unlock and reveal how far the horizon can go.
Dancing fields that fold into mountains. Inspiring sights and dreams glazing your finger tips.
But I will stay in my dead end. the horizon will stay decided. my worth will always be questioned.