Trying to fill the days and forcing them to go.
Finding there are too many in a never ending flow.
What to do with time that never seems to end.
Seemingly more hours than with which I can contend.
Playing games and dithering just to pass the time away.
Sleeping endless moments and still finding its today.
Why do all the days seem so very long?
What choice did I make to make time ebb so wrong?
I know it hasn't always passed or seemed to happen in this way.
But oh so long ago since they were all a twenty four hour day.
No rhythm or regularity in times pattern anymore.
Why so many hours and what are the days all for?
I used to measure days by the passing of the sun.
But many times I sleep and of daylight I see none.
You may think I have control of all rhythms in these things.
But why control the repetition tomorrow always brings?
If I sleep eight times and I eat just only three.
Is that not a measure of how long my week should be?
Must I sleep just seven and eat per some schedule too?
Will I then contend with time as I am meant to do?
Will days take new meaning and my hours hold more reward?
Or will the extra hours awake just make me much more bored?
If I sleep twelve times and I eat when I have need to.
Aren't the days still the same length both for me and you?
Do we really share the same cycle if I view it on my own?
Or does time really move much slower for those who are alone?

Though I see well enough
Lucidity escapes me
Left withering and splintering
In the face of change
In spite of the ending
Something writhes inside of me
A solitary heave
Railing against eternity

But I still cling
To the bits of shade

Every death is unique
As detailed as a fingerprint
I'm still not sure how to communicate
This intrusive thought, it never goes away

Please...
I need is to die knowing
That it wasn't all for nothing
That I gave this life for something

Maybe I've been too detached
Maybe I've been contradicting
Falling fast from what I'm needing
In hopes of finding something real

So outside the mind, enhanced
I see visions of my self
Inside my skull I sit and wait, pondering
If I'm even alive, as eternity
Stretches out before me, but
Nothing scratches that itch
Waiting for a fabrication to take me in
In the days to come...

I'll still cling
To the bits of shade

Sometimes I feel as if I am trapped on the wrong side of the glass
Isolated
Creating the hope of close friendship to be impossible
A thought to not be fathomed
I see you
but all you see is a woman
standing behind the glass
Untouchable
I wish I could break the barrier
The inevitable barrier between myself and the ability to be truly known
I, just an image to look at but never to be touched
Never to be spoken with
It seems as if there is a warning sign
Danger: Do not get close to the woman behind the glass.

Usually I embrace the lack of sound,
but lately it’s been peeling the paint off the walls.
The chips scatter and collect on the ground,
in boredom I pick them up and roll them into *****.
I forget the last voice that touched my ear,
but there’s only one I truly seem to crave,
even when telling me things I don’t want to hear
I find it impossible for me not to cave.

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my reflection in the mirror.
The black and white catches my eye
but the mix to grey is growing nearer.
There’s something else I want to try,
as the difference between good and bad is getting clearer.
I remember everyone else but forgot I,
I’m not too sure if I should fear her.
So what side are you on?
Are you here or are you gone?

Normally I love the pitch black dark
but tonight it’s drowning me in an abyss.
The structure and outlines that once were stark
are now details even the sharpest eye could miss.
I forget the last person to grace my sight,
there’s only one I wish to be standing in place,
her glow would banish the darkness of night,
whether she was caressing or slapping my face.

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my opposing thoughts and views,
and lately I’ve just been getting by
by drinking raindrops and morning dews.
A goal too far or maybe too high,
but that’s hardly any breaking news.
So what side are you on?
Are you hand written or hand drawn?

You’re holding me under water, watching me drown so slow,
pulling me up for air and saying “don’t breathe, just blow.”
You’re holding me under water,
watching me drown so slow,
then pulling me up for air begging
“please, oh please, don’t go.”

I’ve been playing Spy vs Spy
with my conflicting feelings and limited choices,
no right path for me so the left I defy,
in the distance I may just hear voices.
It’s comedic how I accept a lie,
and I’m sure she still rejoices.
So what side are you on?
Are you twilight or are you dawn?

If you would just stop making choices....
I could live by something more than consequence....
If I promised the same to you would you not be at rest too?
No choice. No consequence.... nothing.
Isolated, contented.... safe..... nothing.

Outside my door is a world where once I did dwell.
But through my window now I see a living hell.
I moved among that place and the people living there.
But now I cannot enter it without feelings of despair.
I cannot tell to you exactly what changed inside of me.
But I can no longer fit within the shape I used to be.
Did the window I once looked through view another place?
I ponder what I see and note changes to that space.
Outside used to make sense and I joined it with true lust.
But now it holds no value and no truths that I can trust.
Sometimes I have to enter there that place outside my door.
But nothing familiar awaits me there at least nothing that I saw.
The people there can see me and I feel their judging glare.
Always trying to remind me that I am alien when I am there.
When I get home and feel relief by the sealing of my door.
I make a vow to myself not to trespass outside space no more.
With much anxiety transpired through the yessing and the no.
When days have passed and once again to outside I must go.
So difficult to think of outside and I once dwelling there.
Opening doors and passing through seemingly without a care.
Passing through so many times in the blinking of an eye.
Not dithering and putting off as days and days go by.
To relate this sense to you may leave your mouths agape.
But its those things outside that dented me this new shape.

Were I a Starfleet Captain I would be unfit for duty, but this is no Federation of Planets.
This is a moment in time and barely anything at all, yet it is everything.
Carrying a weight on my back of a small crew, I lack the mental fortitude to take care of their carrier.
The cacophonous cocktail stirring within my ribs is barely tolerable.
In fact, It is not tolerable.
Adorned in a gown of ripped tissues,
the waves come like tsunamis.
Somehow throughout my turmoil I have to remain focused and continue forward.
Every step is heavier than the last and I often am unsure how I will see the sun set.
If I'll make it there alive or as some hollow shell with a faux optimism.

If these walls could hear,
they'd hear my cries,
my pleas to take it all away from me.

If these walls could feel,
they'd feel my pain,
my fear,
my anger,
and all of my shame.

If these walls could think,
they'd think my thoughts,
my thoughts that run in every which way.

If these walls could know,
they'd know my torment,
my torture without a soothing refrain,

If these walls could comfort,
they'd touch my soul,
my soul shattered and breaking more every day.

If these walls could help,
they;d ease my mind,
my mind that needs reason to sleep away.

But these walls don't think,
don't hear,
don't feel.
Stand there, unforgiving, and cold as steel.

They make up the cell from which I made,
standing, not stopping, till I end my days.