In summer, when the sun is warm
We frolic as nature shows its charm
Living in the moment, feeling bold
We forget winter can be bitter cold.

In summer, I am convicted to stay
I have my own role to play
Being myself, no fear, no shame
Taking risks, but no blame.

It is winter.

I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew.

I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place.

You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here.

So they say.

So I thought.

Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between.

Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful *****. Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes.

I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind.

Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues.

I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say.

All I am is tired nowadays.

Let me take you to the dark side of the woods
All that dies here is the good
Let me show you that spot
This is where I fought
He had me tied, I could go no where
I was terrified and scared
He did his deed
And left my soul forever to bleed
It will always seep with rage and anguish
Part of me will always remain and languish
There in the dark side of woods
That day all that died in me was the good

All of this torment
I did not consent
In all this suffering
There is no comforting
In all this despair
No one cares
In this grief
I get no relief
I am so spent
More than bent
In all this pain
I am not sane
In all this anguish
I just languish
It's pure desolation
If I failed to mention
With no more hope
I only cope

Here you are, my oldest friend
I knew we would meet again
I realy wish you would of stayed away
But again I just seemed to cave
The stress was all to much
And on me you decided to munch
You didn't just walk through my door
You ******* knocked me to the floor
You made sure I did get up
With grief and sorrow you filled up my cup
So I'll just lay here and slowly languish
In all of my gut wrenching anguish

All of this torment
I did not consent
In all this suffering
There is no comforting
In all this despair
No one cares
In this grief
I get no relief
I am so spent
More than bent
In all this pain
I am not sane
In all this anguish
I just languish
It's pure desolation
If I failed to mention
With no more hope
I only cope

Bailful fairness sudders one
From reality and fantacy...
Wanny visage enlighted:
By eyes of a cockatrice,
Never, to judge nor protest against.

How I have love thee?
Soon, to be forgotten by,
Leaving to be languished and,
Purged of love.
Love?
Never releases thé flying White Dove

Acts of Diana, knowingly brought me
Down like Juliet
For love is not love,
Without sacrifise?

Left, bewitched for amercing time,
Left, with the conceit of bestowing one's prescence once more.

Only,
To find the gall will,forsooth,
Gallop forth the next life...
For I have loved you always.

i never would've thought that seeing again those eyes that
i already
adore,
the heart would weep a little
and would languish,
and the stomach would rub its walls stressed that
the hands were shaking too.

there. thats how everything fleed inside my body,
like there's a competition between organs:
which one will break down first.
the lungs, they can not breathe anymore,
the brain, going into "freeze" mode,
the legs, suddenly not having any bones,
but a sort of gelatine that rather flows,
and flows,
and these eyes that want to wash my cheeks,
my sins.

*I think,
still,
that mum was right
when she said
that love is nothing but
chemistry and hormones...

She ran from me
in her voyeuristic
tendencies.
Bespectacled in the night,
she shed away her divinity
this girl with a penchant for tragedy.

A dramatic prelude to her kiss
would be the fixations of the poet
to her eyes and lips and skin.
Those which he can only recall
in music--

the slow andante of violin strings
entangled in the coasts
of her body.

Come morning you wake
to the tune of silence.

You could never tell her
those three words she longed to hear.