A mellifluous song
To titillate the heart
Has power strong.

So also your
Laughter has power
To piano finger dance on
Every which of
My fiber!

I didn’t realize how bad I had gotten, how much the depression had truly taken over my life.  No matter how bad things get, the human mind can get used to anything and deem it as “normal” without a hint of irrationality.  Repetition, that is all that it takes to slip further and further away.  

Something happened yesterday though, that broke through everything and sent those misguided walls crashing down.

I laughed.

I laughed without thinking about it. I laughed without worrying that I was doing it too loud, or that I wasn’t putting the right hint of sincerity behind it.  I laughed because in that moment I was happy, and that most rational of human responses felt alien.

I laughed, and the laughter was heart warming but also heart breaking at the same time.

It felt nostalgic.  

Being happy and having a proper human response brought on memories when I used to do it every day, and the memories where so far removed they were.......nostalgic.

I guess you never really know how sick you have become until you start to get better.
I think I’ll try it again today.

For a brother, and dad,
for the truest of friends.
Pure of spirit, purely glad,
Journeyman into the bends.
The sun rises in his mind,
As it sets into his heart.
And when the moon rises in TJ,
Civility will fall apart.

When the world bent,
and I was moved to sit for a moment
and weep, for all my sickness,
you were there.
And when the wind howled,
and I heard it shouting my name,
the rain pelted us, but I laughed,
for you were there.
And now, home,
When I need to smile,
I can walk down the stairs,
open the door,
and you'll be there.

I'm tired of being a prisoner, within these cement walls, the days drag on behind me, it's a never-ending throng, of pointless conversations as we pass from cell to cell.

I long for the day when we transfer to the prison at least it's free and open, open for discussions. Open for my heart to cling to a dream drawing passion. Because today I'm tired of being a prisoner, in false hope, broken love, and fake laughter.

Life is life
Winding streets
Laughter
Love
Moving feet

Take every step
With cautious care
Eventually
You will get somewhere

have a look:

the [a-ha-ha-ha] platform is packed with
commuters
dressed in
occupational colors  

the commuters are not used
to smile regularly by the end
of a long day

[a-ha-ha-ha-aaa]

therefore
have a closer look:

between the commuters you
see
loosely
some guys carrying
transparent [hr-ha-a] chunks filled with
*****

somebody asks
about the fluid

now people have a
reason to laugh

hr-ahem-hrr-ahem-hrrr-i-don't-ha-want-ha-ha-ha-that

Waves crash to the shore
Laughter echoes through warm sand
Children playing once again

The clown keeps a journal filled with his suicidal thoughts;
His face wet with paint and his hair soaked in dye,
he laughs to himself as he reads the words scribbled across the pages.
They crescendo like the build up of a joke -
splashes of ink blots suggest that his pen blew up before the punch-line.

He remembers a time when the earth was grey;
the morning dew seeped into everyone’s socks
and they walked around with heavy feet,
indifferent to the man beside him
walking on the bare flesh of his toes.
Then a stream of water dribbled out from the prank flower on his chest.

In a world so addicted to tragedy,
comedy is sublime,
like the nicotine rush from a cigarette.

Yet laughter is a bond so easily broken.
The white on his face can wipe away,
the lipstick can smear,
and the dye can fade.
But beneath all of that is a smile,
a smile that persists
because nothing is wrong
when the clowns come out.