What is this?
It's not Heaven
It's not Hell
Sometimes it hurts
Sometimes it heals
It's this middle place
Where we feel everything
Some days it's Heaven
Some days it's Hell
I just wish
It could make up its mind
Because on Hell days
Weeks, months, years
The hope of just one Heaven day
Is too much to bear

Home is
   Longing for a different view
   Sitting in a tiny bedroom, watching the birds fly
Envious of their freedom

Anywhere else I
   Feel the incessant tug of my family that want me back
   Simultaneously longing for the Friday night card games
And laughing with my mother

Irate clouds leave my mind overcast.
Forming a tempest in my hyperactive right hemisphere
even though I beg them to fade into calm like
tums in a glass or pop that’s lost its fizzle.

Unsympathetic,
arduous reminders of memories sweet - forged in permanent ink.
Or -- hope that this period of uncertainty too shall pass.

Either way, my thoughts have this sort of
morphine fascination with the tension deep inside me.
Internal addicts getting high at my demise,
Or -- a tolerance break hiding behind a viscose curtain of grief

Either way, I feel like I’m dying.
Or - maybe I’ve never been more alive.
Cause you know, pain is often perceived as pleasure
Stimuli are weird

Maybe I'm just afraid.
Stricken by the thought of separation
from what brought me to comfort
and losing part of myself.

Terrified of the ambiguity associated with change.
Terrified of giving my all just to end back at the start.
But existence is neither
cyclical, linear or spectrum-based
it just is.

I’m in control of nothing.
Which is the most liberating feeling
but also what’s rendered me paralyzed.
I guess I’ll just have to wait.

Dear Ghost,

Would it be easier for you
if I ignored you,
blocked you, hid you,
and came back later
after an 'appropriate' amount of time?
Or is it easier if I stay,
patient and persistent,
occasionally dropping my two-cent
invitations, heart, and laughter,
gently
(repeatedly)
reminding you
that in spite of everything
I still give a ****?

I ask
because I do not know,
just as I can not ascertain
whether to hope or to mourn.
I hypothesize that neither
will improve this situation,
but I agonize over which
might make it worse.
Your input on the matter
would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
Lost in Limbo.

We spend the weekends together,
and send "good nights" during the week.

Lonelier than ever,
yet loved more than over a year —
You're the only one that knows.

If I have to catch myself at least once a day
to not
let those three little words spill,
I know I've made a mess.
I can't feel like this!
But feelings don't listen, dear.

In just six months I know we'll be apart:
"It's better this way", I tell myself.
But why does it hurt?
Why am I scared?

A strange limbo
I cannot explain
No, not even to myself —
Then how could I confide in friends?

I cling on to the hope
that we'll find our way back
because I think, I feel,
I hope again:
All senses that I had lost the last years.

But at the same time
I remind myself,
of how I did feel.

Maybe over time
we are just meant to
crumble to less than friends
and then lovers again,
and again.

Through the hollows, into the grey
Across the rolling hills of pain
Run all night till the darkest day.



When shadows behind the mists play
Charge forward to the silent rain
Through the hollows, into the grey.



As our memories fade away
But the signs in the sky remain
Run all night till the darkest day.



As the leaves in the forest sway
Doubt the trees and keep on running
Through the hollows, into the grey.




When the road breaks along the way
As the shadows come forth crawling
Run all night till the darkest day.



When the time comes for us to play
As they come to where we're hiding
Through the hollows, into the grey
Run all night till the darkest day.

A faux body
A faux mind
A faux existence
How terrifyingly sad
But we don’t mind
We take whatever we’re given in stride
But this in itself is a detriment
How unnecessarily sad
But the lack of reality could be fun
It’s a journey for all of us
The Midnight Ride
Unpredictable
Erratic
Thrilling
Draining
Keep your head and appendages tight
Or you’ll lose them rather quickly
But they’re not relevant really
If you’re on The Midnight Ride
Then you’re already dead
The Midnight Ride
You encounter strange things on it
The most discomforting being yourself
But we take this in stride
There’s no stopping on The Midnight Ride
There’s no sleeping on The Midnight Ride
There are no inhibitions on The Midnight Ride
Just come along and have  a fun time
Or lose your head… again