Silver ferns grow in a meadow of furiously bright flora,
Cosmos,
Freesia,
Roses of red and white,
Grow freely,
Wild below the pristine marble pedestal sitting center the clearing,
Within,
A,
Delicately wound cage calmly sits a equally small bird,
Breathing in the sweetness of the meadow,
Fluttering peacefully,
Their talons rest atop the door,
Of,
Its Gilded Cage.

He lives in my mind
an obelisk to my utter uselessness,
my self-doubt;
but I can’t imagine time without him.
Without the pain.

The agony of his friendship
has been the greatest pleasure of my year.

Frantically looking around,
I start to realize
I am alone
I am with me
And only me
No one else around
To cover my eyes from the destruction
Of myself
Of what I make of life
Of what I continue to question
Overthinking is a burden for me
From time to time,
I treat overthinking as a reward system
Slowly giving parts of myself
To something that does not co-exist.
I mean,
What is time?
Why is it always ticking?
Why are we trapped in ourselves?
Is there a way out of this madness of something called a world?
Filled with pitiful human beings
We call ourselves
By names
Constantly labeling ourselves and others
I guess that’s what school has taught us
And that’s all of what early life is
Anyways,
I guess what I am saying is that seas can drown us out
Our mind can play tricks on our physical bodies
Making us feel things that aren’t real
Making us feel things for people who were never real
Or never close to what we’ve made them out to be.
Life is a rope
We’ve got to keep tugging at it
It is the only way we can see
If there is truly a way out
Or if what lies ahead
Is nothing short of millions of miles of distance
From a shore that is close to nothing
Is made up of
A black hole
Or maybe an abyss
A yearning
To see what’s at shore
We must continue searching
And never stopping, for anyone
For anything
What lays ahead.
What lays ahead?

How much more pills do I have to take?
To even feel a thing, a glimpse of hope or anything? The days pass so quickly and I always wonder why, I don’t stop to smell the roses or point my face towards the sky, I never even try. I’ve become comfortable in my sadness, though I hate it so. My depression, my madness and obsessions is all I really know.

he wasn't in the right headspace
he wasn't in the wonted circumstance

it happened neither occasionally, but on numerous occasions

however, his surrounding be approaching and expecting his so-called tough shoulders..

..to be cried on, to be leaned on or to be the place they can dwell in for some considerable time.

his heart was made of gold, but it felt like a block of ice.

nodded his head; means acceptance.
tossed a yes; means a welcome.
painted a genuine smile; means he's all about to listen.

he was there for people, and he will always be there.

but where are the people pace their footsteps out while 911 numbers were pressed on his life's phone button?

nought. zero calls back. all dead. stone deaf.

that's how we live in, being a living buttress to people as in fact people won't ever spend their seconds to be your place to go.

aside from the bitter truth,

survive.