I kept running
through the wilderness,
day after desperate day,
Sometimes I saw
the scenery -
Most times I
was too afraid
Sometimes I felt loved
but then I cringed and
it flew away
But mostly I kept running
day after desperate day

I kept running through
the wilderness,
On passed the concrete grid -
into foreign lands
where no one knew the
things I did
If anyone ever misses me
I'm right here for them to find
In the wilderness just a mile
or two outside my stable mind

I need a break
From what, exactly?
A break from life,
A break from reality,
A break from spending every waking moment running
from something
from someone
from somewhere that might not even exist
Life is a dive
Hitting the ground is inevitable
Helpless against the pull of gravity
Just let me float for a second
Let me live in slow motion
Close my eyes and picture the ocean waves washing over me
Submerged in peace momentarily
Before I resurface under a storm lit sky
Chaos reigning in my mind
And continue to fall to my certain demise

i heard them say it's bad to push away the negativity
under the blanketing embrace of a nice evening drink
but my mind isn't well and my time seems at an end --
do i really have a problem when i worry that i'm the problem?

do i need to abide by the constructs those i do not know
have created for people like me to stand beside and follow
despite the everyday occurrences that warrant the attention
of those who sit and wait and do not listen?

shall i walk my way down this narrow street
under the dimming streetlights as cars pass me by
just because that's what's supposed to help me survive?

or perhaps i should visit the dwindling spaces
occupied by those paid to sit and listen
to the life stories of those they do not know?

shall i trust their intentions and pray for remission
of these symptoms that never seem to fade?

no -- instead, i think i'll bask in this sun
and reach my quivering hand to the right
to pick up my drink tilted on its side
and press it to my lips to taste the bitter embrace
of this warm can of serotonin and dopamine.

Nothing to prove
Or disprove
About yourself
Or to yourself

None of us
Have to
"Go to" anyone
And the idea
That we do is
A mental illness

We can't keep
Going to
Each other
Until we learn
To go to
Ourselves

Stop making
Our hatred of
Ourselves
Someone else's
Job

The blood drips--
Warm but cold.
Nothing changes--
The feeling is old.
Quiet sobs--
Come from my room.
This unsettling addiction--
Will be my doom.