The jagged edges of rocks
Get smoothened by flowing water
Yet, the broken mental edges
Cannot be soothed by the flowing emotions
Holding on to life, hanging from a precipice
Not aware of the surrounding, but mental agony
Blurry eyes and senses, leaves you forlorn
Donning a black cloak, coalescing with darkness
Oblivion beckons with enthusiasm
To make you a part of the lonely journey
Travelling with a heavy load of denials
Yet, the rebuttal, becomes the only truth

I'm the observer, an outsider to the world. I sit and  watch.
The small child, eyes like shinning beacons.
They play silently. I cannot hear. I'm the observer.
Without them I would fall into the oblivion, the dark pit of reality.
This frightens me.

I'm the observer. I see her grow up, I see animalistic instincts,
I see it all. I watch people pass, unwarranted and alone I sit.
I cannot help feel invisible, maybe I am.
My only friend a small pigeon
Who seems to share my woe and disgust for the world.

People pass. I'm the observer. Nothing more and nothing less. Expressions range, each one having their own story,
I can see it all.
I suppose that's the burden of the observer, as an outsider to the world, lost and forgotten in a thought, a flicker, a moment.
Forgotten. forgot. forget. for go. for. go.

The
             curves
                      of
          my
body
laid with oblivion;
We didn't love
with the same intentions.

The softness of my
skin roughened;
Your touch lacked
admiration.

The whisper of my
voice grew volume;
His voice lost consolation.

       But Please,

Acknowledge me,
Even if I become
any less beautiful,

      today.

She had always been on guard with her feelings.
She never let her emotions rule her.
Yet that night…
that night was not different than any other nights.
She still felt lonely.

Yes, he was there
she felt him…
inside her
he touched her
but it was too superficial.

He touched her,
she felt him,
but that’s it.
Their bodies collided,
but never their soul.

Inside, her whole being was bleeding…
aching…
longing…
for that gentle, genuine touch
from the other
but all he gave her
were fierce and mighty
stabs of
uncertainty.

Yes, it was pleasure,
but it only lasted
so brief that when
she opened her eyes
he was gone.

She needed someone to complete her.
She thought it will be him,
but he was just another coldblooded bandit.
Stealing…
destroying…
everything he can
off of her,
leaving her wrecked
and sore.

She lay there…
her heart shouting in
pain rhyming with the
silence of the night.

She lay there…
her eyes closed,
but her soul
wide open.

Waiting….
waiting for
someone to pick her up.

Waiting…
waiting for
everything to fade into
oblivion.

Sometimes I just step back,
Look at the lives of those around me.

I see the boy crying on the street;
His mother died in a crash now he’s in foster care, trying to keep the system from crushing his fragile soul.

I see the man on the cold, concrete steps, head in hands;
His wife suffers depression, she’s having a bad night and he doesn’t know if he can handle it.

I see the mother clinging to her baby girl;
She had three miscarriages that she blames on past sins.

I see the young woman hailing a taxi;
She’s afraid to be close to anyone for fear of her heart being broken again.

I see the teenage boy trying to hold his head high;
His mother committed suicide and his dad’s a drunk, he’s afraid he’ll end up like them.

Then I look in the mirror and I see nothing…

Complete;
That's what you make me when we touch.
Never;
That's how often touch me.
Happy;
That's what I'll never be.

The tears of the blind
And the lies of the deaf.

And the people who wish for their death.

So many people lying in unmarked graves
And the people that we don't even know their names.

as a kid I believed

I thought of the stars as high in a sky grown

from the ground up straight for a hundred years

in the eye-shaped pattern of sight I

with my *****-shoes dug slugging heaps in steps eighty-years

long like there was somewhere else to be or go but o this is it I'm

stuck in the awe of an out-of-focus centre and infinity that scares

me but is truly just a blurred hour glass fallen on its this side

the sorrow drips down like avenues
of cobbled mornings.
when you feel like writing a novel
but only manage a phrase--
when your thoughts can't make it past your brain,
let alone the page.
you breathe,
and exhale the frost that cracks the windowpane--
a touch and it shatters
the security and warmth,
to curl in bed and watch the stars on your ceiling.
the stars that blink out one by one
as your mind's eyes do.
but those of the human you love
supernova in front of you
your anchor to sentience ripped from the sea's
living room floor.
the living room, framed with pictures
of the ghosts and the whisperers--
and limbo' s pale door.

alas in my mind,
the last eye wanders down those avenues
and as your streets cobble too,
it shuts.