I awoke with a need,
with presentiments from bad dreams;
detached from feeling, I hear it sing:
a grandfather’s clock, untimely,
boxes and a piano with no tuning.

a walk through high hills and chalk walls,
towards a fervid green memory -
no ash to see and no burnt bodies.

now, with this perturbed heartbeat,

the     ghosts and    
goners      will  
meet

Succumb to the attraction,
And you just might find
The greatest marvel the
World failed to define.

They've become cumbersome
as I hang my head, ashamed
for insecurities are inflamed.
Once again I succumb.

The inflamed bouts of worry,
keeps my mind in a pause
as the devil draws its clause,
of feeling happy in the sorry

I feel pain everyday
A mental collapse inside my brain
My mind just isn’t the same

I’ve become a sad version of myself
I no longer enjoy the things
That used to bring me joy everyday

I no longer have a reason to wake in the morning from my slumber
Sometimes I wish before I drift off to sleep
That I may not wake in the morning

My wishes go unanswered...

I continue to rise into each day
Succumbing at the very end and praying that I wouldn’t have to start over again the next day
And so I do

I wake only to wish for the night again
I contemplate the purpose of continuing it
What is stopping me from stopping me?
Only the what ifs

What if it gets better
What if one day I no longer cry
What if I no longer crave the pain to cease
And it simply isn’t there
What if one day I no longer want to stop breathing
Or stop my heart from beating
Or contemplate ceasing

What if I want to live

My thoughts are plagued by neverending hopelessness of an even worse tomorrow
I tell myself that it doesn’t get better
So it mustn’t

My hope died a long time ago
Along with my carefree soul
And passionate heart
It ceased

So I must cease along with it
I must become forgotten
I must be no longer.

It *****, y'know,
life & ****.
Everything *****,

sometimes.

But I guess
that's what makes it
good too,

sometimes.

It seems that
'always'
is the enemy
of emotion.

Or at least

sometimes

it is.

A monster has crept up on me,
Claws are at my neck.
Part of me wants to fight,
Part of me wants to succumb.
These claws rip and tear at me with a question--
"What more could you have done?"