We write to reach out
to anyone
who is close enough
to read the words
that spill from our minds
Trying
without gain
for those that stop
to make them see
to make them stay
If only long enough to feel again
but as is the way of things
they linger for just a moment
then continue on their way
as the world stops for no one
and surely not for the troubled writer
lost in isolation
and ever searching
for a friend

I lost my mind the other night on the 3am bus to Figure It Out highway
thought it'd be okay to let it wander for a few hours until the storm cleared out but when I went back I couldn't find it
Now nothing makes sense,
I can't understand this
Tried to act normal but problems keep knocking on my door asking to stick around
I dodge all the questions hoping every night that it finds its way home
It's getting really crowded in here but I still feel alone
Lying wide awake at night
not knowing what the time is
I lost my mind a while back
I'm still trying to find it

I wish I had the ability
To write a poem
To go to sleep
To interact with people

But all I can find myself able to do
Is make myself a cup of coffee
Stare out the window into the emptiness
And let my imagination flow
With thoughts of you
Thoughts of us
What we could be

There is no hope when I cant find
The line that divides time and sublime

All these thoughts within my mind
Have no control, like a man doing crime.

With no way to hide the pain
I have no way to ever gain,

Any sense of wonder in this land
I guess that's what it means to be a Bland.