And typed them on a page
no filter just complete
sunken rage
no rhyme scheme anymore just lines
one after another
I'm scared I'll never satisfy a woman
not only sexually but intellectually
professionally, physically
I'm afraid I let the right person go
and now they won't come back
I'm scared that we only get one shot at life
and I'm blowing it by typing on a computer in my bed
I'm scared Ill die old
a corpse of unfulfilled potential
instead of a young body filled with it
I'm scared I'm the only that thinks about
these things and the only one
I can talk about these things with
is my therapist who doesn't want to hear
about them anyway
so I tell her that I am happy
I am scared because I don't always feel this way
some days weeks months go by where I don't think about writing
and I swear in that time I'm happier
so what is it about depression that bring my pen to the page
I'm scared that I use poetic metaphors to cloak actual feelings
I'm scared that someone whose opinion I value will read this and think less of me
I'm scared that one day down the road I'll come back to this
for the first time
but I'll close the tab before it opens
and go scroll through twitter or facebook
or instagram
because sometimes it's easier to just not feel for a little bit
I'm scared that I'm waiting for a moment that will never come
I'm scared to go to the gym so I've forced myself to be content with my body
which is fine but it isn't as good
as it could be
and that's all on me
I'm scared that I'm my greatest enemy
and also my greatest friend
and maybe both want me to fail
because sometimes it feels good to let yourself rest on your own shoulder

There. All out.

I like the way your words taste
not nearly copacetic daffodils
but a boisterous bouquet of
letters tied so neatly
so crisply
that I dare not close my ears
even just for a second
because a time without you in my mind
is one I'd rather leave behind

A man placed a rose over a mass grave
and said to me
take all the Evil in the world
and make Art out of it

Melancholy memories make me muse
Perhaps I lost a piece of me when I lost you

And here we all go
staring at screens
trying to distract ourselves
from what it all means

I think that comedy is dead
and I don't say that because I think every funny person
just suddenly is not funny anymore
I think that people don't want to laugh anymore

we want to leer
whether in disgust, or fear, or some sick form of admiration
we want to rage against something
anything as long it promises to stand in our way

we make mountains out of mole hills
in order to spend our time knocking them down
we want somebody to make us cry
not because we want to be sad

because we want to feel like we're still alive
we are so afraid live
that we've become obsessed with dying
we shout deep into the void

hoping, (even if it's slightly) that no echo will return
we want to hate, we want to fear
because those emotions are raw and tangible
and they linger

what is a laugh
if but a minuscule flaw in the system
a seldom respite from the horrid lives we lead
an umbrella for the rain we so desperately want to drown in

It's easy to feel bad for cheating
even if it's only for a moment
every day we are told be angry, mad, upset, vigilant, vindictive
every day we are told
Comedy is dead