Wake up,
Groggily stumble to the shower,
A few minutes pass,
A thud lets me know that my time is up
My roommate grumbles and shuffles past
I eat breakfast,
Alone.
I make my pilgrimage to classes.
The day goes by.
A blur.
I sleep.
Wasted time.
Wasted youth.

If I were a bird,
I’d escape the cold in the winter,
And find love in the spring.
Be observed in the summer by lovers
Fly free through clouds and dreams
And chirp for all the world to hear.
If I were a bird,
I’d fear not shot nor snake,
And traverse the sky for the simple sake.
I’d rise high above all problems,
Rest in Redwoods tall as towers,
And nestle softly in the clouds.

If I were a bird,
Life would be grand
Life would be simple
Life would be easy

But alas, I am no bird.
No wings to carry me,
No voice to chirp songs of success
I am but a man.
With legs plastered to the ground,
And a heart too heavy to heave around.

So I leave the ballads to the blue jays,
And the chorus to the crows,
Instead, I type my feels out,
So at least a few will know.

Looking out the window,
The melancholy snow stops all.
The once bright city
desolated
left to die
smothered by the bitter cold
I crave the warmth
of a companion
someone to hold me.
It's never felt so cold
Remaining inside

The grotesqueness of Man
Shown to a clouded mind.
The animalistic nature
Of a society that separates itself
from the animals
Revealed.

In the moment,
Thoughts too jumbled to express
The stark realization.
The realization that society is sick.
A pustule ready to burst
Packed with the greed and malice of the masses
And the Hypocrisy of a people
Where being equal means being white
Where opportunity only lies in lineage

And then the sharpness and soundness returns
And all those realizations fade
Chalked up to delusions of a drug induced dementia

My dorm.
A small room
Inhabited by two people
No room for decoration or privacy
Covered in
Garbage
Walls clad in solid red brick
Much like a prison
My dorm.

I lay flat on my bed.
The silence is broken only by doors slamming a world away.
My eyes, glazed over towards the window.
Its three in the afternoon,
Yet, it feels like nighttime.
Tomorrow, I have another appointment
Maybe this time I will get help
Maybe this time I’ll **** myself
It’s hard to keep pushing forward
And I’m tired.
I don’t know what to do.
Everyone tells me that living is joyous
But for me, those moments are too few and far between.

I lie on my stomach, spine contorted
And listen to my fingers flick across the keys
My arms tingle from my elbows down,
And still I lie and wait
For something profound to come to mind
For anything that isn’t a cry for help to escape my hands
To feel an emotion that isn’t pain

My intention is not to be captious
But to illustrate the current of my emotions
And my current emotions
They change like the tide
That is, what I’m feeling inside
It is more and less than nothingness.
The sadness so thick that one could choke
Yet the antithetical is just as true
There is a numbness that lays deep
Beyond my elbows and to my heart
A deep depression,
Simple, dark.
And sometimes I fall apart
And rebuild through writing,
Label it therapy,
Label it art.