They say you must try
and never give up.
What they don't say is:
it's not that easy.
They let you on your own
to figure out that
trying is just as hard as
being a quarterback;
making the best dessert;
or even standing up and speaking.
I must put effort
and work
and responsibility
and dedication
into trying.
I do not think
I have the strength for that.

First came the false presumptions of luxury
The gaudy glamour
Bright dresses and dark suits
Awkward glances and ****** food
Eventually though
The evening settled down
And then, after the smoking and drinking
Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day

Suddenly,
It was a smother of time,
a stifling landscape of clocks
a decaying of darkness
The night gave way to trembling cold delirium
And slow and slow down
A slide from reality
Everything fell

I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere
Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?"
Or worse yet, faces that didn't care
To see me, my wrists
Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust
In moments like this,
I am nothing but a fearful machine
Broken in its deepest workings,
All function altered.

Clamors and tremors of panic
Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens
I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed
Lay upon my back and waited
Watched, frightened, the night revealing
The hundred ignoble, vile images
Of which my thoughts seems consisted of

They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock
And empty Baccardi bottles
2 o'clock shook the memory
A crowd of twisted things,
Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists
I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me
-The notion of some infinitely suffering thing

Oh I only need a lighthouse
To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home
I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence
But never
never to be found
the way

Sitting in its dusty bag
Quietly
Longing to be played

A melancholic instrument
Carrying memories
Of better times

And the small
Pang
Of pain
And longing
Always pulls on my heart strings
Whenever I
Take it out
Of that dusty bag
Look at it, and
Play it

Its warm sound
Filling my ears
The comforting
Vibrations
Running through the instrument
Reminds me all too much
Of those times
Those happier times
Years ago
When everything
Was fine

I place the guitar
Back in it's dusty bag
And once again
That door
Leading back to those memories
Shuts with a bang.

But I want to help you
Even though
We're hundreds of miles
Apart.
You always post
Those little things
That reveal how much
You're hurting.
And I wish I could help.
I wish I could say,
"Text me, I won't judge you"
Or somehow become your friend
And I suppose I'm writing this
Hoping that you'll see it
And think, "that girl will help.
I'll confide in her."

Who am I fooling?
Some things just don't happen
You'd never trust a stranger
And I can't blame you
But even though I know
Just how insane and inane this wish is
If you'd only ask
I'd respond and do my best
To give you a bit of the life you deserve