Do these lovely grounds permit me
Of my present presence, like thistle
Be unwanted and undaunted

Taken greatly in arbored orchard
May my refuge grow demure
Taken often by lapping banks
May my breath grow slow and slight

By those tentacline roots
Those heightened and lengthy articles
May that shade and slanted sallow
Blanket lightly my discomfort

Ne’er is there such wondrous sedation
Then this lilting life, by waterside
And no bile ink nor vitriol
May ever dissipate this lovely truth

And now it's over
The hours count down
No more water
No more home
No more free
No more crown

Just a desk and some work
Just a phone and a girl
Just a sunset sad boy
Loving the world

Or hating
Hate the people
Hate emotions
Hate the power
That the feeling he's knowing
Is the encroaching by the hour

It's surreal enough to laugh
And it's absurd that he might cry
And the sunset summer kid goes to wipe away his eye

His girl, his work, and his hope.
Begins now.
So do.
Or die.

He's going to try
He's gone without
For a year now

There is no die
There is no doubt
It's hard not to see how,

He won't succeed
His confidence agreed
So he wants to ask
Her hand in love

A safety pin hangs
In his closet
An ungiven gift
Waiting for the night
That lovely night
When he knows
That he'll love again.

Heavy head
Heavy heart
I did the thing
I said I'd do from the start

I didn't chicken out
I committed
I breathed

I breathed in relief
For now I know I can
I'm free because I don't care
It's a liberating feeling
To prove it

I breath in
The stench of confidence
Of sleepy gratitude
That I did it

I tried
I succeeded
And I'll do it again.

With a friend
Or two
He makes a last stand

A last word
On a fleeting land

Tell him it's over
He'll hold on tighter
So he's grasping the air
Is that a lighter?

The final stand
Of numb dejection
Well guess what
He succumbs

The story goes on.

Who does he look to
With a sense of safety
Her and her words
Because she feels like quiet

Like sinking
In a good way

Like Icarus
In that one picture

She makes him feel
Like the sun
Like the deep

She is the blue
And the red
And she makes him
Feel better

But he worries
If she can make him
Feel better
She might leave
Then what will he feel?

However there is an awful interjection
Specially or required re-inspection
He has to leave The Room
His room
And he breaks
Attacks riddle a weaker boy
And he thinks fondly of summers prior

He recalls a world free of those anxieties
Could you imagine?
He thinks of this now with a sense,
Of crippling disassociation

****
The feeling is fading
He doesn't want that feeling to fade
That would mean admitting defeat
That would mean it never really mattered
Did it matter?