I’m trapped under earth
The sheet of crust
Is too thick
To pick through
Too tough
For hands
Even as rough as mine
I climb
But reach
The impassible
Layer
And pass out
Like faint
Memories
Of times
Overhead
Now I’m under
Stand in
The depths
Of below
Unbeknownst to those
Higher
No one to excavate my soul
They don’t know
What lies beneath their feet
They tread on me
I’m responsible
For this
Reverse archeology
I put my future
Underneath
Only
To fight
With a lack of energy
Lost
From digging
To deep

If it’s true
That you’ll sow
What you reap
I hope
These seeds of me
Will grow
Into something deeper
Than
What lies beneath…

Exactly what just happened?
I must have missed the memo
did we begin advertising
for wanna-be Longfellows?
I came here for inspiration
so many years before
now I feel such trepidation
towards hash tags and underscores

I guess in the end, we all attend
to selling out as ******.
At least I paid my money. .
where is the online store?

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

Perhaps our story ended,
and we turned past the last page.
Nothing left for amendment,
the path before us laid.

This book met a conclusion.
What a fairy tale it was.
Maybe just an illusion,
the heart and mind plays tricks, it does.

Yet it all just seemed so true.
Who knew,
it would be just like a movie?
People dream to exist like this,
instead they live assuming.

I backtrack through the chapters,
nearly driven insane.
Forever chasing after,
a retelling of our claims

Perhaps someday I'll feel the same
evolve beyond these throes.
In days those passions were untamed,
where every ending goes.

"He was only twenty."

My reaction shouldn't be

"lucky *******."