Flowers, cadmium and saffron
Exuberant, ebullient, sanguine
No indication of suffering
A joyous view upon a wall.

Swirling clouds amongst an unilluninated sky
Observed as mundane by some
But the beacon of light is sought
by those who are attentive.

Self portraits, an array of them
Each with a hostile expression
The carefully etched, ageing lines
The anguish, unbeknownst to most.

A ****** of crows in a macabre sky
A transition from radiant to sombre
An unnoticed caution
that the artist would soon be no more.

A madman, tortured and doomed
departed this world with the belief
That he had accomplished nor achieved nothing
An inconsequential person.

Receiving a belated recognition -
If only it had been sooner.

Heartbroken
Heartbroke
Heartbrok
Heartbro
Heartbr
Heartb
Heart
Hear
Hea
He
H
Hu
***
Hung
Hungr
HUNGRY.

don't you know i'm in love with you?
your smile,
your hair,
your scent,
your laugh,
the way you squeal,
but somehow you crush me in all the way possible,
you say you don't like anyone,
you talk about this guy,
i'm always livin a lie,
that somehow you may like me back,
so i'll hitch my feelings at the dock,

until you say it.

i find that even when i sit down to read a book, before i begin, sometimes i’m hit with a wave of sadness, this heart-dropping feeling of loneliness, fear of the emotions i’m about to feel, the emptiness, the focus i’m putting on my own mind… allowing myself to face my own thoughts all alone as they run through my head… it’s a scary, weird feeling and i wish i didn’t feel like this... i need to stop being afraid of being left to myself, of being an individual. i need to find fulfillment in life, in things, in reading alone, in taking photos alone, in spending time alone, in going on a walk alone... in being alone. at the beginning of this year i wasn’t like this, i found happiness and made peace with myself when no one was around but it’s changed, because of /you/ it's changed, something’s shifted, and i want my old self back, i want it to shift back, can i reverse this? can i please take back my old self?...


what have you done to me???

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
  The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
  None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—
  You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you,
  In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.
My mother—my own mother, who died early,
  Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
  And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
  Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.