Times,
Rhymes,
And short poetry.

How can emptiness be so heavy?

I feel like writing
but what?
What is there left
to talk about?
Just about everything's
been said or done
at some point,
so what is there left to write.
And how can it be
that there are still
new combinations
for people to write.
So now what do I write?
Well,
I guess this will do.

13 pills
5 in the morning
8 in the evening

I have to swallow them
One by one
Just to stay sane

They catch in my throat
Choke my screams on their way out

Keep my tears at bay
Before they fall

They slow the voices
In their chatter

Keeping the anxiety
From grasping and pulling at my heart
And pooling in the pit of my stomach

Or...

At least they're supposed to.

But my screams
Still stain the air

I still hear voices
Bouncing back and forth
In my skull

My heart clenches
My stomach tightens
With the anxiety that is supposed to be gone

And still I swallow
8 pills each night
5 pills each morning

13 pills each day

The laughs,
The cries.
The secrets,
The lies.
The little fights,
The drunken nights,
A friend is all you need.