It makes sense to me
that bathrooms here
and far have seen some of
the truest honesty any
single person can offer.

Here, I'm offered privacy
rarely found any place other
than a white throne of
solitude and forced self
reflection.

Maybe a sanctuary too,
but not like a church. A
place quiet to let a piece
break without someone to
intervene and ruin the
facade we're all trying
too hard...too long to hold on.

But today, I'll lean my heavy
thoughts on the grey box and
let blemishes slip to the floor.

If only I had a cushion.

If you asked me today
what type of person I am
I would probably brush off
any attempt of praise.

Today, I am a disappointment:
a failure of many facets.
Too much of this and far
too little of that, I can't bring
myself to choke that down.

Not today, anyway.

It's easier to fall in empathy
than to fall in emotion.
It's all about the fall, isn't
it, after all?

Words are easy to rhyme
and stitch together for
what seems to be the best
of all intentions, however
do you feel any better?

I could spill blood and tears
and scribble the toils of my
troubled years and beating
a laundry list of my
inadequacies and over-
coming such consuming
emotion, but all that remains
is a vulnerable self, beat
senseless by society's cold
heart and the simple pain
of not giving a ****.

Maybe it's my soft self
or nature's cruel way of
putting me in my cosmic
place, but being cut down
regularly and thoroughly is
an experience I can't forgive.

I'd rather allow my skin
to burn with the emotion I
feel than to allow the surge
of cold ice through my veins.

It gets to a point where I'm
not sure I want to feel either
anymore.

I keep telling myself I'd
rather feel something than
nothing at all, but what's
the benefit of that?