the cycling of emotions
the ebs and flow of the consciousness
the paralysis of thought
the dreaming of creations
the planning out and doing
and
the repeat

they sat up on their bed
staring at the empty wall ahead
what was once covered with pictures and art
beautiful memories and dreams
was now empty with chipped paint and tape residue
a soft spirit walked in and held their hand
“what’s wrong?” she asked
they didn’t speak for the words could barely escape their tongue
they stared at the barren wall
“won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
they opened their mouth
a single tear slid down their stained cheeks
they could barely speak
but they could get out one word
“everything”

the warm and tepid air fills the room
like a fog on a misty April morning
it’s 3 am and the feeling or weariness is gone
and replaced with longing and migraines
isolation and frustration
a blanket covers half my body
it’s just so ******* hot  
the summer heat has only just begun
and it’s not going away
not for a long time

my soul aches again as another unsteady sorrow slowly moves through my veins
I have welcomed another poison yet again
the chalice filled with despair
will forever entice me
an unyielding hands tips it against my lips
the cursed glass meets my mouth
and a drop of that toxic spill slithers down my throat
it’s rancid taste should repulse me
the horrid bitterness and burning brings tears to my eyes
but I can’t refuse this goblet of misery
for I am an addict

have I deluded myself into thinking I am a good person
have a I lied to myself saying that it was just a mistake
have I tricked myself into believing I have not hurt others
I think I have

my words and thoughts are always in utter disarray
they're a heap of empty meanings
and a clutter of disconnected thoughts
they spill from my mouth and onto a paper
my words have never meant much
they've never coaxed a subject
or any object of desire
my words pour up and out from my gut
they're just a nonsensical jumble of expression
but now something has changed
within the foggy mess of my mind
there now exists a muse
a subject or object of desire
now I've never minded the disorder
nor have I ever wanted a muse
but now that muse has come to me
I hope, I really hope, it never disappears

when I woke up this morning
I rose with an unpleasant feeling
the shards of last night's dream
pierced my skin and cut my soul
strange hands grasped my neck
choking sweet feelings and filling them with horror
the memories of the past loomed over
feelings I thought I had forgotten, resurfaced
when I woke up this morning
my breaths unsteady and my face stained with tears
I feared for my next dream