Improper goodbyes
blank stares
And lies.

Hesitant hellos
Apathy
And foes.

A dark thought process
Anger
And stress.

Blue sky's fade to grey
Love dies
And decays.

But the sun shines anyway
And I'm doin' okay.

Joyfully I skip through fields of daisies
Woefully I think until I'm crazy

The fog on the window to my soul has been cleared away and now I'm left staring at nothing but my own hidden self.
I see the hidden fears and desires that tuck themselves away in the deepest parts of my mind,
buried subconsciously in a place that is never meant to be revealed.
Have I truly stared into my own broken soul, naked before me, with no subconscious defenses to keep my suppressed personality traits in hiding where they belong?  
Or have I simply been consumed by the delusions of an LSD fueled nightmare?
The answer most likely lies somewhere in the middle ground between these two statements, as the answer to most questions often does.
Whatever the reality may be; I feel naked, violated, and used.
The darkest parts of my mind were turned against me and used to torture me internally,
For what felt like an eternity.
But I have made it through to the other side.
The LSD gently fades away as my rationality is restored, and I can still look at myself in the mirror.

Those thoughts that you throw away into the garbage disposal of your unconscious mind in an attempt to hide you from yourself.
Those thoughts that go against the societal norms that have been abusively drilled into your mind. 'Those are the thoughts that I stare eye to eye with every day in an attempt to know who I am.
Not just the illusion of the person who I think I should be, but truly the purest form of my identity.
So I stare at my naked self.
He's ashamed and scared.
But I throw him some clothes, pull him to his feet, and now we are one again.
My demons and I walk hand in hand along a broken road.
I know their faces now, they are not strangers to me.
Can you say the same?

That conversation has become stale.
Worthless, a waste of time and energy.
"There's still happiness left, but you must search for it."
The words roll off my tongue without meaning.
"It's all about perspective change; positive thinking can cure you."
More words that hold no weight and float away like a feather in the breeze.
"All the love you need is already inside you."
Still they stare at me blankly.
No light can penetrate their darkness.
They're more comfortable in places where they can hide from themselves.
And from each other.
But I want to show them!
I must  show them what I have seen!
The spread of mutual love under an ocean of stars, tucked away in a mountain wilderness.
And the feeling of euphoria that envelops such a situation.
All of life can be like those moments.
Those beautiful moments I spent soaking up the moons energy under a night sky,
With a cigarette in my mouth and not a care in the world.
But it's different here, too many cares.
Too many reasons to stare coldly into a bleak future.
From time to time, they come to me.
The suicide kids.
They come to express their anguish, to share their grief.
Over and over I listen to their words.
I listen to their sorrows and their pain.
They tell me  they don't want to carry on,
That a grave sounds cozy to them.
But that conversation has gone stale.
So I spit back my usual remarks.
Some nonsense about happiness being a choice.
A little blabbering about finding light in the dark.
Then they feel good for a time, at least I like to think so.
But the paradigm shift never comes.
They crawl back into the shadowy corners of their minds.
It seems I was only able to lift my own self out of the ashes.
Maybe there is no helping them, these broken souls.
"They'll learn to pick up their own pieces without you." I say to myself.
As if I wasn't sick of talking about it already; sick of giving advice that they can't process.
Sick of absorbing their depression into my heart.
Sick of that same old stale  conversation.

I walk hand in hand with corpses,
And the streets we walk are morbid.
Roads lined with scorching torches,
And riddled with their organs.
Streets oh so solemn and sordid.

Skeletons stroll freely among me,
Blissfulness, they've taken from me.
They say "Hey, I'm sorry sonny,  
But life ain't always sunny."
So we walk together glumly.

The sky's are gray where we wander
And  the landscape is somber.
Nothing but endless time to ponder,
The endless days we have to squander

Sunny days, butterflies and her long eye lashes.
Stormy clouds, hornets and her self inflicted gashes.

Three teens sit in a lightless room.
The **** smoke mixes with the incense,
And births a pungent smell.
The television flashes in the dark.
They stare blankly into its screen, afraid to think.
No exchange of words, after all what would they say?
"Hey buddy! How many times have you wanted to end it this week?!"
Or maybe, "Hi Pal! Could you spare a Xanax?"
These are the suicide kids; life means nothing to them.
They wander emotionlessly through school hallways
And work minimum wage jobs with displeasure.
They don't smoke for fun, they smoke to numb.
The prospect of death is comforting to them.
Maybe then they could be alone without demons running rampant.
So they sit amongst each other in lifeless rooms.
With lifeless people, in lifeless towns.
To them, Suicide is like a passing wind.
Not even a seconds thought for their rotting peers,
They understand. They know this life is heavy.,
And sometimes one just can't take the weight. So they make it end.
With pills and bullets. With Ropes and razors. They make it end.
Soon they'll have to pick a career and start a "life."
They chuckle sorrowfully at this prospect,
What life will find them here in this shattered country?
The heat is rising and they KNOW it.
The water is drying and they KNOW it.
The trees are dying and they KNOW it.
They're slaves. And they KNOW it.
It is this knowing that brings them their pain
And brings along thoughts of nooses and slashed wrists.

One of them turns to the other and says "Yo pass me the ****, man."
He slides the glass across the table in front of them.
Careful not to make eye contact,
That might spark conversation.
The incense smoke twirls in the air.
The TV flickers, and day turns to night.
The youngest of the three teens says farewell and walks home glumly,
A noose awaits him.