I think I'm going crazy
Everything is feeling hazy
I try to bathe in the sun
-it seems I only **** the light out of it.
This whole-bodied numbness
is getting too unbearable
struck by moments of suffocating panic
I can't even remember my own name
It hurts.
How can one live in a world filled with nothing but pain?
When I scream for help and nobody answers?
I know I'll talk myself down for now
but this time feels all too real.
When I become nothing but a past-tense
everyone will become all too familiar with my name
everyone will become all too familiar with my pain
but no one will have done a thing to help.
I see no future here...

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.

That day, the sun as bright as yellow-white,
the day Robinhood met Cinderella
on the fairgrounds at Montezuma
and Cervantes  white steed was neighing
tied to the fence
and both them,
)Robin and Cindy(
at the same time
went over to try and calm him
and Cervantes tilted ( a bit high  drunk stupored )
he was. Spilt the horse's water
all over both of them.
Cinderella's white shirt
became transparent.
Nubs soft curves
all apparent.
Robin stood,
impressed by the display before him.
Then, Maid Marion showed up,
grabbed Robin by the scruff of his neck.
And Cervantes saw Don Quixote
approaching.
Quickly he threw
the horses blanket
over Cinderella's beauty.
He whispered in her ear,
I know this abandoned windmill
near, we might
have a tilt or two,
Cinderella lost a shoe running
to the horse to mount
with Cervantes
whipping reins and dust flied
as they disappeared
to never ever be
seen again.

I have everything expect fulfilment
I am alone with everyone
I am happy with all the unhappy situations
I am an optimist in being a pessimist
I am very lucky to have all the unlucky things
I am the best in all the worst things
I continuously succeed in getting failure
I am working hard without recognition
I am comforting myself to get into trouble
I am thinking without sense
I am planning something and doing some other thing
I am expecting all the unexpected things
I stay positive in all the negative things
I am beautiful with my ugly face
I am happy with all my problems
I love myself with so much of hatredness
The utmost paradox is
I am living while I am dying inside.