And your intellect is wasted.
Let me tell you, your words will lose their depth.
Because she hears them and smiles,
but they are hollow to her.
They are just an extension of you.
Just another second, third, hundredth chance at half-assed affection that won't last the week.

I wonder what will become of your words.
Of your presence that fills all spaces in conversation.
I wonder what will happen to your heart.
That is more authentic than most and so contrasts her own.
Your mind that follows no one else.
And eyes which love your mother
and long patiently for the sea.
Your head that is tighter than your hold on me.

If she manages to ensnare you
with her black lips and hungry heart,
then I will forever wonder
If she is pulling these things apart.

I laughed,
Handing him the bottle of *****,
"Here's your liberator"

Are you the same person
From history?
The same one from those days
Long gone?
So far you've wondered why the tide must change
Is it science or The sign of a mystery
You've Wondered why the angels can't appear
But they can tell what is near
Is it danger, is it hope
That something that you never know
So I ask again
Are you the same person
From way back then

The best thing about life
is finding the simple patterns.

Today, I am sick.
My mental illness is shaped like a prison
and I am in the waiting room
wanting to ask
"What are you in here for"
like
what kind of crime has your head committed
that you are trying to lock it up
with prescriptions
and weekly meetings filled
with uncomfortable confessions
and numb palms from sitting on your hands for too long.
They say it's like playing in traffic,
a red-light-green-light game
where we beg for help
but don't know how to move
when we're asked to explain how we got here.
Do you even remember
what you're running from anymore?
Tell us about the days
where you can't tell if waking up
is a trench or a hill.
What has your head told you to do
and have you done it?
How did it feel when it was over?
Did your head congratulate you
when you were done?
Did you get a prize
like new scars?
Or three more handles of liquor?
The last time you prayed
did you have trouble unlocking your fingers?
Did the weight of God
keep your hands closed tight
in hopes that you wouldn't forget him
like the last time you saw Him
in the bottom of the pill bottle
and you smiled back?
Everyone here says the word Friday
like it hurts
because we know that the weekend is here
but we just can't seem to feel it.

Today we are sick
and nobody notices because our noses aren't running
we aren't openly bleeding in front of the one's we love
we do it in secret
just in case they ever catch us.
Today, we wanted them to catch us.
Stick out their hands
like a safety net
but it doesn't matter what height we fall from
because bones hitting bones
like a head on car collision
will never feel like warm sheets
blanketing our bodies
but we can't help but wonder
if the sheet they will cover us with
after they find us
will be warm too.

Today we are tired of being sick
tired of waking up looking like police chalk lines
tired of walking into the therapy rooms
like they are our parish
but we're too afraid God might smite us on the way in.
We shouldn't have to flinch
when certain words are said
that pull us back loading gun
but are too weak to pull the trigger.

Today WE are the triggered,
the empty promise of tomorrow being filled
with another prescription
another drink
another list of second hand hope
coming from someone who is probably
still trying to remember what it says.
We would rather tiptoe between eggshells
and take our time
than let you know we are struggling.
We are STRUGGLING.
And it makes us so very tired.

So today I am tired
and I will tell you that
instead of reminding you
that every day I am sick.

Trees are often more solum than humans,
Their roots deep within the earth,
Yet they leave with the sudden breeze,
Nothing can make them stay,
They bend, but not break,
Are not swayed by the human race,
Trees are my elders,
Mother,
Father,
Brother,
They see the world through different eyes,
Look,
I use to dance for them,
Bare feet on solid ground,
The wind the only instrument,
Me and the Tree's only sound,
We'd have great times,
Until you chopped them down,
Mother,
Father,
Brother,
No where to be found,
You gave me this wasteland full of useless things,
When I walk across the concrete,
I feel their hallow screams,
Buried beneath the pavement a couple feet down,
Your wonderland of useless things,
In this pointless town,
The wind still calls for its lovers,
No longer intertwined at night,
He bounces off buildings ,
Frightening little kids,
There's no such thing as love,
Just axes and fire

If you have to, just leave.
But don't come back, if you do.
Let me forget about "we",
Let me forget about "you".
Don't wrap me around,
Your finger so tight.
Just leave me to be,
Just leave me despite-
A hundred sweet memories,
Two hundred warm hugs,
Three hundred deep kisses,
Four thousand and one-
The days it will take,
Maybe less, prob'ly more...
To forget who you are,
What we weren't..what we were...
Oh, I understand, do what you must do.
If you leave, leave me be....
No more "we"... No more "you".

In the blink of an eye, her whole world was lost
Then he came, he who she believed would be her guardian angel
For she did not know that love it self would have a cost
And believed that he would forever be faithful
Everything turned out to be a dream
Once again, she had a shattered life
But, oh, how real did it seem
The answer then she found in a knife
There was no more hope she could seek
With what was done she prayed to finally lay in peace
All was gone and she was weak
No longer will there be grief
She had said good bye to all her tears
She had escaped all her fears.