The window is a world of view,
a mind is too,
through piercing sun or solemn gloom there is colour born anew,
a mood of positive or negative, still hope remains true,
the spring is abloom with colours prismatic, air afresh with scents,
hope springs eternal in your mind, negativity gone through forgets,
summer blazes wildfire hot, sea scents wistfully play the air,
fun is to be had, as you bloom anew,
autumn comes vividly, somber colours announce impending gloom,
mood negatively paths, trepid you await the cold,
will there be colour, will my world be just the window i look through,
winter comes quick and cold, thoughts of a colourless life bring despair,
yet out of the window a bud still waits, through your window view,
colour is present despite the perceived doom, positivity awaits those who can view.

I wonder-
have you come to understand
why the world is silent at night
and what it means to be listening
to the darkness of the sky,
to be hoping a star might whisper to you
the secret
of how to keep waiting
of how to keep breathing
of how not to feel so alone anymore?

the adventure starts every day
enjoy each moment in every way
you go, ever with my love
but thoughts of you come every day

Words gone unsaid, hanging in the air like overripe fruit waiting to fall; a sickly sweet guillotine made of things past their prime, cutting through the awkward silence. Pen and sword are equally sharp, being two sides of one coin. Crying disguised as fatigue tears melt into the crowd of rain and sweat; blend in don't smile don't laugh. clouds hide skyfuls of hurt I hide my face in my hands I hide my smile, tuck it away to be used later. happiness preserved for special occasions sadness used only in private. changing faces like changing clothes has become second nature, but I cannot hide from my emotions .

a child with a heart as red and raw and open as a wounded hand, goes the story, but this is not a story and this is a wound that won't heal. I stem the flow of ******, red hot emotion and hope for the best. It's claustrophilia, not agoraphobia; look under the table and you will see my private pains, my jealousy pressed between the pages of this book, emotion folded up small and placed in a niche no one can reach. I was meant for moonlight, the low road, "a heartbeat in a volley of heartbeats", so to speak. I used to think solace and solitude meant the same thing and they do. To me.