Sitting in that venue something clicked
Sitting in this dark living room watching videos and silently crying to myself while my cat drinks water from his fountain it clicked
I am not ok something in my brain has shifted
These thoughts scream out
Wanting to be tangible
My nails wanting to leave marks on my back
I need help
But every time I’ve reached out
I’m been cast aside
My doctor
Canceled my appointment citing I need a psych
Which I already have
My psych never answers
I try to hold in my pain but I am afraid how much longer I can
I feel like a younger version of myself has emerged once again

I’m not afraid of heights, but of the fall.
I’m not afraid of addiction, but of the withdrawals.
I wish I could stop these circling thoughts,
But they keep on spinning.
I’m not afraid of imperfection, but of failure,
Miserably luring me,
To an askew belief.
If I fail once, was I a failure all along?
Can I do anything right?
Just add it to the tally,
Ever growing.
Another note to my somber song.
I’m not afraid to die, but of saying goodbye.
These thoughts, while dark sometimes,
I’d give everything to think of them one last time.
These fears remind me that I’m alive.
I’m not afraid of people, but of being judged.
Anxiety plunging me,
Into fictitious security.
Perhaps, I’m better off on my own,
All alone.
But you lose the chance to form connections,
To enjoy the people that surround you.
Perhaps, I should stop playing this game,
And admit that I am very much afraid.

It was another strange dream
Suddenly I found myself looking out an upstairs window at people arriving below
Then I thought "Wait a minute, where am I ? What house am I in ?
I don't have an upstairs, I live in a bungalow (only a ground floor)"

When I went downstairs there was this big Christmas tree up
I thought to myself "But I...I didn't put up my Christmas tree yet

And there were lots of people there and some familiar faces
And they all seemed to be smiling at me, as if accepting me there
As if there was nothing unusual, as if I belonged there.

It was like a party was going on
And then I seen my brother sitting amongst them all
One of his hands was bandaged
I didn't think it polite to ask him about it
Beside him was another younger relative
I was amazed astounded because this relative he had died a few years earlier, in an accident
Yet here... here he was right here before me

I thought to myself "This must be some kind of... some kind of Parallel
   Universe I'm in where things turned out differently"
It made me wonder was my own world  then just an illusion
It seemed so far away now... so distant

Suddenly I started to get a little afraid, I thought "But I don't know this world...this place
I don't... I don't belong here
How do I get out of here
How do I get back... back to my own world....  

Soon after this I awoke...again back in my own bed...back in my own world.

It just feels
Like I should be feeling
More, dealing
With moving on.
I look upon
The past six years;
Joys regrets fears
Run through my mind
But I find
That nothing truly stands out
About
My emotions, nothing
Seems to be stabbing
Into my heart like I thought
It was but did not.
Is it wrong
To not feel much
About where I’ve been for so long?
Because deep down I know such
Thoughts will come to light
Soon; bright
And white
They will be
(Yet rendering my head and heart
Ever so dark).
How long will it take for me
To see
The pictures that should be
Running through my head,
But are choosing to hide instead?

A bad day away
From the end of things,
Cause not a person stays.

And everything remains the same,

Despite all the change.

An hour to twelve,
When the clock strikes.
I burn one down.

And the match reminds me of hell;

Of dark depths, lit by scorching light.

Most deepest of desires, and precious hopes
We are fond of holding you close,
Fearful we will share our thoughts

And be lost to ourselves

To understand, what we know we never can

When I think of life,
I see an empty canvas ready to be painted upon,
or open blank pages that are waiting to be written on.
A baby is born, their first words in a book say;
"where am I?"
"what is this world"
"this is so cool"
or some babies have an anxiety
"bring me back into mothers womb?"
"I' am scared, what is this?"
But as you say, they do not know how to speak our language, maybe not by tongue but in their little cubicle minds...they have a language we once understood then only time could tell....
When I think of life,
I see empty pages and canvases waiting to be spilled onto,
but some art dusty and rusty, gone through 0-100 and have no space left but to die and leave it to the rest, because all those pages have been fulfilled.
Life carries on, into the next barrier of a woman's womb...and that is truly where the first page starts, or the first speck of paint draws...into the ****** of a fruitful woman most babies will call their mother.