Thoughts of the Lonely

Sometimes like on nights like tonight...when I feel so alone, I remember what it fees like to want to die.
I want to scream, break things, cry in someone's arms until i  am shakeing and exhausted -
Until I have run out of all the anger and self hatred the resides inside myself; an unwelcome guest who has checked in and since never left.
Yet, there is no one to run to except myself.
On nights like these where death or self harm seem so ideal, what are you supposed to do?
Go to bed and wake up the next morning, going about your day as if it never happened?
But, it DID happen - and it is only a matter of the sun going down upon the horizon for it happen again.
What a vicious vicious cycle, this twisted, never ending game is.
And all I want to know is who's on my side?

Inspried by Strike Lines

Hunger
in a dark sak
makes you think you're stronger than you are.

Relentless looks
early hours
no figure standing.

Listen
Notice
Quiver
and you will know.


March along,
flag of desire
flag of ambition
each lost in a room of private dream.


Little time is given here to rest.
Someday, people in their places
lifted up by the ribs,
never knew one day to the next.

Imagery

Time as a constant

Tangible answers

I keep those postcards of thoughts in my vest pocket

Memories not to be repeated

Stay only because I choose to keep them

Like an antique polished picture.

comfort

you've been laying in my bed
and as i'm crawling into it without you now
i've noticed quite a feeling of comfort.

the warmth of your body is lingering upon my sheets
and i slip into them alone now, yet somehow i am enveloped with it
the warmth, the happiness and the understanding

it's as if you are going to be next to me,
holding me while i fall asleep
and you're not even here.

such an indescribable comfort
even though i know you have left,
you left part of yourself here,
to be with me,
to help me through the night

thank you

it wasn't your secret to tell

i think about how
it might have been
spend our days traveling.

it's not that I don't
understand you
it's not that I don't
want to be with you
but you only wanted me,
the way you wanted me.

So, i will head out alone
hope for the best
we hang our heads down as we skip the goodbyes
you can tell the world what you want them to hear
i've got nothing left to lose, my dear
so,
i'm up for the little white lies
but you and I know the reason why

. . . .

Been given 24 hours
To tie up loose ends
To make amends
Thier eyes said it all
I started to fall
And the silence deafened
Head spinning round
No time to sit down
Just wanted to
Run and run and run
'Be careful' they say
'Don't wish life away,'
And now I've got one day

And I can't believe
How I've been wasting my time

she knows me

i have a friend
who likes to take pictures
she loves to capture moments
she loves to encapsulate time
she is the keeper, and the giver
of memories.

looking through her photographs
i am struck by awe and jealously.
she has the talent to come from behind
and SNAP you-
at your most vulnerable
your most happy
your true authentic self, uncensored.

i'm looking at myself in her photos thinking:
'this girl looks so happy to be alive'
it doesn't register that this girl is me inside of my head
because her gift is that of exposing reality as it is,
not as we believe it to be.

panting, deep breaths, high fives and hugs
can all be heard when you look through her lens
and they can be heard because we were there - i heard them too.

i was the deep breath for an exhausted friend
they were the high fives for a beaten spirit.
my friend has a gift to shape and change the world as i see it
as we see it - and know it, or believe it to be.

my friend has a gift to change the world
because through her lens, everything suddenly makes sense
looking as it should always have been seen
illustrating the very things we kill ourseleves striving for.

my friend has a gift
she
is a keeper, a holder, a giver, a bestower
my friend,
who likes to take pictures
introduces me to what i've always wanted to be..... a beautiful self

i think of you

sometimes, on nights like these

as i lay awake in the darkness that consumes me

i think of you.

it's then that i can still hear the whiskey on your breath

when i can still smell your perverseness staining my skin,

your fingerprints erasing every piece i thought i ever knew-of myself

i can only think of you.

that afternoon when the world went dark seems to permeate amongst the light of the evening

making shadows seem as if they were always meant to be friends,

always meant to be something standing, watching from the background

acting as the only witness, i will ever know, and will ever have when

i think of you

i feel the weight of you from behind my pillows

from underneath my sheets

the fabric softener i have chosen seems to be failing as a shield

the only one i have to protect me in the dark

the only tangible seperation i can find to grasp and keep myself from the un-consenting pain

i feel so helpless because

i can only think of you

i think of someone i think that know, have once maybe met in my life.

however

i know not of this strangers face,

but of his grip,

not of his color

but of his suffocation,

i know not of his hair,

but of his blood, my blood-

which mixed into our conjoined sweat: mine cold, his heated.

fabric is what singularly seperated us that day.

that was all it was.

it had to be there in order for you to remain a mystery.

like a bed that requires sheets,

you too, require a covering to detach from me; from any victim or survivor.

perhaps you knew me-

knew that the moment i looked into your eyes, i would know you from another life, or time.

i would become apart of you, permeate and infect like a wounded scar

a bad burn telling a story from your past: that was my past.

perhaps you knew that seeing my face may make you feel....something? anything but nothing.

i think of you.

after-all, you buckled me in.

Let today remind you

Let today remind you that life is unpredictable, yet incredibly accurate in knowing what we need out of it. A reminder, that there is always a purpose being created and discovered. A reminder for meaning, a reminder for strength and a reminder for hope.

"Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping, if it were not. God delights to isolate us every day, and hide from us the past and the future. We would look about us, but with grand politeness he draws down before us an impenetrable screen of purest sky, and another behind us of purest sky. 'You will not remember,' he seems to say, 'and you will not expect.'... The art of life has a pudency, and will not be exposed. Every man is an impossibility, until he is born; every thing impossible, until we see a success. The ardors of piety agree at last with the coldest skepticism, — that nothing is of us or our works, — that all is of God. Nature will not spare us the smallest leaf of laurel. All writing comes by the grace of God, and all doing and having... The results of life are uncalculated and uncalculable. The years teach much which the days never know."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson, Second Series of Essays: Experience