sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Decades yawn and stretch across the years,
traveling up the stairs, around the chairs
coiling around the door of one small room
that was groomed by the sun of a Saturday afternoon...
Floating on a sea of a hardwood floor
I'm prone, on my back, on a lavender rug
Examining the nail of my left hand thumb
hearing you express, that you aced your class
I had confessed, to missing you more each day
linked only to you, by that ivory phone
and a ring on my finger, that bound our love
and blinded our eyes to the doubt of youth...
Invitations in the mail, and a church on hold
There was a cake on order, and a cold hard world
You were glued to my ear, I was entrapped by a cord
that tugged on the wall, with every word
Light from the yard is scored by the blinds
but, there on the floor, prone on my back,
I'm bound by the cord that tethered our lives
Linked to your voice, where love was wound
Hovering over the sea of cold hardwood,
I had a pillow of shag of a lavender rug
The days stretching short and our vows yet untold
A cord getting stronger, that time would unfold
It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.
Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens
Sometimes I laugh while reading in the library
Sometimes librarians come over and tell me to be quiet
Sometimes they ask if everything is okay
And always always I answer "yes"
Tragedy is never a sentiment for Time
For it is a phenomenon she merely sees
She pours forth abundance for all that behold her
Even for those of us that scold her
And for naught she was cursed from the beginning
There she is—interminable Time at the fullest!
And we all envy her ever-ringing constancy
She rules over our hearts
Keeping stress in our spirits
Not once does she feel sorry for us
Nor is she indifferent of our failures
She begs not for gratefulness
And accepts who she is with joy!
How ample we would be if we
Like she—were free of trepidation
If only we be like her waters—clear and visible from top to bottom
Filled with untainted approval
What fools we must seem to such a pure jewel as Time
But ah, she is both heartless and kind
And though we hate her peculiar aura
Oh how hard it is do tear her from our minds!
How stressfully beautiful Time is!
Like a wink of venerated bliss
She smiles and smiles
And our ironical faces feel like grime
Still she laughs in mirth
While the world becomes a ball of putrid hatred
Wanting more and more of her
And positively hating her
We that cannot see her began to hate
For we are as visible and low as can be
And we acknowledge her merely to insult her
Though she takes no pang to the chest
For the only gifts we give in return for herself are pangs
That she simply returns to each sender
Hidden is our pride
But ever placed
Is our inscrutable mortality
And this humiliation of our unchangeable fates
Makes us want to humiliate the more fortunate
Thus we regard her only as a concept
As a fraction of a belief—a bellowing ideal
For of course Time cannot in our honey-glazed eyes
Think, eat, drink or feel
We use her—yes! Even abuse her
Not once will she complain
For her gift is everlastingness
In the morning, I gather my thoughts of yesterday
Like the foraging chipmunk, collecting acorns
And stuffing them miserly in my jowls
The past is sustenance for a somnolent soul
As age condemns my faculties
I pull, from my once copious jowl
A jewel of sorts
A garnet set in fool’s gold
My memory is manufactured
Assembled and disassembled
No longer what was or is or will be
But was and is and never has been
Confine my thoughts to winter
Where barren fields and sterile trees
Offer less to recollect
Empty my jaws of these useless reminiscences
....and she laid it so bare,
Her soul to my hungry ear.
All her fear, hopeless and frail
Washed over me like a tide
I could not swim the likes of this
The eddies pulled me under
All along I wondered how she survived
The constant surge of her life
In the end, I'm glad I was there
It took it's toll on me to endure her pain
She only needed my ears and my silence
She only wanted to be loved.
For a night, we shared some peace from the world at large.
Only to find that NOTHING had changed.... But us....
Have overtaken me.
All of the wondering
That flew through
Has just made
Me, be unseen by the naked
Whenever I pass
You don't say hi
The only word
that could be said was bye.
I long for you,
As you do too.
Even though you
I will never
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
created not by God but man
harsh ridicule he endured
abhorring the mere site of him
people pursued a “monster” in perception only
carrying torches and weapons
angst festered within a tormented heart
sentenced to a life of agonizing loneliness
without committing a crime
abandoned by a thoughtless creator
his arduous trek to find him began
dwelling in caves, crying
hiding his hideous appearance
from a bitter world that rejected him
just one simple hope had he
find a companion to share affection
with prayers unanswered
suicide his only choice to escape solitude
broken-hearted, he faced demise in a conflagration
upon the northland’s glacial ice
cold as society’s treatment, hot as the fury in his heart
Oh! Sky the lonely heart
Dwelling upon my untiring soul
Lost with an unspoken word.
Fountain of misery teaches him
That defiant endurance…
Oh! Sky the lonely soul
The creatures fly and obey
But the hollowness prevails.
The Sun burns him with anguish
Yet he weeps with pride.
Oh! Sky my undeniable hero
You made me the undefeated queen,
But I remained lost in my thoughts of isolation!
Now I wish to merge in you
Come my hero …my sky!
A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday
That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing
There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out
Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real
Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice
It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face
In their dreams…
Whisper indoctrinated dialect
Upon my harrowing song
Remove that scented, plastic tulip
Place it upon my oblivious palm
As if we’re in a Sadie Hawkins dance
With petal currencies
I woke up only feeling like a thousand bucks.
A foreign knock-off made of recycled, rubber bolts
Tell me I’m priceless with borrowed, high-interest breaths
Liquidate my potent complacency
To become that symbol of an elitist humanity
Stroke that clouded, diamond tip
With your sensual thumb
Love stamps of approval
After 6 months of quickie penetration
And co-signatures on dilapidated apartment leases
Take me to our creator!
Tell Him I am free!!!
I will stand here in virtual observance!
Wait, where are you going?
Come back to me!
COME BACK TO ME!
My wheelchair’s batteries are fading!
How will I stand?!
Sadly, they never validated their reality…
©Drake J. Eszes
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
It’s dusky and smoky in the room.
People are talking too loudly,
laughing at a joke of which
the punch line was lost in the din.
I shift my weight on the stool –
the dimensions not quite fitting my shape.
My skirt rides up my thighs.
I leave it there and pick up a stare
from across the room.
Not quite sure if it was meant for me,
I notice a slumped punter
lift his glass in a salute.
I nod and turn reluctantly back
to my half empty glass on the counter.
A cautious tap on my shoulder
quickens my pulse.
It is late and my head is fuzzy
from the G & T’s, but this attention
is most definitely meant for me.
He mumbles sweet nothings.
Well, that is what it sounds like
through his whiskey breath slurring.
He picks up my flimsy wrap
and drapes it over my shoulders.
The touch from another human being
feels good on my naked skin.
I let him kiss me on the lips
and do not protest
when he calls for another round.
I cannot remember when last
someone has sweet talked me.
It is getting very late
and the prospect of being alone
fills me with dread.
In the dark corners of the bar
people are trying to expel
the mutual fear of being lonely.
Persona Literary Term refers to the narrator or speaker of the poem, not to be confused with the author - a narrative voice other than the poet tells the entire poem. The expression derives from the Greek word "persona" meaning mask. When the poet creates a character to be the speaker, that character is called the persona and the poet imagines what it is like to enter someone else's personality. This is an example of a poem where I have used persona.
It usually reflects the thoughts of the speaker and they are not necessarily the personal experiences of the poet, ie the poet places himself in the shoes of the other person and comments on a scene observed. It is a difficult format to write in as as the poet needs to keep in character throughout the poem and it tends to deviate from the usual voice of the poet.
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right
Alone am I and don't want to be, I pray for someone to come and rescue me. I
wander along this lonely path and think of those that I've lost in the past.
I seek for someone to walk with me, I look and entreat, for my soul is in despair.
Once I had a mate so fair and refined, she walked with me and soothed my mind,
but now she is gone. My world has become calamity. Now I wander this lonely path,
across mountains and through the pass. In desert places my soul does thirst for an
oasis to drink from on this lonely earth.
I despise the day and rue the night, when dreams come in and stress my plight. The
sun does scorch me, the cold sends shivers down my spine. No one to shade me, no
one to hold me, nothing to make the cold to flee.
My heart is weary and my mind whispers, your name is solo and will always be. My
shadow mocks me as I go, a reminder of long ago, when there were other shadows
not just mine alone. I've become a mad man, I curse the day and wail at night.
Perhaps some day I'll find sweet rest, join the ones I lost in the past and solo no
longer my name will be.
He is like a distant aloof star
in this universe we all call our home.
A tiny insignificant star and so estranged,
he is but a flicker among billions
and billions of glittering entities populating endless skies,
always waning, and yet, in the evening shadows
ever staying - unassuming, solitary, and silent.
As he enjoys fading into twilight oblivion,
no one knows of his ambitions, history or preferences.
Unnamed to everyone, he enjoys his anonymity,
watching asteroids, comets, and the other stars around him
in deep azure nights - aware - feeling a peacefulness,
a kind of security in his own remote oneness.
For David Williams' Con / VowPoetry Contest
people are like stars,
some are younger,
some are older,
some are brighter,
some are darker,
some are bigger,
some are smaller,
but in the end we are all the same.
shining bright with our personality.
dont care about what other people think.
its their own opinion.
be unique,be you.
you are who you are, and who you are is all their gonna get.
so shine like a star!!!
Love they say is a many splendid thing-
Love wove for me
Such a fine necklace
All gleaming with tiny droplet pearls
That hung from a sheer gossamer thread
Dazzling in clear beauty
Glistening in the morning gold of the frosty morn
Love sings for me the finest song
From the golden throat of a nightingale
Like the sounds of many violins
Stringing a tune of lonely times and long lonely nights
when he waited and listened to the wind for my whispers
Of loving response
Love shines and twinkles in the midnight hour when
Declaring on heavens evening robes where
Jewels dance across life’s moving screen
Love declares His undying passion
Then dawn rose from a heart on fire
It lit the garden with morning sun
Radiant-wearing the finest perfume
And colors of the rainbow bowed
In memory of our first lost embrace
The King waits anxiously-
For my smile and my heart.
© Brenda V Northeast 28th July 2012
The CAPTCHA took me by surprise tonight
Letters became ghouls in my mind’s eye
I listed them—
Noted them; words...begging, crying out for me
CAPTCHA was merely mocked
By millions of viewers on keyboards
I imagined all—
Tears began to fall
How may I help you, CAPTCHA?
Are you merely what they say?
Is there more—
Tell me, I pray
You bewilder my senses with your emptiness
The computer became my way to you
But all I could do—
I began to imagine someone stuck in CAPTCHA
A place where they harbored the weak
They took what they pleased—
Allowed them to speak
Today it was happening and evermore
There was a reason I came to know
I want to know more
I swallowed air and typed in the words
Feeling worthless and absurd
I began to believe—
There was more to this irrational dream
The screen went black and then I was sure
I couldn’t doubt it anymore
The CAPTCHA wanted me—
The letters suddenly blurred and unseen
Let them go
Full of woe
Take me now
Tell me how to
Set them free
Knowing is free
Knowing is free
For years I have copied your codes
Knowing you are there
Crying in the dark pit of despair
Though empty your words are to me
They are all I hear
All I fear—
In four letters on this electric trap
What am I to do?
To follow would weary my soul
Would take its toll
What is this foreign word my dear?
Oh, how can you cut and paste it in my mind so clear?
Close your eyes and count to ten
The victims of the CAPTCHA remain a mystery to us all
Yet still we stare at the codes and merely imitate them
We are zombies staring our lives away
Trapped in CAPTCHA’s claws
Sad, deprived. . .
I speak your language to stop this cruelty:
THEE 2TRUE TH78 IS9X BEF4 HOUR VERY EYES
Though we choose not to see
We choose not to fight
We choose only to IMITATE
We merely copy and paste
The truth leaks out
Standing there like a frail child
Taking the hands of the elder
Looking through the glass of lonesome
And seeing what rings real
Seeing what feels true
This gash in my heart mends
At the thought of you
But it never truly heals
Stranded in the wasteland of my mind
Brushed by burning cold winds
I fear there are no blinds over you
I fear you will see it
The very flaws I use to stitch myself
Locked up inside all of these years
Shadows ready to be freed
Only to be followed by greed
The skies have lost all color
Through the stitching
Truth hurts so bad
The truth is I love you
But why am I so sad?
I can't say a word
My feet are firmly planted on larvae
They slowly eat me away
Hoping I will be gone in time
Before you see
Before you see the truth
I don't want you to see
Perhaps if you only knew
That I love you
Perhaps you wouldn't have to open your eyes
Between happiness and sadness
—silence; an angel prays:
I kiss the loneliness of old people,
their temples like handfuls of winter;
are used baggage,
memories speak to them,
they smile and
tell me stories from their youth
silence passes unspoken
—they remember the dead.
I kiss the loneliness from their temples
and sadness lifts from their mouths.
From my first book: 'In Forbidden Language'
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2010
all rights reserved
Search Amazon Books: "in forbidden language/dah"
Sometimes the loneliest times
are when I am not alone,
and a stream of conversation invades my ears.
Sometimes the loneliest times
are when I'm with you
and you see my empty gaze stare into you.
Sometimes I want to be lost in the world
Sometimes I choose to disappear.
Sometimes the loneliest times
are when I am alone
and my thoughts force me into darkness.
Sometimes I wish that you could be me,
Sometimes I want you to see what I see.
Sometimes the loneliest times
are when my brain stops
and thought becomes the hardest thing
in the world.
I dedicate this poem to you,
The one who I used to call "friend",
"Best friend", or maybe even "sister".
Yes, you meant that much to me,
And I thought I meant as much to you.
No, maybe not as much, but at least a "best friend".
Did I ask for too much?
Was that too selfish of a request?
I thought that we'd be best friends forever,
I really did.
But I guess it was all just a fantasy,
A fragment of my imagination.
After all, reality is a much harsher place.
I think I only realized that after you walked away;
After you walked away and never looked back
And left me in a deep, dark pit of torment,
Wondering why you'd changed.
If I'd done something different, would you still be the same?
Of all the people beside me, I never would have guessed that
You would be the one to leave me like this.
And as I watched from a mile away,
How well off you seemeed without me,
I fell into a sea of depression.
For the longest time,
I felt so lonely,
Questioning myself whether anyone truly needed me.
Or was I only just second choice?
Now, as I am writing this poem,
I cannot say that I have been completely healed.
I still feel the doubt, the uncertainty,
When someone says
"I love you"
"You are my best friend"
Even when I know that it is all in my head.
But I think I can say with confidence that
I have become stronger,
Even if just a little bit,
Even though sometimes
I still miss you.
He sits on the corner of a building
Four stories above the world below
Playing his violin day after day
No one knows his name
They just know that there is beautiful music
They imagine that is coming from Heaven
Does it matter to this lonely man?
He doesn’t care for fame or money
God has graced him with the gift of music
He could be a star
He could perform with a huge orchestra
He would rather play alone above the people
He plays just to make people happy
He loves it when people dance down the street
That lonely man is an artiste
Too bad no one knows who he is
But that would not make him happy
things just arent the same...
with you gone
its like you were never there
like a ghost...
haunting my mind
haunting my dreams
its driving me crazy
i sometimes wonder
what it would have been like...
i dont want to think that
it makes you being gone harder to deal with
every single day is hell
because you left me alone to do this
and i cant...
im not strong without you
it was us...against the world
and you vanished before my eyes
leaving me to fight
but i cant.
because every single moment of this life is a struggle
you held me up when i was weak
and now im left falling forever in this endless hole of pain...
drowning in my own tears
wishing you were still here to save me
but youre not...
and im still here.
wondering if you were ever real
or just my minds way of saving me
but you have to have been real
i still feel you beside me
i still hear your voice...
you have to have been real...
you have to have been real...
were you ever real?
but where does this leave me.
stuck here in a trance
trying to make myself believe
trying to remember what your voice sounded like
trying to remember your smell
trying to remember your laugh
the memories are to vivid. too real.
so thats it then.
youre just a memory to me.
maybe thats how its meant to be....
A flame is so pretty, silent and gold
I'm scared and lonely exausted and cold
I've not much to say for I lack inspiration
I'm just lonely and weak in my sad desperation
Don't tell me you get it
Don't feed me your crap
Don't tell me your lies
A flame is so pretty, silent and gold
I'm scared and lonely exausted and cold
The sun was blaring down
That August afternoon
When Jesse came into the town
Of Early Blossom Bloom
The sun had blistered up his skin
His shoes were worn and tired
The clothes he wore upon his back
Was all that he acquired
Jesse was a loner
Traveled light and all alone
No family he could speak of
No place to call a home
For food and basic shelter
He would trick upon the street
For a twenty dollar bill
His throat would be a treat
His body aged and weary
From the life now forced to live
A new found way of living
No man had chose to give
The effort once put forth
Strength he no longer had
To earn an honest living
A concept he didn’t have
What would come of Jesse
No trade to call his name
In life he loved so many men
Each one a different way
But love for him was just a fix
An action he would show
Not something that would stick around
And nourish his inner soul
He travels to the city
In hopes to find a friend
One last fool to take
Before giving up his sin
But in this town
There was no one
To cater Jesse’s ways
No place for him to go and stay
Or a simple bed to lay
He sat down on the park bench
As dusk filled up the sky
Weary from the journey made
In hunger he did cry
In life he played a hell of a dance
No partner came to stay
Deep down afraid
The city streets
Would be his home to stay
In Jesse’s heart was anger
For the people passed him by
Not one kind word was spoke to him
He sat alone and cried
His prayers of some compassion
Were seemingly unheard
This was life for him now
Banished from the world
He died that night a lonely man
On the park bench all alone
Laid to rest in a lonely grave
The place he now calls home
The life and times of Jesse
Now just a memory
He was a man most would forget
For shame of his company
Think back on the life and times
That Jesse brought to earth
Would you have shown compassion?
If you seen him all alone
Who is to say who is to judge
For a life lived on the streets
For Jesse it was all he knew
And all he could ever be