Other side

 You know it's funny, you always complained about how I always slept on the same side of the bed all those years and now that I don't have to share and make a choice, I sleep on the other side of the bed... naturally.

The dark secret

The dark secret that just sits on the surface,

My dark secret,

The one that no one really knows,

The one that isn't ridiculous like the small things I just chose not to share,

Not like the times I've been drunk and hurt people I care about and not really knowing what I did, but also too afraid to ask,

Not like the things I am ashamed of,

The dark one that owns me,

The one that tells a story of the lack of joy,

Constantly looking but not finding happiness,

Maybe not knowing it when it happens,

It seems that I am always unhappy,

That I can see joy but always find myself on the outside looking in,

Not knowing how to experience it,

Not feeling like I belong anywhere,

Wanting to no longer be here but lacking the courage to be done,

To end,

Feeling the defeat of all my efforts failing,

Not being brave enough to cut loose of the small comforts I hold onto and take a chance at something great,

Something that could bring the joy,

So I wander on this surface,

Lost,

Alone on the inside,

Fading,

Obscure,

Just waiting...  to die.

Limerence

 You still kill me softly, quietly...

Wounds without weapons or words...

Year after year with no end...

I have no defense from your sweetness...

Haunting, brilliant, graceful, fulfilling...

Moments and memories that still spark...

It brings, it stings, and then sorrow...

Knowing tomorrow isn't for me...

That this love is purposely set aside...

An old broken play thing...

Discarded at your leisure...

So the pleasure and the forever...

Was just a lie or a tease...

And is never mine...

Still I am pining...

Every wish, every prayer...

Cast from despair...

Meeting the same sad end...

Nothing...

Yet this heart still bleeds for you...

Needs for you...

Calls out and pleads for you...

And what can I do...

Nothing...

You own my thoughts...

Your stitching and bewitching...

Too hard to untangle...

Or maybe too hard to let go of...

I remember us...

I defended us...

Why did you not fight for us...

The bitter living

 What is the point of anything at all? 

You're proving nothing to no one for no purpose at all. All the reasons you think up are nothing but vanishing imagination. Forgettable forever. All that matters is actual matter. It's here as one thing one day and then gone and parts of other things else where the next day. We only tease ourselves that anything we do means anything. This is our great theme park of distractions. Welcome to life as a awkward sack of fleshy glop and bones. All your thoughts existing in an unknown emptiness that swallows them and they are gone in an instant to do nothing at all. Writing this means nothing, does nothing. Spark, spark, spark in my organic head space and gone without a trace.

Presence

 What do you think about during the day? What thoughts traffic your mind? Being present sometimes seems like the largest struggle in life. 

Another Melancholy Monday

 Feeling alone, when you are not. So tired when you've had plenty of sleep. Putting one foot forward in seemingly no direction. Anticipating tomorrow to be no different 

Broken hearted

I never felt entitled to your forgiveness... but I did expect it, of all people, from you.