Happiness, a fleeting thing,
particular, its granules scatter
into atoms carried by the wind;
separated, it doesn’t matter
who it touches, how far it goes,
because apart, it is not whole;
a small dose only lasts a heartbeat,
then abruptly, we must pay the toll
in sadness, which always seems so pure,
it’s never scattered from its source,
it merely lies in wait of prey
and when it strikes, we feel remorse
for the loss of loved ones taken early,
and all the things we should have said;
how do we fight this beast that feeds
on angry hearts where’er it treads?
Bitterness ekes at this depression so slowly,
making time move at a snail’s pace,
feeding the hunger deep within her hollow heart,
filling her with the familiarity that she craves.
She knows how to be sad, but when things are great,
her brain screams to her that something must be wrong,
for nothing should be so perfect,
for when it is, it must be fake.
Though logically, she knows
that the real illusion lies within the sadness
tucked away inside the marrow of her bones,
she quietly resigns to its painful pull.
Her heart aches from the fullness of devouring
the decadent feelings she’s so used to accepting,
and it does not have the enzymes to digest,
so, each time, it will burst, and she never finds all of the pieces.
The Future Waits For No One
I don’t have time for sad songs
or the thoughts that cross my mind
on this bitter morning.
No time for spilling tears,
for my future lies in wait
on the other side of this white line
that I surely cannot cross in time
with this painful trudge that I’ve developed;
the chains, they multiply
with every melancholy notion.
I have things to do,
and you,
I am weeding you out;
you make me feel these things, and I
just simply don’t have time.
Happy Pills
I just want to feel okay again,
like a child, without this
persistent aching,
this tired feeling,
and the all-too-common side effects
of my medication cocktail;
this back-and-forth sea sickness
sending me sky-high
on emotional roller coasters,
and then back down into the depths
of lung-crushing ocean trenches,
is way more than I ever
in my whole life bargained for.
Could they just please
cut open my brain
and cauterize the parts that
don’t work right anyway?
Rock Bottom
You don’t know unless you’ve been
to the bottom of the ocean and back,
the pressure pressing down upon your head,
and the depletion of your precious breath.
You don’t know the monsters
that reside inside the trenches
unless you’ve seen them
with your own two eyes,
unless you’ve felt their razor bites
closing down upon your limbs.
You don’t know,
not unless you’ve been,
so do not try to understand;
please trust me when I say
you don’t want to.
The Thoughts of an Anxious Girl
Every day, I awaken with acid eating through my belly. It burns holes in my bed clothes and sheets, consuming all that is around me. I cannot stop it, a lava flow with a mind of its own, gone out of control.
And it is all my fault, all of it, always and forever. I have failed to take care of myself, and so, my life unravels before my eyes like that sweater in the back of your closet, covered in pulls and loose threads. You can no longer wear it; you can only glance at it and think of all the wonderful times you had with it on, and there are too many to count.
But they are only memories. I am only a memory. The me that everyone knows, she only exists in your mind. She is faded now, dying, just waiting for the day you come to terms with the fact that she’s ruined, and you toss her out, just like that. And that is the day she will finally be dead. She will finally be free of the burden of living up to the memory she created. She won’t be here to concern you anymore. She will be gone.
Please, just let her go. I would really appreciate it.
The Death of Everything.
The snow falls signaling
another nuclear winter.
We taste like ashes
and dusty bones
tonight by the television
and
it is not what you think,
but it is what you see;
reality is cold,
and my love,
our blood
has finally frozen.
Have we given up hope, o my soul?
Have we given up on living,
merely settling on existence?
Has the light extinguished,
the black permeating your beauty, once shining,
now muted and faint,
a lighthouse struggling to shine
in the midst of stormy night skies?
Have we given in, o my soul?
Have we finally quit,
surrendering in sadness?
Has depression finally taken
your bright golden reigns,
turning them to pyrite,
fool’s gold deceptively replacing
the hard-earned fruits of your burden?
Is this the end, o my soul?
The time to mourn your passing,
the hour of grieving upon us?
Have you seen a new light, so far away
from this tormented body
that clicks at these keys,
trying to rid herself of
the feelings that come with your death?
Have we given up, o my soul?
This is it, isn’t it?
This is it, finality,
the last straw, breath, heartbeat;
the end, but also the beginning
of something bright and new.
(one can only hope and dream,
it is all we have, after all.)
Helpless
It hurts to know
your sadness,
it hurts to know
I’m helpless
in your greatest time
of need,
when the depression
rushes over you,
ocean waves crashing,
rip tide pulling
you into the sea.Nature is stronger
than I’ll ever dream,
and you are forced under,
no breath left
to even cry,
much less call out
but I hear you
and your silent teardrops
though they fall
from your face submerged
in merciless waters.And though I know that I’m
a talented swimmer,
your sadness trumps
any skill I may have,
no matter how much;
I’m so helpless
to save you
from drowning.
Helpless
It hurts to know
your sadness,
it hurts to know
I’m helpless
in your greatest time
of need,
when the depression
rushes over you,
ocean waves crashing,
rip tide pulling
you into the sea.
Nature is stronger
than I’ll ever dream,
and you are forced under,
no breath left
to even cry,
much less call out
but I hear you
and your silent teardrops
though they fall
from your face submerged
in merciless waters.
And though I know that I’m
a talented swimmer,
your sadness trumps
any skill I may have,
no matter how much;
I’m so helpless
to save you
from drowning.
