day one hundred thirty-five: change in the tide.

this worrisome feeling

wont leave me alone

why do i worry

for you

this strange new feeling

wont get out of my gut

why do i wonder

when it will end

there's a creepy tide

rolling inside my soul

and it's going to take over

i'm losing control

there's a change in the wind

and a shift under foot

and i'm not fighting anymore

i'd rather just let it happen

because sooner or later

it'll happen

why do i worry for you?

day one hundred thirty-four: not even love.

intoxicate

your mind

with memories

unwind

the thoughts

of yesteryear

when all we had to fear

were thoughts inside our minds

not actions--

never defined

only imaginative instances

when we had all our defenses

up

and nothing

not even love

could bring us down

day one hundred thirty-three: there are tears.

there are tears

and they wont stop

because they carry

the biggest fears

from my brain

out my eyes

around my nose

down my cheeks

together at my chin

where they are released into the air

just to begin that water cycle

all over again

there are tears

and they wont stop

because they carry

the biggest fears

and the biggest fears

are the hardest

to overcome

day one hundred thirty-two: lonely soul.

constantly wondering

how many more days

i can simply make it

pretending that i'm okay alone

pretending that lonely

is my favorite state of mind

because it's not

theres an archaic ache

inside my soul

to be matched with someone

someone much like me

but much different, too

and there's this part

that wont shut up

no matter how long i suppress it

it returns with roaring glory

"you're alone..."

"there's no getting out..."

"there's no one there..."

and the lies it whispers

i nieve-ly believe

because lonely is the saddest state

the saddest state of mind.

day one hundred thirty-one: come, death, lay with me.

ghosts laughed

and they cried

and they listened to

the midnight rhymes

and they let the leaves fall

from the trees so tall

tumbling down

laying on the ground

i lay beneath the surface

never to be touched

by such a beautiful leaf

only a root

digging in deep

penetrating the being that is me

breaking through the fibers

that create my soul

and it is selfish

with its unholy craving

to suck the life

from my life filled bones

come, death, lay with me

beneath the stone cold ground.

day one hundred thirty: nails on a chalkboard.

fingernails on chalkboards

raw in circles they go

breaking the silence

breaking the flow

of sanity and the sane and the perfection

and the fingernails they are dirty

beneath them is mud and sand

and they separate the nail from the flesh

and tear the insides apart

much like an arrow through the soul

would separate the marrow

lets just fake the smiles

and pretend our nails are no longer dirty

and scrape our beautiful chalkboard

until the demons cry their last.

day one hundred twenty-nine: lets be there for one another.

lets waste one another

use one another

let the tensions relax

lets face one another

embrace one another

let the fusion begin

lets watch one another

grow and mold and ruin

let the massacre begin.

day one hundred twenty-eight: broken pieces, broken dreams.

anxiety

lies

sometimes i'm ugly

inside and outside

i want to rip something in two

and fit it back together

in a whole new way

something of an art

like that time you took my heart

tore it in half

shoved the pieces back together

and laid them in my hands?

that was my biggest art project

and it taught me that life never goes

the way you want

but that's the artsy part

you get to figure out what to do

with all the broken pieces

and all the broken dreams

of yesterday.

day one hundred twenty-seven: comforting conformity.

i wonder if i'm crazy

in the head sometimes

because i realize

how much easier it would be

to just settle for less

than what i want

and it tempts me

the mediocrity

it tempts me with its instant gratification

and its long eyelashes

and its fleshy flesh

its comfort and conformity

and i just think to myself

it would be so much easier to make this bed

with someone standing on the other side

to tell me if the sheet is lopsided.

day one hundred twenty-six: clone.

you take something that nobody wants

and turn it into something that everyone craves

and call it yours

your concoction

your mixture of human

almost a new person

then you leave it all alone

like some sort of silly baby clone

and hope it does alright on its own

well now its turned upside down

and turned inside out

and all around

and it's just not alright

to leave it cold and new

and just let it find it's own

cause it's not who it wanted to be

its what you wanted it to be

but that doesn't make me any less human.

day one hundred twenty-five: why do you get it?

i don't expect you to get it

that i want to be alone

but that i still feel

lonely sometimes

that i'm kinda crazy too

but sometimes you do

and it makes me miss you

even more than i used too

so i almost wish

you didn't understand so much

because now it's like i'm missing

part of me and all of you.

day one hundred twenty-four: who understands?

Who Understands?

(Written 10/21/08)

they lock the doors,

so i stay inside;

they threw away the key,

so i live without hope;

they take my will,

so i am useless;

they twist my words

and i am broken;

they make me feel guilt,

so i live with my tears;

they feed me bitterness,

so my heart grows cold;

they take away my voice,

so i live in silence;

they take my innocence,

and my soul grows black;

i cannot walk through locked doors,

or love with a bitter heart;

who understands when i say

this is painful?

who understands when i say

i want out?

day one hundred twenty-three: today.

and suddenly

reality

feels so far away

try as i might

i refuse to fight

the feelings of today

somehow they are relevant

and matter here and now

and maybe someday

someway somehow

i'll stumble upon reality

and this will fix itself.

day one hundred twenty-two: evil all around.

evil evil all around

seeping from the vents

evil evil will surround

the sleeping children's tents

evil evil all around

breathing like a beast

evil evil all around

waiting for the feast

evil evil all around

slinks and slobbers in the night

evil evil all around

waiting to take a bite

evil evil all around

devours the rip red fruit

evil evil all around

it might be coming after you

day one hundred twenty-one: dear mine.

dear mine,

i am here

waiting for you

not to come "sweep me off my feet"

i can do without the showy

romantic cliches

but to show up in the shadows

and to, maybe, catch me off guard?

i wonder if you really do

even exist?

are you waiting for me to find you?

well, maybe i will.

i wont promise a dream come true

but i can promise to love you

like no other will ever love you.

treat me "right"

love me much

dont neglect the smallest touch

just be there

be around

let me enjoy finding

what i have found

don't expect me to dive right in

i'll be hesitant, at least, my friend,

but i'll be yours if you wait out the storm

and let me walk the tight rope

i'm stringing along

let me walk it for a while

to prove i can walk it alone.

day one hundred-twenty: my "Scream".

my own scream

in my own ears

echoing

from distant years

eons of ions

displacing the tritons

of the deep

black hair

whipped around

splayed in a frantic frizz

a billion dots make the sky

a brightly dim yellow and red

the minuscule dots

touch and cross

to make a cloudless sky

and on the bridge that black headed girl

stands face in hands

there are two walking away

their shadows hold five hundred

there are devils crawling up the bridge

like trolls from deep caverns

and a scream

infinitely painted

upon her paleish face

keeps her frightened of the mob

and of the devils' face

but when studied closely you'll see

a glimmer in her eye

that glimmer there remains

the change she will bring upon the world

if you just let her try.

day one hundred-nineteen: only the lonely.

isolation

insomnia

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

insanity

is ianthine

(or so I'm told)

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

ichongram

left in the sand

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

footsteps fall

away from it all

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

sleeping ictus

is the soul

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

refusing to sleep

ideopraxist

the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

ifsoever ignivomous love

did my soul take over

illaqueate my pulse

my whole being

my heart would simply slow

because you see,

as i've mentioned

only the lonely hearts

beat fastest;

day one hundred-eighteen: invincible me.

there are days

that i am invincible

its not just a feeling

i really am

and i can do anything

too

i can break anything

go anywhere

make something happen

that wouldn't happen without me

but the other days

i roll out of bed

and

before my feet hit the floor

the world has defeated me

today i'm afraid to put my feet on the ground

i'm afraid to see

if today i'll be weak

or invincible me

the days i'm weak

i'd rather just lay here

and hide from it all.

day one hundred-seventeen: maybe someday i'll stop running.

there might be a day

when i need to catch my breath

(much like to day

it's safe to bet)

that i'll need a second to stop and rest

there'll be a place where i must crash

and maybe a place to burn for a second or two

and there might be a day

that i'll stop running

and doing and being and seeing

long enough to pause and be

just silly little me

maybe someday i'll stop running

long enough to catch my breath...

but i don't see that day,

i'm doubting it'll ever get here

and sometimes i think thats good

others i feel like i'm outrunning time

either way, i think i'm looking for that day

the day i can be me.

day one hundred-sixteen: i don't feel.

i don't feel you

there anymore

because you aren't?

because you never

really were?

i don't feel you

i don't feel a thing

i'm growing numb to this life

to this pain.

you helped me sense

the realness within me

and the fake things too

you helped me feel

the things that were made of me

and thanks,

but now i don't feel at all

so now i'm left to wonder:

is it better to have felt then not,

than to have never felt at all?

day one hundred-fifteen: my puzzle box.

["Solitude is as needle to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character." -- James Russel Lowell]

sometimes i long for solitude

and no one understands

there's something in being alone

with thoughts and feelings

and figuring out what they all really mean

and how they all fit

like a jigsaw puzzle

of a million pieces

all inside the box

that is my brain

and they must be taken out

in solitude and pieced together

one by minuscule one

until a few match up

and fit together

to make a little bit of sense

but solitude doesn't last forever

and into the bustling world i must go

so the pieces may be pulled apart

and hidden away again

only to be shaken up

by the noises and sounds of the days

so i'll live my life

longing for that solitude

or someone to help me piece together

the pieces in my puzzle box.

day one hundred-fourteen: avoiding the voicing.

avoiding

the inevitable

voicing

the opinion

avoiding

the problem

voicing

the pain

avoiding

the inane

voicing

the crazy

avoiding

being lazy

voicing

the inevitable

day one hundred-thirteen: that ringing.

that ringing

make it stop

that ringing

from the clock

that ringing

here it comes

that ringing

behind the drums

that ringing

in my ears

that ringing

so many years

that ringing

will it stop?

that ringing

from the top

that ringing

in infinity

day one hundred-twelve: time for me.

time for me

to liberate

to live

to love

to lie

time for me

to find

to flee

to forget

to fly

time for me

to escape

to emancipate

to examine

to elaborate

time for me

to be.

day one hundred-eleven: where real beauty lies.

sad how you

cant see

that i am

beautifully me

because you're too

wrapped up in you

sad how you

wont see

that my God loves me

because you have to be

a certain size to please yours

sad how you

must bring

the hateful words

to pull me down

because you cant see

where real beauty lies

[inside]

day one hundred-ten: the lover's cry.

"...let him never die..."

oh, how a heart can be torn

twisted, smashed, burned

and still survive,

"...one question haunts and hurts, too much! too much to mention... was i really seeking good or just seeking attention...?"

sometimes the things we wish

for those we hate or those we love

aren't what they need

are only what we want for ourselves

but we're just too afraid to attempt

to change ourselves

"is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice cold eye?"

so, i'll question my deeds, my actions, my thoughts

i'll look at them from every angle

mix them around, and examine them again

and i'll pray that my good deeds

that my lover's cry

is really what we both need

"somethings i cannot change, but till i try i'll never know, too long i've been afraid of losing love i guess i've lost well, if that's love it comes at much too high a cost!"

so instead of asking you to change

i'll see myself through different eyes

i'll make sure i realize

that i'm really me...

"and if i'm flying solo, at least i'm flying free"

and it's probably best for you,

and, well, for me.

day one hundred-nine: that cat.

what i need

is a strong willed

independent

nearly hateful cat

because no matter

how much it hates you

you feed it,

you love it,

you even cuddle it,

and it'll always be there

because secretly

it loves you too,

only secretly

because cat's have

that independent air

in which they live

and an image they must uphold

just like everyone else.

day one hundred-eight: to speak the language.

wickedly despicable

gravity defying

mind blowing

tone envying

phones ringing

pause the life

and let the music happen

find the rhythm

find the rhyme

follow them

into no-time

hear the laugher

stand and clap

feel the low notes

tickling your diaphragm

let the high notes

take you higher

make you feel

that much lighter

let that music take you over

because music:

"music s too strong a language

for me not to speak"

day one hundred-seven: funny now, funny how.

funny how

you can't hear me

over your own complaints

funny now

that you're saying those things

because that's the opposite of how i feel

funny how

life works out

funny now

that you don't matter as much as i'd like for you to.

day one hundred-six: incomplete.

i dont

think in complete thoughts

not ones that end in periods

but ones that end with blanks

fill them in

if you'd like

but it wont matter to me

because my sentences are never

completely

complete

anymore