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Perhaps we take photographs
and selfies of ourselves
in the event that someone might care,
in the event that someone we haven’t spoken to
in a long, long while, might see us there,
and just for a second consider the thought:
that everything’s quite alright.
Or, perhaps we do these things
in order to remind ourselves we’re alright,
even when we’re anything but.
Let’s make this hard demeanor
seem effortless as clothes,
worn to keep you even
keeled, careful and alone, but
we’re not an island, flower petal
rock or sinking stone,
he’ll take the time, reverse the crime
and kill me in plain clothes.
You can sense it you know,
yourself shutting down—again
with the change of scenery, again
with the change of heart.
It’s like trying to stop a freight train
running yourself empty, till
all there is is but to explode.
It’s a very empty place to be living.
It’s a very empty place to be born.
It’s a beautiful fall day, though, isn’t it?
Isn’t it beautiful, this
in depth exhibition of yourself—
without the guts, with all the answers
and nothing all that good say.
What I lost in my depression
What developed over time
Who grew within my absence
Who called but couldn’t find
The person who they once knew
Who only wished to die
Where deep within my fortress
Of solitude did I
Salute them in their merit
Who tried from time to time
To free me from my burden
Which words could not describe
Though even in my heartache
I never told a lie
But took pride in them knowing
Their strength I too could find
That’s why I keep them with me
Past lovers, friends, and my
Gratitude for suffering
This awfully fragile mind
Grown with understanding
Like fruit picked from a vine
I’m grounded by their blessings
And grateful for this life
Words Of An Average White Male 