Like a child sent to his room
I’m stuck staring, blindly
thinking about what I’ve done.
Because I’m still healing, I mean
it’s really no excuse except to acknowledge how
I’m just like everyone…
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A message from that time I cut myself off from the world. (circa 2009)
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
Carrying on
I can sit and sulk
all day, yet I
get up, go out
and carry on
the best I can.
The difference between women, men, and scars.
Scars heal.
Women don’t.
Women remember everything.
Every failed step.
Every spoken word, every mistake.
But women forget sometimes,
that men too
are unlike scars.
Men don’t heal either.
Men remember everything.
Every time, every opportunity.
And every failed step.
Then there are scars.
The untimely breakup,
which neither swears
they ever saw coming.
Drunk in Cyberspace.
Everything, I wanted to do,
slowly drifts away.
Clicking here, now clicking there,
it all just looks the same.
An endless maze, of travesty,
piles on each page.
But I don’t have, the guts or tact
or sincerity to look away.
And each time that, I tell myself
tomorrow’s another day.
The calendar, it flips and turns,
yet I just stay the same.
Consciously, predicting that
in sunlight I will change.
Then by the moon, retracting that
I’m drunk in cyberspace.
If nothing really mattered
then I guess
nothing really matters
and so if nothing really matters…
Then why the hell do I keep on trying to explain?
Why the hell do I keep on
this way?
They tell me thanks, rinse and repeat
all I can do is laugh.
There was a time, when I was sure
there seemed, some way back.
A charlatan, a debutante,
perfection on a screen.
Deeper in, still deeper now
a web of misery.
And by the time, I’ve had my fill
and walking on a cloud.
The city lights, extinguished by
eyelids that do bow.
It’s not a curse or act of God,
that craves some kind of change.
But the terror dreams of darkness,
while drunk in cyberspace.
The cure, the cure is quite simple
the cure, the cure is quite simple
the cure, the cure is quite simple…
But.
Words Of An Average White Male 