for those confined to small spaces

a sickness
an illness
depression is an addiction
lived through, torn through
abides only in and of itself
a pain
a sorrow
depression tears in and contorts
rearranges the abstract
and consumes
like a lover
with your best interests in mind
swooning the grave and a step away
at every moment of the day
until it lifts and leaves
and the feeling remains
like junk
a gentle kiss on the lips
as it returns
and burns back into
that failing state of mind
in time to the rhythm of your heart
from the very start
a need
as you bleed
the condition
that you feed
with the dark spaces
when you close your eyes
and everyone dies
a little when you are near
and you hear
the trumpets blaring fear
for another day
in no other way
than the life you lead
and how you bleed
from the deeper wounds
cut by the threads of existence
so you lift and rise
with the tides
of pain and regret
reeling from the thought
of another day this way
to lead you astray
and you hope you are brave
enough
to remain tough enough
to live a little bit more
but you're sore
from beating yourself up about it

depression

we talk so eloquently of depression
of how it's so easy to turn someone from
the edge,
but how many people out there can actually say
they have the answers?
how many of those would take the time
to listen?
and if you were to listen, would you understand
what is being said?

it's as easy as changing your life
or taking a pill
or parting the sea
and yet it will always remain
just behind the eyes
where darkness is forever

we have learned to turn away from the negative,
to pretend it isn't there because it's not
happening to us

we switch off our feelings
so easily, but those who feel can't so easily turn
those emotions away

we live in a sensory world and some
simply choose not to recognize it

there are horrible things happening everywhere
and just because you refuse to look
doesn't mean they're any less terrible

and there are some who get caught up
and lost in that swirling mass of
smothering darkness
like diving into an ocean
rather than dipping in a toe
to test the water

and there's no life raft here

and salvation only comes
with how quickly you can drown

Robin Williams

Robin Williams died today, and i cried.
He died of an apparent suicide, but that's not why i cried.
i cried because the world lost someone special, and it doesn't
matter how it happened.
We don't need another poster child for suicide prevention.
It was his life. It was his right and only his right to do with that life
what he wished.
i'm sad because we lost a beautiful smile, and the beautiful mind
that went along with that smile.
But no matter how sad i am, it can't compare with what he must have
been going through to make that final decision.
Sometimes the biggest smiles hide the most painful secrets.
Some say that suicide is a selfish act, and they may be right, but what are we talking about
in life and death if we're not speaking of self?
Courage only holds out for so long.
Strength to endure dwindles.
So i can only hope Robin's tears touched the sun and will forever burn bright
for the rest of us to remember the smiles he put on our faces.

always untitled

it hurts to watch the sunset
to feel the light drifting over placid skies
and wonder what the rest of them are doing tonight

it bleeds me simply when i think of them wandering
out there all alone as the sun parts over ocean blue
where nothing seems to live

within, wandering without
and their screams are supple and thick along the shore
where nothing seems to care

it grabs me in the strangest way when i think of them falling
short of an epiphany, sleeping under bridges with hair matted
to their heads like they're trying to sweat out the last of
whatever it was they once were

and there's a distant song playing in the water,
drowned trumpets and harps sobbing,
that makes me feel as if this is all there is for the reckless abandoned,
the hopeless and lost -
searching for a way out that will never appear
from the walls that close them in

a calm corner of Hell

my heart is dark
for the place we scatter
red rose petals
at the place
where innocence
is shot down
like crimes committed
in the anger of lust
and drawn intention
for those mistakes
made
in haste
she'll never love another again
she'll never fight
or lose
or win
ever again
and it's a shame
for the sparkle
has become lost in transient eyes
that forever stare at unpronounceable skies
and she's slack for the spark has seeped away
into a meaningless day
come apart in spite of good intentions
and past reflections
she's too far gone
to long
for lost love
traveling above
another mother crying
for another sister dying
for she was tired of trying
and what she once was
is now simply lying
on a bed of concrete
and rose
for where she fell
and all is not well
in this particular corner
of Hell

endless empty compromise

some of me
is better than
none of me
for what i
believe
is unbelievably
stretched past
the imagination
of repression
and personal
representation
it tingles
at the base of the neck
where the spine connects
and the ink separates time
line by crooked line
in the vast reaches
of the future
where the heart
seems to rupture
of its own will
and the breath
remains still as
the feeling of ill
remains
and always will
until ...
some of me
is better than
none of me
and some day
i may see
the true
representation
of me
set free
from the dream
that settles
my fancy
and silences me
truly
forevermore ...
or so it seems

what you're feeding me

you escape me
from time to time
and i cannot see
what it is
you've done to me

if i was anything other
than me
i wouldn't be
nearly as free
as i believe me to be

in my glee
i try to see
through my need
and weed out the
the symptoms
in which i feed,
firmly planting the seed
of each of every deed
i have committed
to set myself free
from the unconscious stream
of my own self esteem
to deem
the cream
rising to the top of a dream
which never truly
represented me,
not fully

and maybe that's what i see in you,
something free and shrouded in truth
but what remains is gone and gripping
as we slide, gently tripping
through emotional needing,
ever demanding
a little something more
from our incessant feeding

so i can't look at your face anymore
i would rather soar
high above this
but i'm afraid of coming down
for fear i may drown
on the truth you're feeding me