Elucidating Questions

The water colour skies in the waterfalls of the atmosphere.

Following your dreams is greed if you think of it hard enough,

If you think hard enough every action is negative regardless.

Someone will always dislike it.

The sweeping brushstrokes that create the greys blue and purples

A mountain range where it rains, or if it’s cold still the snow.

The cold of the elevation of being too hard, setting the self impossible bars.

Thinking of every action that can be remembered, but then removed as the comb of an old face looks over it

I was just a child, I whisper to the silence,

Trying to justify the actions of the past.

Knocking in threes, clipping of paths and crumbling of trees.

My soul and spirit may be yours, but the body is mine,

The chemicals that stream through the body creating too much heat to ignore

Is this what it felt like? Or is it the opposite,

After all the memories of the box often fade quickly,

But friends and support existed then.

Now there is no home to go home to at the end,

The urge to wander, to sleep outside

Rather than face a room rather than face the silence of another lonely night

A day that works but doesn’t have feeling.

Ah, but of course, a wish for the new ones,

I hope this real story has a happy ending for them.

And that the setting sun whose yellow lights and shadowed hills rolling away into the distance, the grip of the clouds,

Has been seeing some people whose happy endings exist.

I don’t know anything about it.

I’ve haven’t experienced it myself. Nor should I have expected it,

But there are others who will.

The pressure of them on my shoulders,

As I scrape by daily, on the bottom.

Roses whither, the brambles stay,

Patches of thorns as the petals melt away,

Into the ground beneath to be soil,

Roses whither, and rot away.

Petals fall day by day, a beast with a rose in the middle, or a rose who cannot speak.

You made your choice.

And so it goes, time takes all the beautiful away.

It was love. It burned me alive. It burned so bright that I thought I could be real.

Rose crafted from glass that shattered alone,

Brambles of steel nights and words that can only convey,

It was beautiful before, because you were there, in any way.

You’re welcome any time, an open invitation,

The deep only gets deeper because this is where I go alone.

When I thought I had someone and something and someones who I could know and show love to,

The rose garden had promised

Always ends up cold and empty.

The secret garden,

But the roses keep dying.

No matter what colour painted,

Secrets don’t exist.

Except for him. He’s the secret that is destroying every day.

I would never let it go,

I have to go back to the box. We can’t run free, I can’t be there and I won’t be.

I am the watcher. Again.

I find nothing every day.

They’ll go somewhere.

I will stay, locked in the pen he never enters.

They’ll be ready for it.

I will watch. I suppose.

Now there’s just dust. The brambles cracked and broken.

I don’t even have anything to pull anymore, besides the bones that ache and the head that pounds and the broken promises

This story would be welcome, but only if it was only for me.

Wouldn’t that be funny?

If it happened and it was only me?

Today, as yesterday, as every day since the beginning of the fifth

The almost halfway point to this year that doesn’t get better,

Doesn’t end, try harder get nowhere, fall into place where you can find nothing.

Still a shadow no one notices, still a nothing no one wants.

Still this, still left behind, still I wanted someone to come back

Why do I have to keep doing this?

All I feel is pain and loneliness and guilt and shame and

I miss the colours and the way it felt to think tomorrow could be good for something.

Possibilities that seemed infinite and we could do anything, if I could just get to tomorrow.

Tomorrow doesn’t come, midnight brings proof of it every day.

I wake up, I don’t run away, I wake up in this place every day

Inside it feels like

A dark place, this is where the losers go,

I am one of the world’s chosen losers but I am not losing enough for it to matter but every day

I would trade places with any of them, but I can’t because the question is still there and unanswered possibilities of impossibility.

When do I get to feel alive again?

When will the pain in my spine be gone and the feeling always being alone be gone and the feeling of always watching as everyone walls away and goes on with their lives forgetting me

I just want to say goodbye so I never have to say hello to this place ever again

Why? I wanted to know what I did,

I want to wake up and feel like the day could be more

This message ends, someday.

I was wrong to believe I could trust

Anyone.

My story of a dream come true, instead this.

I wanted to meet him, I found out I don’t need him

After all existing one day to another with no memory recorded

Remember events taking place, forgetting all else and the words are gone, I don’t remember what I write.

I don’t need him to fall apart, after all I do that alone every day.

Everyone remembers to forget me, while I wade up to my neck in the thick black memories

Tainted by time.

There are none sweet anymore.

Bitter and I will move forward,

So I don’t feel anything

Except misery, and pain.

Or nothing, and all the colours fade, and the music is grey.

I hope I don’t have a this time next year, if it means another birthday and all the holidays before

Watching every day as they go without me, being ignored.

Being forgotten about, and ignored.

Watching others flying free while the broken bird lies on the ground.

I hope I go somewhere else instead.

I should go somewhere I belonged, but I don’t,

Or I’d have found it by now.

After all the time keeps moving somehow, when I wish it would just stop so I could find the pieces and put them back together

Because every morning I wake and it’s with no one, and it feels every day like I just do as I’m told.

I wish I was going home,

I wish I was going home.

Stone crumbled away, pieces like clay

Someone come pick up the pieces with me,

I’d like to say,

Deja vu of tears as that stray drop falls.

All I see is empty tears,

More shots taken

When every day is a battle with myself to stay alive

Could have and should have and won’t

Because I’m still stuck on that line,

That tells me I shouldn’t take what isn’t mine.

So in misery, because that is all I can give me at the beginning of the hour,

I still don’t know because I did,

But he didn’t notice

Or he did

And I broke it.

Or something.

Or it doesn’t matter,

And unfortunately I’ll not be able to know the answers

As they’ve taken the word away.

Forever forever or whatever.

I just do as I’m told.

300 terrible reasons, or something similar.

I don’t see what I want anymore, do you see the unraveling

Of the stupid tapestry I built

Or the crumbling of the towers

Or the end of May.

The pieces are just scattered,

To the four winds,

Screaming to the winds, in silence,

I keep me alive for what if,

Kept making failsafes that failed.

I never missed the insomnia, keeping the day light through the night,

Maybe the wind would miss me.

See because I keep running out of people I want to burden with me.

Running to the elements to see if

Who knows.

These days everything that hurts feels like deja vu,

It’s just people taking the same actions, against the one who never took actions.

The actions made always swept away into silence.

They say love works backwards,

A currency,

If that is true then why spend love on anything after all if I deserve this then I don’t deserve love

Love, deja vu.

The further into the night, the darker it gets like some cheesy disgusting ham of a speech so why don’t I just do it?

Guilt must be a currency felt ahead of time, actions not taken actions taken both end up in regret and guilt.

Look how far we’ve come, to be where we are now,

Is a knife wound bleeding into the dirt.

In a perfect world you could kill hundreds and still have a family at the end.

A theme of romance seldom called but always told,

The hero is forgivable, gets every second chance.

Even in total destruction ends up with gold.

In reality the wind blows, the night is mild,

The ground is cool and the sky is clouds that haven’t fallen.

Hiding in pianos because words just hurt.

The blanket of simplicity hidden in the complexity

The retelling of a song once told.

Music heard now often,

Now the artist will never benefit.

But to hear perhaps his own music, surely to hate it,

And write his own, to make it better.

If only this world saw the todays.