Little Bird Poetry

 I am a very anxious person the outside world seems so frightening and unkind expressions on the faces of others seem so foreign so  cold I am so disconnected from the life I'd lived for so long it seems distant a faint whisper twisting through flesh this useless fucking mind of mine what is the fucking point of anything anymore everyday melts into the next smearing lines between the marijuana  and the reality I have so gracefully lost grip  on what feelings are I am so numb sedated and absent my soft folds in my mind folded and tucked just so that each train of thought just  disappears  it all just stops I constantly  foolishly  reach for hands out of reach my family has fallen apart I never see the sun bask in gentle sunrise  so soft warm its cold in the world these days  every ending of nerves dissolve I am so defeated Done the music is but a cheap imitation flipping through the albums of my mind looking for the track that connects th...

 Things will never work themselves out It's always something new Death Depression Pain Repeat My jaw aches  I eat the hit Every Single  Time No one lives up to their promises No one loves you for anything but themselves Most men only want to know you as deeply as they can get themselves inside of you It's a trap The idea of being happy For it only occurs in fleeting moments Begging to be chased Yet never staying too long Because it will never be about what you want Only the needs and wants of others It Simply Doesn't  Happen Never will I be privy to a nice life Or any realizations of the dreams  I've so desperately clung to Those fraying intertwines of fibers Sheared and spun From the deepest sinews of the heart My needs and wants Will always play second to the ego of another As at the end of the day Not everyone is destined for anything more Than laying next to a mass of flesh That echoes the sounds  Emulating reflections of yourself Love is blind For how ...

 Cool sanded wood greets my worn feet walls stretching infinitely before me here the morning light always dances through crystal panes the trains rumble in the distance birds now just beginning their serenade for the dew a time before any thought fully forms when peace is simply the only thing present the air just cold enough to get my skin to prickle my hair hangs just so  over my shoulders just brushing the small of my back I'm happy comfortable in my own skin maybe its raining  maybe there isn't a cloud to be seen it never really has mattered time does not ever cross the emptiness of my thoughts just feeling feeling joy never too loud but just enough to warm my chest  and keep me content frames grace the pale walls carefully arranged  each holding their own place in time throughout the years snapshots of the memories I can't forget  things lost to my spirals into the decades each frame my fingers brush  floods my senses  moments that make me wa...

Inky deep pools Clinging to my arms Legs Warmly embracing my chest So comfortable My eyes Glazed in the grey So nice To float In, out, amongst the grey Becoming one with nothing As it all slips away

The night wind cut through the blue fabric Slicing my face  My eyes My neck The city lights blur by Building tops to high heaven I feel it Such things never last The pavement rumbles As if the sky had opened Lightening crackles As I fell through the glass Cold metal pressing Between amber pools Tears slide down Crystal droplets  Embracing asphalt Click The last sight A woman wrapped in fear Cemented in pain Not ready to let me live

My eyes are met with sights of familiar roads Passing country fields Dotted by roaming cows Sky so clear  I imagine it may shatter  My hands A simple construct of flesh and bone Bearing ink, scars, skin Whose are they Suspended between wake and sleep My mind flutters  Barely contained within human confines Where have I gone The shell stretched Loose Begging in silence  To be released Who am I The thoughts darting  Racing for the finish Am I but a figment of mind Or an unwanted guest in place of another The sun is so warm Wind catching hints of hay and the distant call of the birds I only have two more hours to go

 How is it I've been fighting the same enemies everyday as if any of the problems are new I'm so sick of the ropes slipping in the door cracks, unsealed windows,  secretly slipping down as I walk under trees casting the same shadows as always yet still laying across the worn pavement as always nothing ever really changes, does it its always going to creep back I fight the things of which I share the same face 5 steps forward and 4 steps back sometimes I'm missing hours days months but I can't seem to lose it all the memories are intoxicating feelings of morbid joy as if chaos is the only home in which I find peace like the absence of sound prevents sleep and lack of misery prohibits pleasure of joy I can feel the knots tightening each day holding me at the mercy of my own self hatred so much regret after glimmers of what happy could be and I'll never know if I made the right decisions until its too late I suppose