I feel as alone as a leaf on the glassy surface of the stream
Afloat, no power to direct, or allay the fear of nameless deepest depths
or things that lurk within
I have successfully cut all ties from my past all loves I once had all hope have I lost
sit with me or since that cannot be sit by my and watch my misery,
puddle on puddles I seem to build gingerbread houses and match stick men too
oh, none of it real or lasting or fair, or something I wish to be remembered for
remembered, if only I could have that hope.
That I to would one day fade, brown tinted behind the glass and smudged by awe struck pudgy fingers as they learn my litany by rote,
to die is nothing, but I wish it were, I wish I could feel terror not hope.



What is this screaming harpy in my brain?
She is solitude, the one I cannot ever forsake,
she is my single fate my bitter flame.
I find myself floating in nothingness.
I know the answer,
to once again stretch out my arms in surrender,
to take a step and be met there.
But I am tired of stepping out.
I dig my trench here.
I will not hang my dirty laundry out of every window to dry.
What sap, what rot, rot to the bone,
flesh infested because pride will not ask for help.
I will live, and cry and die alone.
Why? Because men are not what they should be
and I too star struck to see