This is one of my more....how you say.....more dark-er poems.

Dark, Cloudy Thoughts

Locked away,

Those happy days.

Precious memories,

Unlike the dark brambles

That encase my mind.

Stormy clouds hang 

Over my head.

Fogging my thoughts.

"That looks terribale"

One says.

"Finish this and you're done"

Thunders another.

I plead for them to leave.

To no avail, I cry my self,

To sleep.

The clouds then part,

Breaking my dark unwanted,

Shell apart.

I gasp at hope.

Then the unthinkable is here.

Black into White.

Shadow to Light.

They'll be back, I know.

But it's nice to see them go.

No more dark clouds.

Only sunshine in my mind.

Sad thoughts are sure to come.

Like rain.

Bound to arive,

But never stay.

Some day my mind will clear.

And oh how I hope,

That day is near.

Not at the top

Not at the bottom

What becomes

Of all that is in-between?

Those smushed words,

Sandwiched between pages

Upon pages of probably

Unread-for-years

Posts, empty web-addresses;

For they be hollow, only taking up space.

What are they worth?

Will they soon be forever forgotten?

By everyone but me?

If I disappear someday,

Will their entire memory do so too?

What about the passion of the poster,

Passion thought undying in that long-ago moment? 

A poster who may be gone, or still here today... 

Truth may be my policy,

But some things cannot be forced.

Scalding the roof of my mouth,

Lie greys that sit between being lies or not,

Streaks of something sad and dark escape

But the words get caught and fall apart;

Too smart to weather the web that is my mouth,

To foolish to slip from my mind as well. 

Indeed all is struck and crusted over,

And I cannot bear to tear open

Those scabbed-shut wounds again.

turn around

again

and push blankets aside but pull them up quickly

are the doors locked? did you check them?

(yes, five times)

the light is too dim here- someone's in the corner, i bet-

(turn the light up, turn around & check quick)

school tomorrow- what if youre tired and you can't focused and everything

goes wrong?

i wish i knew what to do

but my soul is climbing through my mouth in a

silent scream i can never let out, so i guess we're doing

this again

roll over, turn down the brightness on your phone- 

Click, click--

Bang.

Eyes levelled forward,

Breaths even and steady.

Nothing is amiss.

Click, click--

Bang.

Click, click--

Bang.

Life leaves another's eyes,

Breaths cease after a time of painful hacking.

All has shattered, cries ring out into the distance

Click, click--

Bang. 

Yet nothing is amiss. 

"farewell-to-spring"

--that's the name of the flowers scattered across the hillsides right now--

they show up when the weather gets warmer, 

and rainy days are starting to be few and far between.  

I can also see them popping up alongside my feet right now, 

their pinkish-purple standing out next to my scuffed black converse.  

the only difference is that they aren't saying farewell to spring. 

they're saying farewell to you. 

not forever, 

of course, 

just to our old friendship, 

the way things used to be.  

can you see them too?

they're twisted in my hair and follow me from class to class,

but no one else seems to notice. 

when I walk by you, 

and you don't make eye contact 

or smile 

or wave,  

they thread between the laces of my shoes.  

I leave a tangled trail across the gym floor. 

we have gym together, 

but you're a lot more interested in impressing your new friends, 

then acknowledging me.  

my chair in english has petals crushed beneath its feet. 

you sit behind me, 

but I doubt you've noticed. 

they cover my lunch table too, 

the one you never sit at anymore.  

but, 

just as I'm about to give up, 

start tearing those flowers from my life, 

I see you. 

you're across the hall from me, 

but I see you. 

and more than that,

I see the pinkish-purple flower,

that's tucked behind your ear.  

so, 

I wave goodbye, 

and you wave farewell back to me.  

I went on a class trip recently, and we had to journal about something, it could be anything, and this is what i came up with.  

Whatever comes to mind

i. i'm here & i'm surrounded by grass

& trees & flowers & wind

& i'm miles away from home

with no clue what i'm doing

& ten different assignments to do,

but all i can think is

i'm finally alone

ii.  i sat up straight & took

deep breaths & kept my eyes

wide open, & i nearly let the wind

blow me backwards onto

green soft sunlight

in the shape of slender little

stalks topped with braided seeds,

but i stopped myself

if the world gave me a

second chance, i wouldn't do so again

iii. there are grey thunder-heavy puffs

to the east, & swaths of heather-slate

to the west, & yet the sun still manages

to shine right into my eyes

& i can't tell if that's a good thing

or a bad thing

iv. there's a pile of grey white dead

cedars lying in a broken mound

right next to the green waving forest

& i can't help but wonder

how trees cry

v. i was given a second chance

& i took it

vi. second chances are feeling parts

of yourself you didn't know existed

& thunder gray moonless sky in all

directions, except there's whisper-gree

life all around you

murmuring just out of sight

& a hawk or eagle or vulture,

i don't quite know,

whirling through the sky like a

dandelion seed wished up to the stars

vii. i want to be a star,

a twisting sphere of light & everything

that isn't yet,

warping & swirling

burning hot in the middle of ice

a blip that wasn't supposed to be

but is anyway

viii. i want to fall into the sky

i want to plunge myself into the world

turning & rippling

eyes open wide &

feeling the rush of stone &

laughter of seashells

& whisper of feathers

against my hair

ix. i just realized

the horizon's the same no matter

where i go,

sitting in blue-painter rocking chairs

or huddled on a rooftop

or at the top of a tree

or riding a horse, i

see the same place

x. it turns out i'm not along

after all, & all i can feel

is quiet, downcast fear

because people scare me,

these people most of all

xi. now all i can see i

shadows & barbed wire &

rusting farm equipment,

so i lay back

on the grass

& try

just

try

to remember. 

Happy Birthday 

Happy Birthday.

The words taunt me mercilessly.

For they represent such irony,

A constant blaring reminder, memento mori, in the few moments free of such thoughts and controlling that instant where it arrives

It still reeks of the sickening dust of fire – not birthday candles, but something much larger, I'm afraid;

Of bloodsoaked pavement masked by a maddening drizzle of petrichor liquified;

It still screams of sirens in the background as everything fades in pure numbing shock

Shock that rings of urgency, hurtles me into a state of flight when all I want is to stop.

Of timetables and gavels and court hearings and custody (what did such things even mean in those early days?)

Of eyes lowered at the ground, eyes glossed in yet unshed tears, flesh strewn and torn by bitter scars.

But that was all in the past.

However, even today those words feel hollow.

They echo coldly with the emptiness of things never said, of ghosts just as see-through to the world as me.

Something that really should no longer exist,

Of unhappy accidents that screech into unsuspecting victims’ lives.

Tests and sickdays, overtime minimum-page paychecks, pills dry-swallowed, smoke pouring – curling ever-so-delicate – from wind-chapped nostrils.

Lacerations lining where the old ones have faded, eyes blinded by years of refusing glasses-

And still, the humid grey smothering-cloak of April.

The sun may peak out, but all is still mope and dreary; what a sick illusion, a bitter reminder, just like those words.

Indeed, for me those words only resummon this sour collage again.