There's mist across the room, And I can see you lost: Miasma of regret, And gray depression's frost -- I love you, but I know (I hate that it's this way) I cannot ease your pain, Nor make it Go away

There's mist across the room, And I can see you lost: Miasma of regret, And gray depression's frost -- I love you, but I know (I hate that it's this way) I cannot ease your pain, Nor make it Go away
anger feels renewable
sadness limitless
hope seems like the ocean floor
distant fathomless
everything that is is wrong
only dreams feel right
and days are only faced because
they lead into
the night
her friends say, “you’ve
a life that’s full and blessed –”
but all it’s full of now
is emptiness
for beauty comes and goes
like flowers in may;
and lovers come like night,
and leave
like day
The wheel, it turns and turns and turns, The music pipes its happy sound; But I sit gray and empty here, Upon this cold and windy ground The carnival is everywhere, It's in the eyes of passers-by; The wheel, it turns and turns and turns -- We're born We grow We love We die
These people see me now as something old;
A dusty, wrinkled thing – long broken down —
Not someone vibrant, who, with manifold
Expressive loving gifts dons this green gown
For I am no one now; not anyone.
These owlish, peering eyes that merely stare
Try to invoke humanity in them:
They look past me as though I was not there
They don’t mean ill, they do not feel at all;
I’m just another client in a bed —
Who’s so unprepossessing in his mien
That should I, in five minutes, turn up dead,
They’ll register that there are no heartbeats:
Then merely move the corpse, and change the sheets
Her back hurts, so she cannot rest,
And work is suffering these days;
She’s daily there, within a haze
Travailing, tired and depressed
But when she can, she breaks away;
She sits alone somewhere offsite,
And for one moment, doesn’t fight
The constant battle that’s today
Now paralyzed, pressed down, and held in place Your back in spasms, grabbing, catching fire A drama with no story to amaze Just turgid, painful truth, internal red Believe in no one, welcome everything This was the mantra, no? Or was it this: Palatial are the regions of the heart That soon lie empty as a ghost in Spring The bed becomes a cage, a snare, a trap The mind becomes a dark, accusing judge The world outside is snowing mail and sludge And you're back here again, back here again
swirling unspecified in the middle of a chaos poured from pitchers of deep rain cannons firing across the still december mourning for a lost adulthood framed by a little used childhood endeavor just brings sorrow what if i can't do it what if i'm not enough what if i what if what
she lies awake and wonders where it went
the glow that once surrounded who she was
for all the hidden talents she’s misspent
for random choices, lacking a “because”
in stillness now, she thinks of one mistake
her mother’s eyes with tears were dabbed and flecked
for all that woman’s faults, for goodness sake
she didn’t merit wanton disrespect
but now, her mother gone beyond her reach
the tears beset her eyes, and she feels shame
the lessons only loneliness can teach
when there is no one else that’s left to blame
but she’s no worse than most: it’s how she’s built
to lie awake awash in waves of guilt