I’m alone
And I don’t know what’s worse
Knowing I missed the opportunity
Or the fact part of me is happy

I’m experiencing this pain
I definitely am a participator
In self punishment
And if you don’t know what that is
It’s when
An individual
Takes their feelings
And decides to do something
That hurts only them
In the hopes
Of hurting another
Or getting the attention of another

I constantly find myself
For your attention
I don’t feel like a part of your life

Seeing as I have no idea
What’s going on
In your

And I feel like I will never know

I feel we will never actually
live together

This is a super uncomfortable situation
for me
and you
Don’t even notice


My happiness
is like wave after wave
crashing on the shore.

The sun shining, birds singing.
Breeze blowing
that salty warm air,
kissing your skin

But my depression
Is like a tsunami, starts out small,
builds to be destructive.

Breaking everything in its path
My soul
My being
My sunshine

The tsunami took you.

Seems Like a Difficult Feat

Seems like a difficult feat.

Destroying the overlord of writer’s block
while constantly battling the armies
of depression
and alcoholism
that are forever threatening your words.

Letters aren’t coming out in the right order.
But the commander knows what you mean.
He carries it out,
even as your eyes close,
and your body grows weary.

Your fingers can’t move anymore,
or at least you feel like they can’t.
When you awake,
hours later,
you discover something;
You’ve written nothing.

A blank page with everything
that should’ve been
that could’ve been
but isn’t.

Was it the depression?
Or the alcohol?

How could you
have lost all your major thoughts
and not have a single one down.

Million dollar ideas
you scream into your head.
“That could’ve been the big break!
It could’ve been what got you published!”

But you didn’t.
You didn’t stay awake.

You didn’t stop
drinking even when the
depression dragged the tiredness
just as deep
as it is
in your blood.

And now it’s gone.
It’s passing through someone else,
maybe they will catch it?
Maybe they won’t.

That doesn’t matter though anymore.
Because it’s already left you.


Starting off with a diary,
focusing on yourself.
No one realizes
that writing your truths
helps you write the lies later.

The truth of the matter is,
that as you write
you know your future is to read it.

So you want it to be exciting
and worth reading later on.

You write not to be honest
but to entertain the adult
you hope to become.

But what is being an adult?

You write.

How do you get past adolescence?
When, exactly, does your brain
and body change into adulthood?

How can you feel it?

you write.

Because every day you write
you also discover that the alcohol
is the only thing that fuels the ideas.

do you drink until the epiphany hits
you so aggressively you pass out?
Or do you pace yourself
and wait for epiphany
to creep around the corner
of your mind.

Finally ending this relentless game
of hide and seek
with the elusive and ever winning

Do you write to reach epiphany?
Or do you write to understand yourself better?

Do you write because it comes naturally
and feels right?

Back to square one.

Seems like a difficult feat.

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