The guilt
tears
at these decaying
walls
as they
crumble
into
oblivion

We lay upon
frozen grounds
wondering
what
brought
us here.

It is these moments
Between the laughter
The smiles
And the moments
Of feeling
Like
For once
We belong

That I live for.

Lying here 
in the
calignosity
that surrounds
us

Watching
the subtle changes
in this void
as your back rises with
each breath
and
then
falls

Dread 
fills
the pit
of my
stomach
as I hold it
with both hands
and count the
seconds
between
the minutes
and it seems
endless.

The  words
that I left
unspoken
sit heavily
on my
chest
but I realize
that they
would
do more 
harm
than good.

And so
I pull the blanket
up over  my head
and lose myself
into the abyss.

Down
down
down
I go

back down
into the
abyss
as it
calls
so clearly
to me.

But this time
it
was
a
jump.

The leaves fell
uneasily
that day.

A heavy gloom
sat tense
in the air.

The road
was long,
but today
it seemed
even longer.

My legs
were tired
and my
throat
choked
down the
air
dense
with
unconfronted
anxieties

Trudging along
amongst
the dying leaves
no longer
bright
with their
vibrant
reds and yellows,
but
various shades
of death,
decay
and
unresolved
matters
of contention.

- I think about
all of
my lasts
and wish
that this was
one
of them.

I kick myself
for even
contemplating it
but, God,
I'm so tired.

My heart heavy
each night
with a guilt
that isn't deserved
as I flutter
between sleep
and unrest.

-
The leaves
fell
uneasily
that day.
It was the last of many.

The sun was hot
but the sky was grey.

My chest
was heavy
with the feeling
of fighting
a battle
you just want to quit
because
honestly
what is the point
to any of this
to all of this

I would torture myself
for all of these hours
if it were for nothing
and yet
the road grows longer
and the days
shorter
and I just
don't think
that I'm going to make it home
tonight
for supper

I just don't think I will.

I don't

I don't
want to.

I said...
I said -

I said once
that I would never
give up on you
but I wrote the book
On Letting Go

and I know very well
what it's like to be alone.

The Volunteer

I grasped at straws
looking for an answer
but nothing touched
toward
anything
that I wanted to say.

My soul felt empty.

The stress dreams
woke me
in the dead of night
as sweat drenched
through my thin
blankets
and
the stress of
life washed
over me
as if I am nothing
but a victim
to the universe's
pull toward
desolation.

But the difference
is that
I'm not a victim.
I'm a willing
volunteer.