Another On Depression. (written some time ago) Or something like that.

It doesn’t feel like a weight
or an isolated incident.

It’s more like a cloudy headed hangover.

The mind knows what it needs
but the body refuses to cooperate.

It’s like sitting with a good book
for hours, no wiser in the end.

Or driving aimlessly
with no set destination.

It doesn’t feel like anything,
really.

Just a relative constant
that comes and stays.

Like an uninvited guest – talkative –
with nothing good to say, whom

upon arrival you wish they would go
but on departure, a part of you wishes they’d stay.

It’s nobodies goal to be addicted,
is it?

It doesn’t feel like anything,
really.

Or something like that.

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In light of current & ongoing events.

Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
seem quite normal to the outside world
but really who would know?
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
You
could have said something helpful
but you stood politically correct.

Some like to engage in alcohol
others fuck strangers in bathroom stalls
She
to the world looked like an angel
something she’d never know.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
He
could have given her confidence?
But sadly he knew the truth.

Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
am just a quarter in a wishing well
so here’s to wishing you well.
We
don’t want to listen to sadness speak
instead we wait for silence’s grief
You
could have the world at your feet
if you just put that bottle down.

It’s not a problem until it is
we’ve all got history I know this
He
made loads of money and hit his kids
but that’s just history now.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
I’ve
been feeling good the past two days
I guess that’s a start anyhow.

It’s too early to be tired and I’m tired again.

It’s
too
early
to
be
tired
and
I’m
tired
again.

Not
the
I’ve
been
on
my
feet
all
day
tired.

No.

It’s
that
special
kind
of
tired
we
don’t
dare
speak.

It’s
the
reason
we
stand
all
day
on
our
feet.

Yes.

It’s
that
special
kind
of
truth
we
work
so
hard

to
forget.
Until
we
remember,
no
longer
able
to
sleep.

A memory upon Mt. Whitney

Heavy
cologne
and
cigarette
smoke
are
gifts
from
the
city,
of
the
people,
seated
in
the
laundromat.

I remember it vividly.

Fresh
pine
sun
kissed
trail
the
gifts
from
the
forest,
of
the
land,
seated
upon
Mt.
Whitney.

I remember it vividly.

Sharing
a shot
with
Alex.

One for the romantics.

Watching myself
estranged
through the eyes
of passerby
I,
get this question
all the time.
Why?
Why here?
Why this place?
Why not New York, or
somewhere far, far away –
the kid checking me in to
Planet Fitness doesn’t quite
understand why I’m here –
I know this because
I’ve been there, and there,
more places really than I care
Philadelphia, New York, San Diego
and what did I find?
People!
Yes
people,
glorious people,
who like I
wished to know why?
We romanticize
the lives that are not ours.

A cow is a cow is a cow.

I get stomach aches all the time now.
Why now, brown cow?
Reading the Bollard
Ads filled with typo’s
Who writes these things anyhow?
Not I
Not now.
You know, brown cow.
Even I, get stomach aches all the time now.