I float here in my sea,
dark, cold, and deep.
I cannot see the depths below,
Is something reaching up for me?

I feel no touch, no grasp, just cold,
As I float here in my sea.
Yet dread lingers in the silence.
Is something reaching up for me?

Will something rise to claim me,
And drag me to the murky deep,
Or will I float forever,
In my endless lonely sea?

Anxiety grips like a vice, so tight,
A life ruled by fear, fear of all things,
How can I break free from this endless night?

Each breath I take feels like a fight,
A future unknown, the shadow clings,
Anxiety grips like a vice, so tight.

I watch the world, slipping out of sight,
From the sidelines, where nothing springs,
How can I break free from this endless night?

I dream of peace, of unshackled flight,
But each step forward, the darkness stings,
Anxiety grips like a vice, so tight.

In the mirror, I am a ghost,
a puppet of the world's illusions,
its expectations heavy as chains,
strings long since frayed by the violence of my mind.

Inside, I am a graveyard,
the dead whispering the things I cannot say.
Tears hidden behind smiles that crack like old paint.

The court of fools calls to me,
eyes blind to the burden I carry.
I play the jester for them,

but if death came tonight,
I would take his hand,
and breathe a sigh of relief.

Death kissed my lips and took my hand,
Guiding me through a world so strange,
Where we never parted, never knew the pain,
Where love was never lost, never estranged.

What joy we’d have known, what life we’d have lived,
If only you had not gone away.
I would have held you close, forever near,
In a world untouched by cold decay.

But death’s embrace is all I was granted,
A walk with him, through memories undaunted,
Where you and I remain unbroken,
In the shadows of what might have been.

for anyone struggling with self-image

She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm ...
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon a griefstricken campus will mourn.

Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others—
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.

Published by Poem-a-Day, Miss Gorilla and The HyperTexts

Sadness, despair, depression, madness
Are the words that entrap my mind when looking at the bland brown house.
The one house with all grey walls.
The one with the single tan car going back and fourth.
The one where even when we exited our drought, no bright flowers began to sprout.
The one that belongs to a dear Ms. Sky.

My new job started normal, until I met my boss - Ms. Sky.
After that the day was complete utter madness.
Nothing still has yet to sprout.
At Ms. Sky’s house.
I was meant to be at her office first, but I ended up being fourth.