Again ?

Is this a pattern?
The way it's always going to be?
Am I supposed to pick up the pieces when their worlds fall apart?
At what point will I ultimately fail? For fail I must.
That is my pattern.
I board hell bound trains hoping to divert their paths only to be left on a siding.
I'm not sure I want to play that game anymore.
I don't want to live in Dostoevsky's black visage.
I prefer the light.
Goth and depression bore me.
I yearn for the beauty and color in life.
I love the feeling of blood coursing through my veins.
I want pure love and to love pure.
Boop Boop Be Doop

Disneyland '08

Do you remember innocence?
Do you remember feeling safe?
Do you remember your first trip to Disneyland?
Do you remember tugging on the creases in the sheets in bed at night?
Do you remember the "things" in an open closet in the dark that caused terror?
Do you remember that special stuffed friend that you held so close?
Can you still bring them to the fore?


I can and I do !

I must !

A letter to Dennis (thoughts on suicide)

Dennis,

I so am simpatico with you on suicide. I have been so completely shattered by suicide that it's most probable I will never fully recover. When those I love contemplate the ultimate sacrifice, I am physically shaken. Suicide, like depression, is a black hole that sucks anything that travels within its event horizon down into it. It breeds more destruction than it ends. There are those who feel that it's easier for a suicide victim to "deal with it" than one to commit the act. I call "Bullshit". I have dealt with the fallout now longer than most of those I've known were ever alive. It is a specter that still haunts me almost daily. It's made doubly worse when I see it coming and am so seemingly powerless to prevent it.
No, Dennis, our feelings and pain are just as real as theirs was. Is it somehow easier for us to deal with life than they, when they've made it so much harder? Am I , somehow, more selfish than they? Am I the one who should be condemned for being "insensitive" when in reality I am the one who truly cared not they? I guess this is the price we must pay for being able to love.

March 3, 2008 8:49:00 AM PSTs

Young eyes in an old man's body.

My eyes cloud and cataract.

They see no relevance in their vision.

All the new is now ancient.

The towers not built are tumbling down.

Weeds and mold fill the cracks that creep through the walls.

I miss the bees so much.

Garage band music wafting through the air.

The ocean had a fresh smell.

Orange blossoms in winter.

There's graffitti where my home used to be.