I thought about

just want to say,

the time passed,

I could no longer imagine why,

shudder to think

I make her cry.

My anger buried in sadness,

I only wanted to forgive.

I couldn’t

avoid the madness,

my heart broken

in pieces.

Oh, if I could only be selfish,

and know

just how to cry.

It was then

I spent all of my minutes planning,

I wanted to take a walk

and never return,

let the icy depth envelop me,

I even found a place I could jump,

be in long enough for the frozen waters

to take me home,

some place I dreamed about

a solace,

a special kingdom

I was told about when a child,

sitting listening to the sacraments.

I was willing to chance it,

everything is forgiven right?

It was in my darkest hour,

every direction I turned

found misery without compassion.

I was so deep inside my own head

I knew not which way

my struggles had begun,

or where,

How I had come this far,

and only years later,

would realize

I have little comfort over when,

even when bask in notions in

my own two hands.

When I told you I

loved you so much I might cry.

She never asked why

I’ve always been envious,

why haven’t they ever called me one,

though I’ve never really known

the true definition.

One could imagine,

by sight

the very texture of one’s soul,

in their most personal work,

only if when in question,

they might delve,

scratch and pull,

leave callouses on their psyche,

wish for everyone around

to suddenly

disappear.

I fear it sometimes,

the very thought of it,

a dank odor in my flat,

a sign of skin shedding,

enveloping the room

with the reality of my time.

I fear it when my joints hurt,

walking up the steps a knee

shouts at me in pain,

I can’t pull up

and have to continue on.

I fear it,

the very nature of aging,

the seasons come and go

each with their own beauty,

recompense, tradition.

I fear my own,

though I wonder, autumn.

I’m sitting alone today,

in my chair,

this is become a habit.

I have a warm coffee in my hands,

a daily ritual.

I wonder about things

I wander in my mind,

do I wish to be alone?

I think about trying to find peace

to feel comfort

while sitting alone.

I read some pages in a book,

write a few poems,

watch the snow outside.

Does it change my perspective

or remind me of my self.

I think about those things

sitting alone

in my chair

on a peaceful snowy day.