Self Help

Why is it that at my most depressed,
At my greatest feelings of loneliness,
All I want to be is

Why, when I most need advice, help,
When I utterly despair of my own devices,
The only one I trust is

I suppose experience has shown me
On whom I can rely at any and all times,
When I cannot allow for

In the end, with enough time, thought,
I believe the answers I must find
I’ll find by turning

Not nearly often enough do I remember
Another option that should be primary:
Truly, I need only look



I walk the world asleep these days.
Wandering aimless about my work,
Listing from one senseless moment to the next
Until it is time to lie down to wait for dawn.

When daybreak comes, I take my daily anesthetic
And forget how to feel the world around me.
I cannot let the outside in; it might prove too much.
I can only focus on so much pain in each moment.

The hurting is the only thing I feel today,
And even that might prove overmuch
For my already weakened state
From tiredness and ever-longing for you.

We say Some Day and it relieves the pain–
Temporarily. Until I remember that Some Day
Was once Yesterday, or Last Month,
And now even Next Month is uncertain.

When will Some Day be Today, oh love?
To ask you is unjust, for we neither of us know
What tomorrow holds, or what holds the year–
The year with all its empty promises.

So I choose pain over apathy as a last resort
For I need to feel something when I say “love”.
Pain is a reminder of what I do not have–
Temporarily–until we reach Some Day.

Your Name Escapes Me

Wait, you don’t have to go right now.
I know there is no bliss between us,
But we aren’t all that miserable, either.
You may as well rest here awhile.

These others, the ones that bring with them
Happiness, sadness, anger, and pride,
They come and they go as they please.
I issue commands, but they will not listen.

Forgive me, I don’t remember what to call you.
Melancholia? You recoil at its implications.
Pensivity? No, the name is too bright for you.
Nay, I cannot recall, though we know each other well.

You are vacuous, the void, a hollow, blank.
I can see you reflected in my eyes,
Your fingers gently cradle my heart,
Your silence reverberates through my mind.

But stay, for a trusty shield you’ve been to me
Against all that is extraneous to myself–
What might wound and pierce the heart.
Thou, imperfect temperament, but my dear friend.