Melancholy

I have empty gaps in my mind
from a time I was so sad
I can’t remember even though I want to

What did I do each day
and how did I get out of bed
and what did I learn in school

These pieces are out of my grasp
and I want to blame you for these sorrows
but I can only blame myself for the bad investment

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Not sans foye

As I sit on the banks of the river wide
I think, maybe this time, I won’t go home;
I see the birds and wish I could fly
To a place free of cares, free of sorrow
Free of knowing.

Sometimes there’s sorrow in knowledge;
Whoever said knowledge is power, may
Have hit on to something
For where there is power, there is often
Loneliness.  And when I know, I am sorrowful.

As Eve did eat of the Tree of Life,
So I have partaken of her meal.
And I do not know where my sin does end,
But I wish to drown it in the water
Dancing at my feet.

What cares does it have?  What does it feel?
Naught.  Though it holds so much,
And appears so wise, so bold, so strong,
Full of control – of life and death.
It is nothing.

I, on the other hand, often feel like
Nothing, even with my knowledge.
I feel like I should leave this place.
It feels unsafe to be alone when
There are so many sounds and voices –
In a band – drawing near.

I do not wish to be overtaken,
But I can feel this world
Pulling me deeper and deeper
Into its murky depths
Trying to make me unknowable, and not to know.

I dream of Fidessa, yet live like Duessa,
And though I may fool some,
The one who matters sees through
The foggy blanket I have knit
To hide myself from all.  And so I’ll fall.

But still, there is hope.  There is light.
Even as I sit in the darkness,
The moon and stars have not
Left me completely and they
Shine down on me.

Like some unseen hand, pulling me up
From this din and irksome mire,
I will be saved; I will not be buried alive;
I will not be burned in death.
I will be washed clean.

As I stare into the river, as I see where
My present meets my past and future,
As I see the mud settle and the water clear,
As it stands still and becomes a pond,
It’s not moving, nor drying up.

Something mystic happens,
And I can realize all is not lost.
I can’t save myself, nor can I others.
But I can know all is not lost if I am
Not Sans-Foye.  I know that I have faith.

3 parts 

I

As the sun sets, my sorrow grows,
The lights are dim, and the television screens pointless shows

Aladdin’s lamp is the only one I’d currently light,
I could use a wish, and there’s no prediction for shooting stars tonight

II

I hate it here: the place is filled with princesses.

And a sorrow blooms in my chest.
My heart is heavy, and my head is light.

But whether I’m in love, or I’m surfing a nicotine buzz is unknown

As I breathe, smoke fills my lungs, and I feel a heaviness – a restriction in my chest –
so that I don’t feel light, but weighted.

And so my mind is.

Desire between snapping and murderous rage
at being dominated, controlled….
Or not caring….

… to not care would be a wonderful blessing.
And maybe I don’t?

My hand smells like cigarettes, and as I ball my fist,
I imagine smashing it into a face…or three.

But I hesitate – do I not want a world without violence?

So I hold my hand, and bite my tongue – so hard –
blood drips over my lips and down my chin.

There is no one to kiss away this pain. No deathly
grip or vice in which to hold and hang this thing

Held over me.

III

You are three parts, and still not whole.
I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole, now living like some sightless mole,
and walking over hellish burning coal so that I may play the role
of perfect person – never a troll – while I feel my withered soul
is draining away as if someone stole – without paying the toll –

My freedom; and my love: my heart.

The Lost Lady

I crumpled up the notes and let them sink to the bottom of the ocean
There on the floor they lay, and I was lying on the floor in my room
Staring at the ceiling and wondering where she went
The last time I saw her, she was driving in her car
Away from me, and my feet, too slow, couldn’t follow;
It was a scene too hard to swallow.

I took the note she gave me and put it on a spaceship.
Now it’s circling round the moon.  Think I gave it up too soon?
It’s floating in the sky, and I’m floating on my side
In my bed, wondering why I’m sitting here, wasting life
I put on my shoes and walked across the floor
Pulled on the knob and opened the door.

The wind is bitter here.  I never understand why it’s so cold
My coat is buttoned up to my throat
And the wind still gets in.  I tucked my pants into my socks
And put mittens on my hands and looking like a fool
I walked and walked and ran until I found the place she lived
And like a shadow I sat and waited.

It was night time, and she never came home.  I lay by the bushes.
I saw a policeman walk to the door and knock.
A man came outside with a fearful look on his face –
Was this the man she lived with now?
At once, his expression crumpled, his forehead fell into his palm
I knew what happened and somehow remained calm.

I moved to the garage roof.  I could see into his open window.
He started removing her things from her drawers.
I knew they were hers, because I had seen them
A million times, looking flawless when she donned them.
And once they were strewn across the room

The man gave up and went to sleep, perhaps he accepted her doom.
I felt bad for him, but more so for me.  I never got
To say anything to make up for what I had done.
And now she was dead.  I lay on the roof and my face too
Fell into my palms, and I slept.
They found me in the morning, the neighbours
Who liked to snoop around her house for gossip.

I lay crumpled, as crumpled as the notes,
As crumpled as her lover’s face, as crumpled as the garbage
I had fallen beside.  The people covered my head
In a white sheet and took me away in a van.
The man never knew I was there, and she never knew
That the last thing I wanted to say was never adieu.

But I fell with a smile that night.  I was on to my next
Adventure.  And I knew what I would find there,
In the murky ocean depths, or in the stars of heaven
And who was waiting, already there, to greet me
With open arms and a warm smile.
I felt as welcomed by her as I had in a while.

Hope for a Friend

Do not let your sorrow define your being
understand that it is an intricate part
of life, and understanding, and even happiness

Do not let your worries get in the way of your goals
because your goals are concrete and achievable
and your worry cannot stand up to the winds of change

Do not become burdened by things you cannot change
but ask for serenity, and change the things you can
We have more power than we know.

Let the little things make you happy, and take five minutes
to listen to the song you love, to let something make you laugh
play with life and dwell on love you have, not love you’ve lost

In no way am I suggesting to be optimistic,
your expectations will never be met as they are in fantasy,
that world and this one do not coexist.

But let yourself enjoy the things that make you smile
in a world that makes you cry, in a world where bad things
happen every day to both good and horrible people

Understand the wrong in the world, and do not take part
let your knowledge be resistance, let your smile be the cure
and don’t let anyone tell you how to feel

How you feel is part of who you are, your unique being
and some are pessimistic, and some are sorrowful,
only the ignorant are always happy.  Don’t be like that.

Let hope rise with the morning sun, and open it into
your room when you pin back the curtains.  Let it soar
on wings of tears and wishes for change.  We need change.

Do not be discouraged by the depression you feel when
you’re blue for ‘no reason’ – there is always reason.
Embrace your grief, welcome it and the knowledge it represents.

You won’t be part of the baffled crowd.  Own your heart
control you desire, laugh in the rain, let life inspire.

a funny thing to see

On the way to school I passed a dump truck.  I imagined what it would be like to lay in front of it across the road.  I imagined the giant tires slowly rolling over my body, popping me like an insect.  I heard my ribs cracking; not only did they break beneath the tremendous weight but they were splintered and ground to a fine powder.  I saw the blood and organs ooze out from either side of my body and my heart burst like a bubble, the veins and arteries pouring out like a nest of cobras.

I imagined what would become of me.  I wondered what I would do every evening.  I wondered what I would do before bed.  I wondered if I’d ever get a massage again.  I wondered if I would get my homework done on time.  I wondered if I would spend days alone and nights crying.  I wondered if I would get over it, forget.  I wondered if I should wish or do something about my ability, or inability to forget about the past, to not think about the future.  To concentrate on the present – always my weak spot.

The dump truck passed by me, passed over me.  I watched my body lie on the ground.  My head was perfectly intact other than the trickle of blood that passed from my lips down my cheek.  My feet and lower legs were fine.  The middle of my body, my heart, had been crushed, smothered against the pavement.  A tire track ran over me; some of the mud caked onto the tires remained on my lifeless body.  I laughed. What a funny thing to see on the way to school.

A Poem of Melancholy

What has it been since I realized I loved you?  A year? Two? Does it matter?
My heart beats to a rhythm which matches only yours.

And every time I feel like I could love another, your face appears on theirs.  And I am yours.

Only, you are not mine.
You are so far from my grasp, the realization of our love is impossible.
It is simply my love.
My love reflecting off of an endless sea of dashed hopes, and dreams, and seagull shit.

And the lake?  The lake that day, in the sun, our feet in the cold water.
Our faces in the cold water.  My bathing suit falling off, and your hands around my neck.
But I was safe.
The elements against us, and we were safe.

But it was not enough.  Or I was too much.  But either way, the quantities could never add up.  Nothing was 100%

It was wrong.  Did it not feel wrong to you?  I wanted it, though it felt wrong to me too.

And with every Nickelback and Spill Canvas and Taking Back Sunday song, indeed with every song, I hear our life, our love, our words, our arguments play back to me.  I hear us conquering and failing battles.  I hear fights, and frowns, and good memories all jumbled together. Like the tornado that stole away Dorothy.

Only it stole away passion, love, acceptance.  It stole away happiness: mine.  And though it felt as right as wrong – to me – you could not be swayed.

Which is fine.  Because then…you would not be the one I fell in love with.

But it hurts.  Even now.  Can we speak?  Can I hear your voice?  Can you torment me still? I would live for that, die for that.  I miss your face, your laugh, your smile – even your judgment.
I miss being perverse and having secret desires.

Now there is only a desire overburdened with a profound and infinite sorrow.

Psychologists think they invented things like depression and split personality disorder.
But before that there was melancholy and broken hearts, and love.  And things that  created a craziness no pill could fix.  And writers, and artists, and composers discovered these first.
And pulled out the infinite sorrow and turned it into words, and pictures, and sound.

And this art had the ability to break hearts and transcend time.  As can love.

No science can build or break down that.  We were here first. Creating, thinking, journaling, painting.  We were breaking hearts, spilling words, bending minds, melting time, and most importantly having our own hearts broken, our own hopes dashed against the jagged rocks of rejections, death, despair.

I miss you.  Come back to me.  Don’t let me die alone.  I want to stop trusting, believing hoping.  But then how would I be able to experience this pain that I crave.  I crave in place of you?