through to gray clouds that never break.
Cold days without end, there are no seasons here.
Once, I kept a calendar, eons ago,
on a narrow wall it resides.

I eat nothing, drink nothing, no emotions.
The power of this place is the relentless routine,
a routine of nothing,
a routine without an ending.

Hope, I have forgotten the meaning of the word.
Family, I cannot recall who they were or how I know them.
Desire, I close my eyes to sleep and have yet to succeed.
Alice, a woman I loved long ago, the only part of my previous life unforgotten.

Endless affliction in this isolation,
I’d kill myself if I hadn’t already once before.
My mind is withered and these are my final words,
no more will I speak or think. I’m embracing silence.

Their thirst still unquenched, and I press on.
Deep down to the bottom of the ocean,
I drink until I can’t say a moment longer,
crests of waves wait for me.

The staleness of my one man parade,
alone and unaware of dangers to come,
I’ll drink heavy, the prescription for such diagnoses.
I awaken to a weary morning,

My shadow has grown weary of me,
chained to a fool. We drag our feet,
though the world does not.
Light gleams, I don’t mind it much.

a pitter patter of feet can be heard rushing,
racing to where I mustn’t stay
a place where I am not free.
I’m drawn here, night after day.

Engage me darkness, embrace me death,
I hug them both, old friends,
at all times their shadow hovers near
sitting, patient, allowing my indulgences.

They send my torrid body
rather, I plunge it into their depths.
It’s a leisurely motion, one in which I don’t move.
Giddy, they seize their opportune moment.

A time when cold winds blow over my skin,
and my thick layers don’t insulate my warmth,
A proverbial cross to bear that I continually carry.
Returning nightmares, please step forward.

He took it home and began painting, it looked like a building
one that soars high above a city,
he reveled in inspiration.

It came together quickly, a picture of rectangular lights
intermingled with ominous columns
and crossing horizontal lines.

He used a box cutter to make holes, one on the top
two on the sides and two on the bottom,
it was a wonderful costume.

Clarence climbed in and noticed how much taller he was
standing straight, no longer would he have to strain
for her attention.

This Halloween she would not ignore him when he arrived.
Lines that covered his costume provided him a dignified
air, he was normally without.

Clarence, alone, rode the elevator to a roof top party he had been invited to,
really it was a work party and everyone was invited,
but it didn’t matter, this was the moment, he would stand out among the rest.

He saw a hundred pale faces when those elevator doors glean open.
All wearing cardboard boxes, all painted with rectangular lights
intermingled with ominous columns and horizontal lines.

Clarence stumbled through the crowd, bumping into skyscraper
after skyscraper, and the girl he had come to see didn’t notice his dignified air,
the moment he envisioned had stumbled off the rooftop.

Soon he too was falling. Street lights once faint, grew brighter.
As air rushed over his face, he became
fearful he had been rash.

the world is still, no wind blows,
my mouth is parched, my eyes colorblind,
our pictures are gray and blurry

the cameraman moved his hand
or we were moving then,
more than now, more today than tomorrow.

i swallowed your words and kept them in my head,
i vomited my words everywhere to everyone,
hoping that i might begin to believe them.

even now I’m undecided, unsure,
I’ll love you always and your blinding light,
but it will be my fault. It was from the beginning.

Now nights spent sleepless, aching for sleep,
left with ambiguous emotions for me to navigate,
not suicidal but another word could do me in.

One of the shadows, Charlie Daniels,
a gray suit, and somewhat gray character,
he shivers through new winter’s wind.

A stop off for a drink or two, then home.
A goofy grin crosses his face as he stands tall,
his stiff black blazer buckles with each burst.

Bearings gathered and a brisk walk,
twenty minutes is all it will take,
Charlie Daniels will be warm again.

A glowing wife waits for him at home,
their uptown apartment had a natural way about it,
and reminded him of a forest he once visited.

Quickly inside, the broken door seal went unnoticed,
the silence did not, and was unbroken except
for the sound of quick footsteps and intermittent cries.

Abby was tied down on their off white sheets,
flesh had been torn from her back as with a whip,
the deep crimson stains of blood were already dry.

He untied her ravaged wrists and turned her over,
her limp body slumped on his own, he glanced up,
there through the bedroom window, snowflakes fell.

At times my only keeper,
is the steady flow of air,
unconscious and unaware,

it wades in and out of
my body, like a tide coming in
and going out, never stumbling.

It’s time for my incessant breathing
to meet an abrupt end.
It could be in an accident, down the stairs.

I could do it myself,
with a knife, or a noose.
I keep smoking to settle the issue like a man,

reducing my lungs to nothing.
Then, the moon will stop in the sky,
the ocean will stand stagnant.

Your bony shoulders lit by low light,
and your smooth skin reflects
the full moon light slivers
slipping in through blinds shut tight.

Compared to a wealth of others,
you are no temporary lover,
one with staying power.
Like home, I only leave when I must.

All around you, black suits in a quarantined
discourse. Some calm, others frantic;
all wishing the train would go a little faster.

Every face you wisp past transparent,
stop and meet them or pass them,
not till next monday will you see such dreadful, sunken features.

Except one young woman, smiling at ones who will look,
her aristocratic skin and a dark blue dress, like a composition,
the movement of her hips a melody of propriety and pace.

Her face plants itself, not too much make up,
in the front of your brain, I think she was carrying books,
she must be a student, maybe she is reading Cammus.

You arrive at your destination, a grey building,
maybe it was blue once but faded with age.
Regain your focus, elevator, 16th floor.

I’ve started a new writing exercise which I think is fun and wanted to share it. Basically what you do is come up with things. It could be Red Things, Things to Die For, or Things that You Would Never Eat. The first one I did is Things that I Love. Then I wrote everything that came to mind. If you want to do this just come up with a thing and write it out somewhere. So here we go.

Things That I Love
-The 1st cig of the day
-Pancakes
-The moon
-telling secrets
-buying clothes
-tall buildings so I can feel my insignificance
-good metaphors
-sitting in a park
-making out while watching a movie I’ve seen before
-staying up late
-getting a haircut
-getting buzzed
-feeling the relief of my undeserved righteousness
-a brisk wind
-morning dew on grass underneath my bare feet
-air conditioning
-listening to my grandmother talk about her young adulthood
-watching football on Saturday morning wrapped in a blanket
-drinking coffee on the way to work
-catching eyes of girls
-finishing a book
-milkshakes
-sitting on my balcony
-loud music
-reminiscing about college with Ches and Casey
-dancing at concerts or alone at home
-Sharing obscure memories and experiences
-Getting into mischief
-Being appreciated
-Being dorky and cliché
-Eating after midnight
-getting letters and writing back
-road trips
-Wes Anderson movies
-playing the tuba
-buying flowers
-getting teased
-giving people a hard time
-cleaning when im in the mood

and thats all i’m posting your list doesnt have to be that long but you can make it however long you want with as much detail as you want. ok happy thinging.