Rain Is Not Conducive to the Working Day

How do I become productive with pellets of ice falling on my face?
The last straw of my psyche is biking in sleet infested air killing my vision.
I still don't know fully how to reprimand it correctly.
That's what the voice of reason is for and used to help me with.
And now I am supposed to be on my own without a complete preparation of how to be a member of life?
So now I will minimally work and gain the most average record as always.

One More Night of Lap Sessions

I miss her so, and I desperately want to be back in her arms.
Life never works the way one plans or wants it to;
It makes its own plans.
To just be friends, better in theory than practiced,
Will not be what I want.

I lie awake and alone, in bed, and dream of her
Lying next to me, cuddling me.  I can see her there sometimes,
And I weep joyfully. Then my eyes are open, again.

Some pasts we long to and hold them tight, some we
Don't even acknowledge, and then
Others, we see them, and comprehend them, but rarely
Bring them out of the basement.

The basement. I am still frightened to go to some
Corners in that dark underground abyss.
Why have I not honestly dusted down here and
Let my creatures come out for a picnic?

Why can't we be honest? Why do we keep so much pain
Stuffed in boxes down stairs?  Why can't we share them?
Because the social norms claim it not polite; to never
Open them and always keep them hidden because others
Don't want to see the nastiness.
Just let them fester into a mental illness.

Life will never let these monsters be thrown by the wayside,
And shipped to a dump.
Even though they are thrown away,
They still are.

Where is the Speaker of the Truth? Where is the Voice of Wisdom?  Where is the Knower of All?
That ole hermit who can teach us what to do.

If this is progressing, why do I still feel like crap?

Patience & ID

Impatient man, wait.  Wait!
Learn to sit still and meditate.
Sit and listen to the Earth
And listen and look for God.
Both are beautiful and require appreciation.

Take it from me, rash decisions
And forcing actions to occur just leave you
With regret and a strong foulness in the air.

Never ignore who you are and try
Not to loose your identity,
It's the only one you are given.
If you do by chance loose it or give it away,
You'll be forced to wear a mask
The rest of your life.

They are generally uncomfortable.

Life is a Mess

Life is a mess.
So much anxiety and stress.
Damaged goods and two tons of baggage,
Hate, evil, harmful nature--We embody these aspects
With all other mental illnesses we carry.
I have handed out so much hurt in the past
That it seems to be my natural process with persons.

Kafkaesque Relations with Women

Awkward and never know what to say on a date?
That's me,
never know what to say, and when something does come out, it's usually the unknown: strange, cryptic, or off putting.
I like to blame cell phones and internet chat rooms.  Maybe playing too many video games during childhood.
The truth is I lack certain social skills with women
And like all my weaknesses, I just let them wane even further down the pit with no hope for improvement.
Maybe I want to live in an abyss full of loneliness and remorse.  Always thinking, Why didn't I work harder or live better or do something different.
I really thought I stopped concerning about the Past.

Fuck You Kakfa

I awoke in a pool of melancholy and allowed myself to drown in it.

I never saw the sunshine,
Just dark apathy and depression
Encompassing my total being.

The world is a cruel place for the weaklings,
So why can't I improve myself: my body, my mind, my soul, & my emotions.
I use the words awkward and Kafkaesque too liberally
That I can't think up better words to describe the cure of my illness.

There is no more independent thought
In the abyss that is my mind.

So how does one make an acurate rebirth?
Cocooning oneself as a meditation practice and pray alone.
There are no good thoughts left,
I fall in and out of love as the pendulum swings.
My social community group has promoted independence so much
No one truly desires to work cooperatively again.

These Days

To truly harm and discomfort someone,
To destroy, nay murder, a newly planted seed of love is true evil.
The devil slept in my bed one night
And I will never forget the feeling of guilt and remorse.
My internal sobbing eyes and swelling cheeks are
The constant reminder of the evil I embody.

So many of us are capable of this evil,
It stays dormant in some and burning brightly in others,
But it lives there, inside of all of us, slowly killing off the small parts that make us who we are
In order to leave nothing but an empty shell for the fire to fully embody and flourish.

one thing, many faces
it shines itself here and there,
And some feed the cravings it asks for.

The world of religion says fight the evil, you have the will to,
But this thing can find the weakest of the chains and will cause the rest to crumble and fall,
dragging them all down with a death grip of strength attached to the foot,
Pull.
You can't fully destroy it.  You can't fight it.
It finds all and every way to tempt and crucify you in totality.

one thing, many faces,
there is nothing it can't and wont do
To gain its unsettling and dark goal.

I embody this thing, this evil,
And it will never leave,
There will always be some part of it in me and that disgusts and disheartens me.

Through talking and acting, maybe there is a way to dull it down to it's most minimum size
And portray the true and good person I am.