your name, my pain


and if i said, would you believe me? so, why should I say? just believe me.


in pain i lay, calling your name. in pain i laid; you called not my name.


was it mordant anguish? uncaring prying? for anguished i was, praying and crying.




Arid desert sky.

In fear I see, I do not know why.
I wish on my own I could fly.
Deny the murmur. Screams die.

Paradise in disguise.
Sadly, I do not recognize.
Perception of you must suffice,
until in you and reality, I arise.



Don't forget pain,
nor leave it behind.
Trust it again,
for it is kind.

Let comfort convey.
Has led you thus far.
Shows you the way.
Tells who you are.



The right attitude? IDGAS. I really do not GAS. I am tired of being constrained and restrained by S. Life is not work and work is not life. Strange how a week away from the S gives such a fresh perspective. You do not like me: IDGAS. I do not care for you so IDGAS. I will stop GAS as much as I can--reality: not GAS is a true punk attitude., which circumstances prevent me from adopting wholeheartedly; however, not GAS'ing a bit means breaking somewhat free, and somewhat is a start.

Am I hypomanic? Do not think so. Am I taking my meds? Yes I am--I even stopped the ones that would hide-side me. I consider this a new high, an old high, a long-overdue high.



She lies in the dungeons of night,
where moon is light and light is night,
when colors infuse in chromalight.

Her life, quartz reflection of blight,
drug-melanged vision, she stares inside,
the exit unseen, the end in sight.