Day Seven

Today I built an ant farm.
I poured dirt inside,
dropped the ants on the dirt;
I even decorated it to
make it look nice for them.

I can shake my ant farm,
Place it on a sunny windowsill,
Shut it in darkness in a closet,
Flood it, or set it on fire.

My ants build ant cities,
establish ant societies,
topple ant governments,
and fight little ant wars.
Sometimes it looks so bad I start to wonder
what I was thinking in the first place.

The funniest thing
is that I can’t shake this odd feeling,
like my ants are trying to communicate with me.
It’s preposterous, i know;
don’t they realize I can’t hear them?

Eight-Thirty am.

I’m so very tired of sunny, warm days.
I long, how I long for gray skies
and the playful chill of autumn afternoons.
I’ve grown so weary of tee shirts and sunglasses;
I’m dying for coats, scarves, hot cocoa,
and rosy-cheeked women.
O, the rosy-cheeked women.
Show me a young lady decked out
in a fashionable scarf and a knitted hat
and I will show you simple perfection.

Retire your azure skies and sweeping emerald vistas;
Bring to me the blinding brilliance of pristine snow-covered hills,
ripe with all the possibility of a blank canvas or a fresh sheet of paper.
Let me gaze at their comforting complement: the skies of subtle silver; the true heavens.
Set my face upward, let a hundred frozen miracles kiss my cheeks and nose.
Let me see my breath.
Someone, please… let it get cold soon.

Today I broke down. Sobbingly, pathetically, i broke down. Wept.

The crippling weight of my own failures snapped my carefully placed defenses like a stick.

I can’t handle any of this. I’m not prepared for life. Hopeless does not cover it.

I’ve no idea what I want. I don’t want anything. I want both my parents to be alive.

I want both my parents dead.

I don’t want to hold anyone down. I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to be happy. I don’t want to be miserable. I want to know what I need to do.

I don’t want to be afraid of responsibility. I want to stop crying.

Oh god… I have no idea what to do.

Somebody help me.

Forward Thinking.

i don’t know how i want to die
But I’m certain that i do.
i’ve not given thought
to details or circumstances,
or specific stipulations.
All i really want is for the phrase
“before he even hit the floor”
to be the phrase on everyone’s lips.