Glass Door

The door is closed, though I can see through it.

Do they know I am here?

I pace. I wish I could close my eyes and be somewhere else.

The air is cold and wanting.
I yell out to the sky, but the door doesn't open.

I see movement. And then, I am inside.

Until I am awake

The numbness is clear, like the cold of the first winter night. It stings, and tenses the awareness.

With brittle hands, I shake myself - shake myself to awaken, that which is within. But all that moves is the wind.

I have chosen a path my own. I have chosen to walk a road that can't be seen by all, and sometimes is only seen by myself.

If you really knew me, would you still reach out a hand to lift me up from this cold ground?

Fear

The shortness of breath comes first.
Then the taste of salt in your mouth. Hands shake now.

 Sometimes I can look behind the person and see a half open door, and wish I could reach out to the handle.
 They speak, and now I should, but can't. I feel sweat on my temple.

 Some moments last very long. A mist forms behind the window.

 The bell has rung and we can go, I write down my crippled words.
Never to read them again.

Fire and Glass

The candle burns low The wick is old, the wax stale. The liquid in the bottle is warm, but I don't care. My hand aches, and I don't know why - but I continue. The pen is a fire in my hand, that burns words onto paper. I don't know where they come from. I don't even know what they want to say, until its been said. A fly lands on my glass table, brings me back to this world. Does the fly ever wonder?

Here i am: The hands that grasp the bottle shake.Its not the ...

Here i am: The hands that grasp the bottle shake.Its not the ...: The hands that grasp the bottle shake. Its not the first time. What is normal anymore - is it when the sun rises and the smoke is in my face...

The hands that grasp the bottle shake. Its not the first time. What is normal anymore - is it when the sun rises and the smoke is in my face? Why is it I still see your eyes, when I close mine. Sometimes the hill I walk is longer, than it was yesterday. Sometimes, its harder to catch my breath. But yet, nothing has changed except me.

Surface

Uneven is the ground that I walk, now. The air smells of burnt branches, evergreen. It makes me feel sad inside. The water penetrates the earth's shoulder that tries to contain it, slowly, but I can see the tear. This isn't where I thought I would be, now.

Broken

Do you know how it feels to be broken?

Do you really know?

It is the stain, the barbed wire that is wrapped around.
It is the pain, it is the lights that stare down.

Would you answer me, if I asked you to? Would you say, ok, this is enough?
Would you say, now we are done.

Here i am: It was very dark when I wrote those words downSom...

Here i am: It was very dark when I wrote those words down
Som...: It was very dark when I wrote those words down Somehow, in a moment you can find out what you really feel Then that moment is gone. As ...

Ago

It was very dark when I wrote those words down
Somehow, in a moment you can find out what you really feel

Then that moment is gone.

As I read them now I try to keep myself, from falling back into that place
That I was, when the pen touched the paper.

Forward

thank you for your words, i said
sometimes words are only scratches on a piece of paper
their meaning left behind, the writer that put them down
their emptiness are clear, in their sound

as i face tomorrow, i am questioning
as i face my sorrows, i am twisting in

is there a face on the other side, that i will
embrace