Writing poetry at 4 am Is not as romantic as the poets sa… It is not with love I write Or hatred It is neither

You can’t see me My eyes are closed So you can’t look into them Besides, your eyes are closed too. You can’t touch me

Your inability to see What’s killing me Endlessly This is my destiny A loop of death

Dim, grim, dark nights For thoughts to grow And darken even further still Sad, twisted, angry thoughts Swirl in the blackness that

Shadows all around Smothering the ground Scraping along the walls Of my mind A thing of darkness

There lies a wooden cabin Just big enough for one With a garden full of every colour… Growing softly, surely in the dark… With a pond to one side

He is lost Alone Is he dead? Is he alive? Trembling hands

So cold, Why is it so cold? The air as I suck it in In gasping breaths After I have punched my knuckles…

I’m fine It’s a sign Yes, I know you love me I can truly see My days are bright

The smile hides the tears The laugh conceals the pain The jokes save them from his suffe… “I’m fine” he says “I’m okay” he says

Great eagles soar Over canyons high Omnipotent eyes searching for Doorways to another Blooming sunburst

The words on the pages blur Fading away in a mist A mist of tears, floods In a waterfall, Like so many drops of blood