I am really terrified
Of the thought
That i maybe won't see
Your divane and angelic face
Hear your ethereal voice
Feel your enchanting presence
That though
Makes me feel numb and miserable
And tears won't stop flowing
From the brimming wells
of my mournful eyes
It feels like my shattered heart
Will stop beating any second
So i hope that won't happen
Even in my nightmares

What can I do, what can I say
it wouldn't matter anyway.
He lives in a little rundown shack
and knuckle head, he loves to yack!
A continuous fountain of B.S.
spews from his mouth.
He could have it good
have a beautiful life,
but instead he sits by the tube
curses and shouts.
His house is trashed
hasn't mowed his lawn in months.
Has very few friends,
ten years ago his family moved out.
But deep in his core
he's a really nice guy.
He's humble and patient

I never felt spending time with you was wasted
waking up next to your sleepy-beautiful smile.

Or my heart jumping a little with excitement
every time you came over.

Even when I laughed at your concern
about Orion's belt having so few notches.

We were good for a while. And I've always felt
that was what time was for.

A real hunter (and huntress), she stands five feet
and tips the scales at most one hundred pounds.

Despite looking like a little girl, her stock in trade
masks that diabolical mean mien streak evocation.

Said bipedal hominid creature haunts outer limits
of the twilight zone, where dark shadows hoover
along the edge of night spooking the missus who
turns white as a sheet temporarily immobilized.

He didn’t take a bullet,
Didn’t step upon a mine.
His body’s still intact,
And he appears to be just fine.

But inside his hardened heart,
Things weren’t as they appeared.
Former friends and family,
Now think he’s kinda’ weird.

There is a massive hole,
Where his humour used to be.
He’s had two tours of duty,
Or maybe it was three.

He doesn’t sleep at night,
And his days are full of dread.
He just can’t shake the images,
That keep playing in his head.

Do you really live with depression?
No! It is not living, but existing!
Like a knot on a log..
A rusted knob on a discarded door?

I do not exist with depression, but
there was a time I existed like a Zombie.
Existing as a numb skull, a deadened head!
Depression within my body.
Body heavy with the weight of anger.
Anger I was expected not to express.
Stopped on the expressway of life!

My body cries
For you
Every day
I miss you,
With every pore,every tear,every breath

God,just give back my Koko
I'll behave

Just give me back my mother

If everyone always did what they were told, nothing would ever happen.

"My Morticia, you're an ice-cold bitch,"
he thinks, unto himself.
"You don't believe my need for you,
you try to put me on the shelf."

From inside Morticia's head:

"We've so few that pass this way,
perhaps no one comes for years,
please dear one, we'll be good,"
in little sister's voice of tears"

"Very well", she murmurs
slight put out at this.
She braces for his ardent hug,
his smoldering lips, up in a kiss

Life itself is vanity,
when shut up in a box.

The future non existent
a fatalistic walk,

but hope expands before you
foundations start to rock.

Hold tightly to your dreaming,
the shaking, it will stop.

The sky was gray this morning
the rain began to fall

Nature pulled depressions plug
I traversed the frightful wall.