Not Again

I open my tired eyes,
I feel it immediately in me.
Unfortunately, I recognize it.
It fills so much space,
Flooding me with nothing,
With painful emptiness.
Please, not again
I cannot face it again.
I was normal yesterday.
There was no warning.
No chance for me to stop it,
To fix or irradiate it.
I reach out my hand,
Snatching up my cure,
My coping mechanism,
My only fail-safe.
It runs through my ears,
It flows through my veins.
But I still feel the pain,
The fist of numbness.
It closes over my lunges,
It grips onto my throat.
I cannot even cry,
I cannot make a sound.
I force myself live,
To get up slowly, robotically.
It won't let me focus.
It takes control of me.
I promised myself, I swore,
I swore this would never happen.
Not to me, Not again.
Last time I didn't know,
I didn't understand at all
What was happening.
Now I am stronger,
Or at least I really thought so.
But it is more powerful now.
How did I ever stop it?
How was it beaten before?
It draws out my empathy,
I want to care, to feel.
To go back to myself,
To get back my ability to cope.
Because I need to win,
And because I can't fall again.
I can't. Never again.

Rooftops

My window a few feet behind me,
The busy street before me,
The dark, rough surface beneath me
I feel the sidelong stares
Of startled drivers rushing by
Wind catches my messy hair, 
My loose clothing,  my freezing fingers,
I glance back into the room
From which I so timidly emerged
I gaze at the world around me,
Overwhelmed by the speed and the chaos
As large as this feels, I know it is larger
As small as I seem, I know I am smaller
I am not so naive as to hope for a role
That is greater than the part I know I am
Destined and content to skillfully play
My surroundings continue at their usual rate
A blur of momentum and confusion
I observe the world as it always had been
Maybe I am native, perhaps even foolish
I know I am puny, mortal and insignificant
But in this moment I feel I am
Important, invincible,  and nearly infinite
This rooftop feeling is intoxicating,
And looking down I simply cannot get enough

Writer's Block

Wrapped in blankets, sitting crossed legged in bed,
Surrounded by darkness, checking the time.
Music pumping through low quality headphones,
Like blood pumping through veins.
Reading works of art and writing sad excuses for poetry,
Slowly typing out one cringe-worthy sentence at a time.
At this unreasonable hour, sleep is craved, but unattainable.
Wild, profound, foolish thoughts sneak into consciousness,
They disappear faster than they appear, leaving dissatisfaction.
Switching genres, working on first the short term idea,
Then the long term project, and back again.
Failing, giving up, crawling back, working harder.
Sleep deprived, but hopelessly, pathetically, restless.
Words do not flow so much as seep, and seep they do,
As painfully, and crudely as they possibly can.
Dissatisfied, but worn out, giving in, calling it a night,
Choosing to forget it, release it, unfinished as it may be.
Imperfections and all. Lazily editing, tiredly publishing.