I'm dead to you, I'm dead to me.

I'm so cold and lonely.
It's like you've never known me.
For everything you've shown me.
You've suddenly outgrown me.
So in the ground you'll throw me.
Turn me to ashes, blow me.
And I will float on slowly.
And never come back only.
A spirit so unholy.
I'm just skin and bone see.
These tears I cry now choke me.
This world has finally broke me.

So I take my heart and paint it black.
No you cannot wish me back.
I'm dead to you, I'm dead to me.
There's nowhere else I'd rather be.
In your arms I am alive.
I never meant to make you cry.
It's my own soul I despise.
You'll rejoice the day I die.

There's nothing left of what I was.
We grew apart, at a cost.
I'm stranded here, I am lost.
My heart's now frozen, from the frost.
The depresive state, reignited.
And I don't even try to fight it.
Maybe I'm sick, maybe I like it.
It's addictive, care to try it?

So I take my heart and paint it black.
No you cannot wish me back.
I'm dead to you, I'm dead to me.
There's nowhere else I'd rather be.
In your arms I am alive.
I never meant to make you cry.
It's my own soul I despise.
You'll rejoice the day I die.

Pondering.

Somtimes I think too much.
And get in a such.
A state.
My lips quake.
As I wonder.
Will I be a blunder.
Of a father.
Like my own would I rather.
Guzzle down a lager.
Belly grow larger.
Anger like lava.
It erupts in your face.
Throw all my clothes into a case.
Tell you I'm leaving.
And leave you grieving.
With two children screaming.
"Daddy don't leave, we love you, come back."
But nothing works, so their hearts turn black.
The daughter get's bullied, but you don't give a fuck.
Same happens to the boy and you say "toughen up."
Maybe if you'd been there then we would be.
Maybe if you bloody cared, then we would be.
But I'm not, I'm nothing like the son you wanted.
Sometimes it's like you want me gone, dead.
And other times you need me, to hold you when you cry.
And it kills me to see tears burn in your eyes.
That's how I know, I toughened up enough.
After all the pain I can still show you love.
Still hold you up.
Still say.
"It's ok"
Still take you to the pub.
When you've had enough today.
Still be there.
When older.
With my shoulder.
To lean on.
Still have tears in my eyes, after you've gone.
But if I ever become a dad too.
I never want to be anything like you.
I'll be the one to teach, my boy to ride a bike.
Be the one with my daughter, up all night.
Be in the front row, of every school play.
Always listen intently, to what they have to say.
See them all the time.
Not once a fortnight.
Never leave them in hospital, screaming in pain.
Never walk away, at the call of my name.
Never Put them second.
Never make them feel unloved.
And even then, it wouldn't be enough.
 -H

Caged.

The pack is split.
It's torn.
It's worn.
And it's only just, started to dawn.
On me.
I'm no longer, safe and sound.
So alone, to the moon I howl.
Hoping to hear some response.
A friendly sound, but they're all gone.
Moving, lost, or just plain left.
I've never felt, how I fret.
Now.
These clouds are dark.
And the howl's a lonely bark.
A growl, a snarl, at those I know.
No friendly love, nothing to show.
Even now, I sit and type.
I know I'll be up all night.
Prowling around this room again.
Trying to just quench the pain.
My hackles up, my head set low.
Maybe it's my turn to go.

I'll rip my heart from my chest.
Maybe it's best.
When I feel so depressed.
And I feel like less.
Than nothing.
The way I'm shoving.
My walls up agian.
To heal the pain.
Or conceal the faint.
Heart beet.
Of the wolf that sleeps.
Waiting to burst forth.
With full force.
And take it's course.
Of action.
No longer be a fraction.
But be the whole being of my soul.
Fur ripples in the cold.
Wind which blows.
The snow.
Over my toes.
Shed the skin.
The one that I'm in.
No longer so thin.
Now my muscle's growing.
And I don't mean the ones, that you flex on your arms.
I mean my heart.
It's fibre now tough.
Even it's beet's rough.

here, I am invading

in incognito, i feel, i can be real.
it could be said, that, perhaps, instead,
of a mask of the occasion,  it acts, as a mask, of deep flush 'reality'
(What a horrible word, 'Reality' is. What a horrible word it can be).
is it possible, perhaps
to be existential
to be nihilistic,
and not to take upon,
those great pessimisms that hold
with existential nihilism,
to be sad,
but hold of the worse,
to hold out,
till you can again think of flighting fancies.
As so easily sways the mind on the corporal.
On the day.
I hope.
And in knowing that hope that is nestled inside the very centre of my cerebral,
fluttering it's wings, or tensing, just for the moment of a flutter,
It shivers of the cold tendrils of despair, and warms the heart a little,
just a little, but enough.

Love it when I'm fine and flying high.
And then some words, shoot me out the sky.
I crash land.
And splash in the sand.
Slash with my hand.
Not left with a strand.
Of hope.
So I moap.
And my throat.
Grows tight.
This just might.
Be the last night.
I give up the fight.
Wont take flight.
Yes, oh, right.
Leave me here.
Lying on the ground.
Don't feel sad.
My heart don't pound.
It's better to be cold, and feel nothing.
Than get hopes up, but never win.
-H

These thoughts in my head go round and round.
What if it's wrong, what they found?
What if it's more than a cyst.
What if I, get added to the list.
And Death.
With his breath.
Like ice on my neck.
Comes calling again.
And I'm falling.
To the same.
Feelings of pain.
I'm going to get a second opinion.