Pain for me is a cracked vase
It holds dead unwatered flowers.

The flowers were vibrant now they’re faded
Jaded and deflated

One crack lets out water and pain floods into me
sensitive souls suffer silently and experience pain profoundly.

I wanted happiness but got pain and accepted that as an extension of life.

My pane of glass allows me to see the farce that is my life.
Remember that song lyric “I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me”?, well, I’ve never been to paradise and I’ve never been me.

Me, a person is too much to try and describe, let alone the life I’ve lived and hid.

My skin is a skein wrapped tightly over my remains
My brain what of it works is a profane stain, it cheats at life and keeps me looking through that pane at my pain.

My pain makes me stronger, my pain is my armour, my pain is a ball and chain choking me down whilst I try to retain order.

I’m never mundane and always entertain myself with the next charade.I’ve portrayed and played many parts, paid my dues and rued the pain that started in my heart.

Happiness folds in on itself
like a piece of paper.

Can you be jealous of a time?
I can. I am.
Like salt in a wound I sting at being absent at my own life
Pain screams at me and I smile back

The smile on my face is for no one but me
A mirror, a smile, as wide as can be

Take a look at its curve, a half moon of red
You’d never believe all the things that it’s said

You’d never believe how easy parting lips can be
The sound of satisfaction, lapping at me

Go to bed with a smile, go to bed sated
Never go to bed with a smile unabated

Dream deep this night and don’t take fright
When I visit you in Lethe with my lethal red smile

Do you ever get one of those days.
Where you forget the Fitbit, drop the mobile, turn off social media, disconnect from the connection, slow down on coffee consumption, turn down the traffic of information?
Then looked for a free hotspot?

I fall in love and cry
Cry for those who can’t

I came so hard I shuddered and deflated
Breathing erratically I noticed the chips in the paint
Old peeling paint, the thought tickled me and I laughed.
That paint was as old as me, it was mid life paint.
I laughed harder and felt the liquid leak from me
Can paint have a crisis?
No.
Why not?
Its bloom is off the rose, so to speak, dull, faded, tired and dull
Ergo, mid life crisis.