A/N: I don't really know what's up with this poem. As I've said, many of my poems and short stories are autobiographical, so this is mostly just a jumble of my thoughts. Seriously, it's like I headbanged until my brain vomited text. I think that may be what happened here.

There may be some references you don't understand (i.e. Charlie : see poem See You in the Morning).
But most of them can't be explained anyway.

Voila: brain-vomit.
Let me know what you think.


The days are getting shorter.
I think it's making me depressed.

The darkness summons negativity I've been trying to suppress.

Autumn's ending
Far too soon.
The opposite
of springtime bloom
is autumn peace.

Gentle breezes, dying leaves.

I love the way the rainbow of warm leaves
contrasts
with cool blue skies.

I want to drive until I get lost –
lost in all the falling colors.
I want to drive until I get lost
and try to find my way back home.

If I don't, though, that's okay;
I'd like to be lost anyway.

-

But winter rears its ugly head,
putting stale sunlight to bed,
and sapping fiery leaves
of their beautiful glow.
They're not even crunchy anymore,
just stale and grey.

And now I'm driving through the night -
it's way too early to be this dark -
and I'm trying hard to fight
tears that keep on coming on
for no good reason.

Perhaps it's simply because
I've waited too long
since the last time I cried.

Emotions have been muted
by busy-ness,
and avoiding them
as best I can.

Had I not,
perhaps I would have noticed
how lonely I've become.
I think about companionship
but neglect to address my lack-thereof.

What's with that, anyway?

Lately I've been feeling ugly,
a hypocritical chameleon –
contorting, bending, blending in,
yet uncomfortable in my own skin.

I haven't been trying
to be
anyone but me.

(At least I can say that --
I merely want to go unnoticed.)

So where has this stack of emotions been hiding?

Stuffed away in some dark closet
in the hallways of my brain,
until the door couldn't stay closed
anymore
and they all came tumbling down,

each

last

one,

on top of me.

Now I can't breathe
because my eyes are dripping
and my chest is tripping
on air that's getting lost before
it leaves my mouth.

And I feel the emptiness I've been ignoring,
the lack of someone next to me.

And then I think,
perhaps I'm wrong,
perhaps instead I feel the presence
of a friend
who's gone from here.

I wonder,
Charlie?
Are you there?

But I don't dwell.
I decide that he is
or maybe he isn't
and leave it at that.

I guess I'll let him see me cry.

But he will be the only one.

(That is, if you don't count God,
and he sees everything
so I guess I don't have much choice.)

I want to drive until I get lost
and try to find my way back home.
But not unless it's going to rain.

I want the rainfall most of all,
I want thick, fat, cold drops to fall
before snow gets a chance to infiltrate
and give the fall the final boot.

I want the rain.
But not because the sky is dry;
more because I have to cry
and I don't want to be
the only one.