Waiting to be Taken

Misery is a muse and an easy way out of averting stagnation and boredom. I call upon it to give me depth and purpose leaving all the in between moments empty and meaningless. What am I if not on the brink of destruction? Just another face in the crowd dying to be seen but blending in with the sea of beige. Even upon careful removal of the crowd itself I can't pique the interest of a solitary person who chose my company in the first place. I sit in this inbetween place bubbling up on the inside with no knowledge of when i will overflow or what it is that boils inside. When the lid blows off will euphoric joy spill from the top? Filling the air with intellect, perspective, love and realizations. Or will the pain be what's waiting to escape, not like the manic steam previously mentioned but a thick, bubbling, tar like, depression that will slowly seep out staining everything in its path. A substance unable to rise and float away. I welcome either as I feel empty and unseen otherwise, though if I'm being honest I'm in constant search of that steam. That perfect moment, that long care free night. The sensation of no consequences and absolute perfection. It is a distinct feeling of "This is right, this is meant to be. This is who we really are. I am seen". Mourning it's loss before it's even evaporated, I painfully accept each time that it can never last as long as the tar like depression that will always engulf it. Bringing me back down to reality and then slowly sinking below that to a darker place just as unrealistic as the mania that preceded. However dark that place may be, I'd sit in it for a lifetime before living in this unseen limbo. A place where I am a forgotten nothing, parading myself about only to realize there is no audience. Desperately seeking a deeper meaning, a purpose, a place I belong. I reject this limbo and revert to the only safe place i know. My muse, my pain, my pit of tar.  It may not be ideal but at least I know the road there and I can see that I'm welcome to a solitary cell at any time i should need to stay. Because I can't find a way to anywhere else, and misery, unlike my joy, is a place I can find alone.

Filling a Metaphoric Hole

I close my eyes and try to clear all of the mess inside my mind leaving only you. Desperately seeking the words i can say to build a ladder out of the hole you've fallen into. When suddenly the light shines on the subject and I see a clearer path. Fill the hole. I can lift you out, throw you a rope, bring a ladder...whatever metaphoric band aid statement is best fitting here. However if the hole remains you'll just keep falling in, jumping in, or being pushed.
       Filling a metaphoric hole step one, define the hole: A place where you can see me but you can't reach me. Every thought you have to say or do the right thing can't quite make it to the surface. Draining all sense of reality and only leaving cold, dead despair. A place where you can merely go through the motions of necessity lying to yourself about how nobody can tell. Denial, fake faces, oversensitivity to things you might usually brush off or even enjoy a laugh over. But there is no laughter here. Even if you were to open your mouth to let out a sound of amusement nothing would come out. It's a frustrating place with no way to vent. You are not hidden in the hole, in fact your are more exposed than ever. The hole is empty, devoid of people, feelings, things, hopes, dreams, aspirations or optimism. Such things burn before anyone has a chance to throw them in. And when you look up to see the faces of the people you know you must love....the depth grows, the faces distort. It seems as if trying to escape only makes it deeper.
          Filling a metaphoric hole step 2, not falling in with you: There you are, like an inanimate doll of yourself propped against the wall. I look down in to what seems a few feet down and your deadened eyes look up showing desperation that would suggest a much further climb. Maybe if i just jumped in and gave you a boost, reached my hand past the line of contentment and into the pit...if only for a moment or two. But there is an uncrossable line. Toeing that line only sends me on an immediate descent into the very same pain. Wondering how I went from the upbeat hopeful helper to just another lifeless doll at the bottom, waiting to drag the next victim down. There is no safe way to approach this hole, but walking away seems like a lonely journey to my own painful prison.
          Filling a metaphoric hole step 3, figuring out what to fill it with that won't bury you: Pitiful smiles, awkward laughter, pointless excursions to places you'd rather not be. They all pile on top like dirt on a casket in a grave. I need fluidity, I need you to float. To comfortably rise above the pain. A pool with sorrow at the bottom that you can rest easily and unweighted upon at the top. What recipe of literal action or words can equal this idealized liquid metaphor? What magical combination will rise you to the top and eliminate the hole for good?
          Filling a metaphoric hole step 4, realizing you can't: There is no guaranteed method, no incantation or ritual to end the cycle. There is only time, patience and love. These are all I have to give and all I believe to have helped despite my desperate attempts and flailing about to "save" you in the past. Perhaps these three seemingly simple offerings will aid in the process, but ultimately it is not my pain to solve, it is not me who is lost, and regrettably I cannot be the answer to a problem I did not cause. If this bottomless pit of despair is to be filled you will find a way, if for no other reason perhaps to float up to me at the top. Because there is no amount of time I won't wait, no test of patience I can't withstand and my love is an all powerful electric force that no pain will ever come close to stopping.