s p r a w l e d
across the grass
my hands helplessly grasp the roots of the  buzzed  green carpet
   like it's the only thing that'll
hold me down

We run stiffly,
in tailored suits.
Shiny, but firm,
leather boots.
Never again?
to be free and loose with our feet?
like we did when we were kids?
We run as much as our capacity and tolerance allow..
Swiftly,
but straight.
with restraint .
As to not shake, at our dignity

There are a lot of answers I want,
But no questions I'm willing to ask.

There are a lot of things I want to say,
But none that I will.





The painful restraints shackle my wrists,
Yet I accept them with glee.

For the first time, I understand,
Some words lay better unsaid.

Some questions,
Better unasked.

To this moment I restrain myself,
Not in reluctance.

To this moment,
I learn the truth of patience.

To this memory,
I hold my tongue to not taint the skies that sail behind me.

To this one,
I stay my mind,

To save you the pain.

~Robert van Lingen

even at only fourteen years old,
I would finish bottles to myself
the amount wouldn't fit on a shelf
I got too drunk, to be bold
I thought my friend might help
but the last thing I remember
is being led into a chamber
by the opposite gender
I tried to rip my hand away
it didn't phase him
he pushes me on the bed
and then everything goes black
I wake up with puke in my hair
I was alone and bare
I was hurting
it was burning
my stomach turning
he gives me a warning
last night was fun
I had bruises
I want to run
out of my body
I shower until my whole body is ******
but five years later and I do not feel clean
everyone there had seen
what he did to me
not one single word was spoken about it
they let it be

The negative image of a drop in the sea...
All of my burning, reduced
To a spark in hell;
And if I escaped
I know what awaits,
That the sky would fall;
Heaven bright ablaze,
Every breath exhaled
Now holds the promise of
The cheapest ending yet
But I’m holding on
To seeing out the next sunset

I arrange these messes of letters;
Trying to express feelings and thoughts.
Twenty six letters do not suffice
To describe some states of mind.
No metaphors, or similies, could portray
The hyperbole, of self induced dismay.