my half-self inner struggles

from the following, some thinking and no acting; my loneliness divided in miserable and loving moments.

sometimes i'd just rather not think of a thing than having this bipolar humored mind with its unstable bleeding poetry that kills me slow and nice...

sometimes

i'd just be happy to be alive

and in no psychological pain and confusion...

to be in peace, away fom my inner chaos

confessions of illusions i'd never really had to have to know they weren't true

or at least not more than i myself try to be.

the useless fight against an invisible martyr -

for my own self,

useless but indispensable.

why, world, why

[or who else should i ask for if He, your beautiful but sleeping god, seems to have forgotten His own Laws of respecting and keeping life - or at least creating non-selfdestructive ones]

why, i ask you

am i tied up like this,

bleeding from the outside to the inside

helplessly trying to fix the inside

and spoiling both sides

'till there's no flesh and no bones left intact for the line of Life to tie them up together?

for in my feelings, in my love

i can't measure myself and can't be myself the right way

and if thus i can't be one

or half one for some half one else, dare i to think

i'll never know pure happiness, even though every day i experiment a little of its taste

in my eager mouth of wet solitude

and see a little of it in my playful eyes' memories...

i too have my moments of joy and repouse

i too am desirving of that much.

i learned in the hardest of ways how to love myself and am still trying to figure

how to do it properly...

what i haven't learned is

how to forgive my silly mind as it plays with my inner safety

for when she's gone, no matter for how long

my heart doesn't fit me:

i'm never complete.