The Blue Hour

I wrote this in 2010. I couldn't find a job, things at home were disturbing, and I felt kind of helpless.

I used to be a person full of wonder and amazement.

Now all I do is shudder in this basement. 

Misunderstood.

Still you've memorized all of my blunders and displacements. 

My defense mechanism is second nature.

(It's the staple of my subconscious), and a shame I can't escape it. 

Yet you understand, I couldn't face it alone.

Every second in this house, it's like erasing a home. 

I'm pacing back and forth when life would take me south and north.

And all I really wanted was a place to find support. 

Yet all I found's remorse.

Then you can hear the sound of the sirens.

Right outside the house, it's a choir of violence,

accompanied with strings and inspiring violins. 

The melody of screams, what a sight, this environment. 

The irony of all this, is the silence it gives off.

Going home from work, you couldn't tell who was pissed off.

J. get lost.

That's what happens when you live life without a prayer and not miss God.

Heaven is watching, and staring me down.

I'll ask why my prosperity drowned.

I'm staring in the mirror, no reflection, just a parody of me now.

I'm rare in a lounge, but man, I can spare me one round. 

Maybe some liquor can be a little therapeutic.

I got so much bottled inside; hope these bottles help me puke it.

Now there are no more movements, life is stagnant.

Happiness and I are two south poles of a magnet.

(Guess there's no attraction).

This Bachelors Degree is supposed to remind me of my success. 

Except I haven't really found it yet.

Then why am I upset?

I'm sick and tired of wearing ties,

and lining up for interviews, 

then afterwards, thinking what the hell I did or didn't do. 

A mistake can be so minuscule

magnified a hundred times, each moment can be critical.

Like today. 

You can give advice and say,

"it'll be alright, okay?"...

But this is no announcement to the world that I'm depressed,

(it's my only other outlet for the stress) 

Just don't count on me to keep my head low.

I'm a step-slow;

and the truth hurts to swallow like there's strep-throat. 

But I'll be back on my feet before dawn,

Cause I'm standing at a twilight: 

Right before the sun rises, and the darkness is all gone.