Candlelit midnights

Forest

A collection of poems inspired by the term "are we out of the woods yet?" Also inspired by Huron's "meet me in the woods tonight"."

Ramblings
I haven't written a chapter in far too long and I feel as if I am losing my mind, although I always do.
I'm only on the second day but writing is far too important to be forgotten,
I took a lot more than I should have, the glowing screen in front of me is blurry.
I never tell anyone about this sort of thing, I tell my friends who don't live nearby but nobody who knows my face.
I get drunk alone, I get high alone, my addiction has been filled with solitude.
I like it that way. I planned my seventeenth birthday to have a night of such experiences, a night where my nose can burn in the quiet of my own bedroom.
It makes the world around me a place I can tolerate with more ease, some may say that's melodramatic but I know myself better then they do,
I can step away from my body and into the world I find most comfortable in.
I am at peace in a world of my own creation, disconnected from the vast majority of outside life.
Why wouldn't I want this?
There's not much to say.
I told my dad I wanted to be a therapist today, but why would someone listen to the advice of someone like me? Maybe by then I'll be sober, but I have many doubts.
I often wonder how I'll look back on this period of my life.
It will always be my little dark age, the question is, did it stay that way?
Did the sun ever rise? Did the aching ever stop?
I don't know yet, and maybe I'll always be looking.
My seventeenth birthday is next weekend, I am looking forward to that day.
I am excited for thrift stores and time spent with those I love, but I am so far away from these people.
I love them, I cherish them, but I am seas away from being with them.
I'd love to know them and for them to know me but we are not there and I have reason to believe we never will be.
I am alone, I wouldn't have it any other way, but it does ache.

The endless night
When I was young I was often told things would get better, I think for a while it did, but for the most part I've just grown accustomed to the night.
I've learned how to quiet myself when I become too loud, I've come to understand how to act sober when you aren't, how to lie when you need to.
It's gotten worse, the nights have grown darker, but the quiet has become so loud.

A late night in september
While I don't remember the night vividly I recall bits of it,
I could barely keep my eyes open, yet I couldn't fall asleep.
I staggered and often fell on my descent between corners of my bedroom,
I tried to write, and that I did, but the words had faded away.
I could barely see the glowing screen in front of me, the world was a blur.
I often wonder how I get myself into these positions.
Ten months sober to droopy eyes, out my mouth comes tales of dishonesty, how did we get here, and where do we go now?

The last man on earth
I've grown to enjoy asking people if they would be happy if they were the last man standing.
Most often I hear a resounding no.
I hear stories about how we needed each other and how no man is an island.
I've thought a lot about it, and I believe if I were the last man standing I'd be a happy one.
I love them, but I am far away from them.
I always have been.
I admire the humans for what they do, I think they are beautiful, but I have not known life as they do.
I pretend when I am with them, pretend to be as they are, but I am a ghost.

Autumn
The sun has been pouring it heat rays onto me for many months,
The weather is hot and humid, the sky is bright and blue.
But it seems autumn has begun spreading its seeds.
The wind blows cinnamon, the world feels orange.
I play my classical music and listen to the soft keyboard.
The season of falling leaves and pumpkin patches, Autumn, is here.