The Poem: she turns a silent landslide and I can't breathe the distance voices drift across the haze "you fade like watercolor" I can't pale anymore and I remember running through the bedroom through the night and out under the storm I leaped into the razorblade wind and flew through the pieces pieces of what was me my hushed savior turns the axe and I can't shed the bonds voices break across the waves "you bleed like sacrifice" I can't fade anymore --------------------------------- The Explanation: I haven't written a poem in four years. The poem you just read was written my senior year in high school, and was my last. I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I was crushed. My brain was the only thing I could always count on, and there it went, turning on me. The medications I am forced to take make it hard to think clearly, let alone write anything. It takes every bit of willpower I have just to sit at my piano and try to play. Anything that involves creative thinking seems to be lost. I came to this site a few years ago, thinking maybe, just maybe, I could regain some inspiration. After many mixed votes, I came to the realization that every poet thinks their stuff is the best. Few will offer constructive criticism, many will slam your work and crush your dreams in a futile attempt to make themselves feel more significant. Recently, this phrase kept popping into my head at odd times: Remember who you used to think you were. I puzzled over this for weeks, thinking my subconscious was telling me to write again. And then I knew that my subconscious was actually telling me this: Remember what you used to be, but let go of the past while you still have a scrap of dignity. I am hanging up my pen, and will stumble along in this bleak existence I call a life. But with that one little scrap of dignity. --------------------------------- The Goodbye: Goodbye. Piano