Author: franklbh22

You Win

You know it doesn’t go away when you surround it in silence. It’s hushed but it sits there compounding with questions unanswered.  A melancholy ache supported by beguiling moments replayed again and again.

You of all people know this.


“How does it feel to treat me like you do?
When you’ve laid your hands upon me and told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken, I thought I heard your words
Tell me how do I feel
Tell me now, how do I feel?”


You said you would NEVER do to me (or anyone for that matter) exactly what you are doing now.


Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to cruel.


Please Eternal Sunshine the last 5 years of my life


Over myself, over my futility, and over my heartbreak.

I am just over the nothingness of what I am to him, to me, to all of this, this very world I live in.

I can’t take it.

I hate every tick of these sentences, every beat, every moment.

I hate every word that I write and nothing is getting better and I am in this very blank space, vast and empty, a sheet of white paper against a white wall.

I am too old to feel this.

I am too sensible to be here, in this state with my heart.

I am too aware to be this ridiculous.

Why??? Why did I let this happen? What should be remembered with a crooked smile on my face and glimmer in my eye, is instead so painful…my bones ache.

Going into radio silence.

When in doubt, over-analyze everything.



I sent out the faintest of distress calls to you yesterday.

I argued…no, I warred with myself on whether to stay in a state of silent need or to reach out albeit in a small and slow way.  My head filled with insults and shamed me for even wanting contact from you.

Things…life actually,  has been heaping itself upon my shoulders in massive bags laden with woeful bullshit that only first world complainers can identify with.  I am so small already and I see the ground getting closer and closer as this all this weighs on me, compressing me further.  Bad situations and unfortunate events have plagued me in relentless rounds before, but this spell has been lasting for months with no respite, and I don’t have you to talk to, I don’t have you to cry to, I don’t have you out there in the multiverse, even 5000+ miles away caring about me.  That fact alone collapses me further.

So when I saw a trinket that screamed you, I had to get it. I thought just carrying around this worthless little patch would give me the smallest bit of order.

I lasted a little over a week.

I knew as I wandered over from the birthday cards to the blank cards, that I was looking for one for you, and I wasn’t going to stop myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of NOT sharing this little whatnot with you, which ended up being the tiniest of overtures to put me in your thoughts, the very place I want to be, that I cannot claim residence at any more.

My weakness demonstrated by this furtive plea for your care, for your endearment is fucking ridiculous, makes me disgusted with my stupid heart even more than it was already. Ugh. Everything sucks right now and apparently I do too.

The mail has been dispatched, a little nothing inside with the scantest of words written in the emptiest of spaces, and now I wait.

The Lucid Life


Photo by Eike Klingspohn on Unsplash


I just want to sleep.

After laying there for an hour or two, contemplating all the things that I have done wrong, all the things that could go wrong and all the wrongs done to me, I have to force myself to think of something benign (coffee cups, turtles, The Carpenters) to bore my brain into sleep.

Then, when my eyes are closed and I am slipping away, only then, do I feel like I may actually be truly happy.  Even in soggy, dark dreams, thick with malice, I know there is a way out, around or through.

That life, when my eyes close and my head sinks deep into my pillow is so unlike the waking life of heartache and unfortunate events that bury me deep under mucky clumps of heavy earth, crushing my heart, flattening my lungs as it does so easily.  Dreaming of demons or devils, monsters or madmen, people I miss and people I will never know, all of it makes me cling to every last second of that sleepy-time fantasy world.

I know I can dip in and out of this precious space, never really losing anything, never really winning anything, but experiencing everything.  Is that the definition of a coward? Or is this malaise a symptom of one fucked up event after another filling up my calendar? This endless staircase of hurt is exhausting.

First world problems…I know.

Waiting to Drown

The tea is cold. And there is noting worse than cold tea that was supposed to be hot, and sooth your voice and warm your chest.  I am leaching out into the water and soon there will be nothing left but a useless bag…bitter and ugly, ready to be tossed into the bin. I can’t float, and every day I am more and more useless.

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