Mental Health Day

I used to think of death

Visualizing my own funeral

The tears and disappointment draped across familial faces

I often found myself unable to leave my room

Daydreaming while pushing 85 of the highway of swerving into semis or the median

I would stare at a bottle of vitamins and wonder if too much was the perfect blend

I used to shed tears with others as they spoke of their troubles and internalize their pain to be my own; for a fire needs a home to continue its burn.

I dreamt of my own death and wished it many of times.

Even now, I wake up in a cold sweat because the thoughts come back every so often.

I cope with the terror and affirm that I’ll pass while young, but my expiration isn’t until decades down the line.

For every smile, there’s a remnant of deepened pain that I won’t admit to or ever share.

For every smile, I’ll reflect on the many tears I and many others have let flow around in memory.

For every smile, know that I’m going to cherish our joy and laughter of that very moment when it’s time for me to go.

Like many others, today nor tomorrow will be our calling day.

Book #6

This will be the last book of poetry that I will ever compose as I have no more words to use and will focus on leaving this beautiful state of California.
❤️

1/1/19

For you,

Always and forever.

Sincerely Yours,
Robert Venegas

“____ completes me”

Falser words have never been shared

I used to stare into eyes and see a fragment there

a fragile glare

a “how should i tell him without him knowing” kind of fake sincere

i used to love this ideal love till i forgot about it

being removed just made me colder like a jacket couldn’t even hack it

i’m ice in the chest and struggle with sharing stress

i guess that’s why the world found that i’m beyond depressed

i can’t give a countdown to when my time is done

or when my kingdoms come

or even how i’ll feel when i lose sight from emotions gun

these people are some crazy ones

tell you they worry and never say such a thing till days later

no worries tho

they were sleep

or rounding up sheep like little bo peep

a false dichotomy

emotion can’t be properly divided

you’re telling me that worry is equally spread from who you know to whoever else’s sadness was begrudgingly invited

honestly

that’s why i keep it in

i’ll tell the world i’m sad and be pissed that i couldn’t keep it in

honesty should be sin

but nobody would follow it

how many sins are committed each day and no one’s burned at the stake for praising the way that they hate

i’ve got to keep it to myself

never let the world in

a new girl just to get the bare minimum

don’t try to read into my mind or look into my heart because it all fell apart when i couldn’t restart the trials and the tribulations of this man’s depression

SZN

Rare is it to see a vision come to fruition.
Oddities never seemed as strange as the last time I picked up metaphors to express emotion.
The last time I wrote of feelings was when I was a young hearted fatal raisin of angst.
Love nor time could exist in a heart so young.
Suspended is where I find myself and back at love’s square one do I find myself.
Circling back like a man with a map and no end in sight.
I loved wholeheartedly and swore off that feeling for years to come.
Countless faces filled with detail at the sound of my name being brought to soothe the cold winds that swept up many.

Nonetheless, would a washed writer really make time for a pen when melodic phrases are cut dry like white seasoning?

Cotton Powder Blues

Rarely do the powder blues blend with pink cotton

But winter nights give light to whatever I could imagine heaven would look like

My depleting eyes give way to artist’s tool with the swaying of fluffed anomalies

How beautiful a sight, even if it were a last to see tonight.

Sickle

Standing underneath a hand on fire with a lighter firmly placed in my grasp is the reason why so many questions go unanswered and will continue to be TBD since the answers to life’s test were given on a late night walk around campus.

I go back into my reels and replay the conversations that led to climactic devastation; mainly one-sided, but warnings were plastered months arching back to spring tides.

Ever so often, I retreat into the forest of uncertainty and re-emerge with new crowds; side by side like a group of phoenixes without relation, just circumstances.

Sickle

Standing underneath a hand on fire with a lighter firmly placed in my grasp is the reason why so many questions go unanswered and will continue to be TBD since the answers to life’s test were given on a late night walk around campus.

I go back into my reels and replay the conversations that led to climactic devastation; mainly one-sided, but warnings were plastered months arching back to spring tides.

Ever so often, I retreat into the forest of uncertainty and re-emerge with new crowds; side by side like a group of phoenixes without relation, just circumstances.

Jester

History teaches us lessons of the fool

The screams of the daisy wielding heart paints the garden

A sunflower grows to fall

Though books belong to those who read

It’s the poet who teaches the distressed and lights the way for clarity

Blinded fool are they to sail and expect angelic chains

Temporary are the seasons that cloud thunderous silence

Each word written will go unseen until a eulogy; metaphoric or literal

New histories are to be written at the fault of wilted petals.

Jester

History teaches us lessons of the fool

The screams of the daisy wielding heart paints the garden

A sunflower grows to fall

Though books belong to those who read

It’s the poet who teaches the distressed and lights the way for clarity

Blinded fool are they to sail and expect angelic chains

Temporary are the seasons that cloud thunderous silence

Each word written will go unseen until a eulogy; metaphoric or literal

New histories are to be written at the fault of wilted petals.

Haunt

Life is nothing more than an incoherent story told by a confused elder sitting atop a tomb.

We fall and rise like shopping bags in the wind or heart rates in an ICU.

Emotion is our reaction to the skewed storyteller.

Therefore, love is nothing more than a mixture that gave us the pen to ink our troubles.

Troubles that turn to nightmares and have us walking like ghost in numbed joy; false, but true in the same breath.

I find my newest struggle in sleep, so madness chemistry bring my haunts to ease.

Millenial

Tonight is consecutive where I find words easier to pair like movement to streetlights.

The orange glow means it’s time for the day to end and nightly routines to begin.

Rushing reds, slowing yellows, and gracious greens flood my mind.

Am I to finding enhanced joy in herbs and vitamins in capsules caressing my mind, filled with broken memories and unchallenged moments, softly as I drift to sleep?

Peers, we find our sweetened fairy dust in liquors, pills, humidifiers, each our drug of choice.

As I nervously drift into slumber, I wish you all the joy in nighttime that comes with the broken hearts and stressed out days of my friends.

With a tear in my eye, don’t be too lost to love once more for it does no good to a face that neglects the warmth felt.

Melatonin

Tonight is the first of many tempted slumbers.

Where the moon kisses the stars and the waves caress the sands of ease.

As I drift into a cupid rest, may the dreams give soft to every word imagined.

If we fall into a memory, make it a welcomed blossom like the hidden roses of the summer.

Rid mind of stress and anxious thought to give light to our successes, no matter the significance.

Dear love, we’ve given enough to rid the night of monstrous thought.

Though romance be memories in a look book, may eyes close to calm and wake to joy.