I see it constantly

Time passing me by

Every hour of every day

I look at least once

Only to be displeased

I need help with time

How to not lose it

How to slow it down

How to see it for what it really is

I know what I need

I need something to remind me

That time is moving when I'm not

That I can't live in the past forever

That things will change with time

I need a watch

That big smile you love so,

May not be as real as you thought.

That barrier you broke down,

May be rebuilt.

That sparkle of the eyes you see,

May not be happiness.

No, 

It's internal conflicts,

Hateful words catching up,

Tears overflowing.

No,

It's not what you think -

Hope.

No,

It's not all fine,

Not ready,

Not prepared

for what is seen on the horizon.

It's not what you see.

Tap of the feet,

followed by the pitch of off-key hums,

leading up to eyes closing and smile formed.

The stares by some,

Condescending to curious,

but others, not even a turn of the head.

One bright step,

a tap on the shoulder and an outstretched hand

is all it takes to start something new,

Alive, in a once place dead.

Now, they hear it -

the composition of happiness,

just by the simplest of things.

There is little difference between

a Pop Star and a Twinkling Star.

Both can outshine others,

but also be overlooked when compared.

Both are looked up to,

Both are different,

but oh so similar.

'Why compare stars to people? ' they ask me.

My answer is simple.

Both are taken granted for.

Only the brightest are seen and observed.

Sometimes, the dullest and tiniest ones

mean the most.

When that song that always makes you smile,

Just isn't enough anymore.

When that person that makes you happy,

Just doesn't cut it.

When that activity you adore,

Doesn't distract you enough today,

Lets you think about tomorrow and on.

Something has snapped.

Too many words of hate been thrown,

Too many tears - fallen from puffy eyes,

Not another step past this point.

This time, is the last time.

Don't ask how to get past,

how to change,

become better,

make them happier.

But written in unsteady hand,

Good advice is only given

by the once tormented by such demons - 

Or not such great advice.

That beat I hear

Makes me want to jump up

Onto my two left feet,

Swaying to the beat.

I see the amusement in their eyes,

But I don't care.

The music can always

Take me away.

I hear everything.

I hear the way you 

Talk about her,

Her hair,

Weight,

Height,

Anything.

She is perfect,

So stop.

She is perfect.

Somedays,

Words look too enticing,

The curve, twist, and length.

I see the words, but sometimes,

I feel them,

The vibrations of them some in my throat, 

All different.

How would they feel

On my skin?

On my tongue?

Not only on this paper

Or in my head.

These curves and

Imperfect lines are

And addiction.