I'm sorry, I was sleeping. My phone was dead, or charging, or some other excuse. I was busy being happy with my best friends, flatmates, having the time of my life. Sorry. Sorry you're depressed. Sorry I broke your heart. Sorry I can't make up my mind and I'm selfish and unkind and I can't be bothered to drive to come see you. I'm so sorry. It doesn't matter how many times you say don't worry or tell me I don't need to be, I'll still keep saying it. s-o-r-r-y. Please don't be sad, it's a bit of a burden on me.

If you dig my poems here on Prose, love epic poetry, and have a taste for the fantastical, then I have a treat for you! Some of you may know this, others may not. I have a book out. It's called Beowulf: The Midgard Epic. It's a reworking "Beowulf." My version is written in rhyming iambic tetrameter. It also contains "The Wanderer" in the same format. (That's another ancient poem, of you were curious.) I have a Master's in English/Literature Education. I've written and illustrated for years. It's always been a passion, and now it's becoming a career. I did the cover art and the interior illustrations for the book. Several other Prosers here are signed to the same indie press as me. It's an amazing company called Stitched Smile Publications. If you haven't checked out their site, please do. And by all means, use me as a sounding board! Here's the link to snag my book. I'd be honored for you to read it. And if you do, I'd greatly appreciate a review. I'm thrilled to be here with so many talented poets and authors. Here's the  link to check out my book. I'll also post SSP's link. Happy writing!  

https://www.amazon.com/Beowulf-Midgard-James-Matthew-Byers/dp/1945263075

http://www.stitchedsmilepublications.com/

The trap door of

morning falls open

I hang, suspended 

on the threads 

of sleep

i sit

alone

i think

too much

wondering

the worst feeling

is knowing the only way

to keep myself from thinking to death

is death itself

so i sit

alone

and think

some more

empty

thoughts.

sometimes though

my brain likes to think

of our cosmic insignificance

and that is comforting somehow

it reminds me of something i read somewhere

that we are so small

the stars don't care if we mess up

the stars won't ever know

the stars won't be affected in any way

we are so insignificant

and that somehow

keeps me

(relatively)

sane.

My mind.

It eats at me, in my sleep, in my awakening. It's like my mind has a mind of its own. And even that mind couldn't control that malevolent mind of mine.

It shouts at me and I shout back at it, it breaks me and so do I.

I assure you, even when I'm six feet deep under the ground, it will surely eat my remains, too.

My mind.

It eats at me, in my sleep, in my awakening. It's like my mind has a mind of its own. And even that mind couldn't control that malevolent mind of mine.

It shouts at me and I shout back at it, it breaks me and so do I.

I assure you, even when I'm six feet deep under the ground, it will surely eat my remains, too.

Razor blade kisses, droplets hit the floor.

Do you even help me at all? 

Just count to three and the light will fall. 

As I remove my stainless lover from it's sacret place of honor, 

I touch it's tip and feel the cold 

I fold back the sheild,

draw a perfect line of crimson red. 

Let out a breath, and feel the pain, 

I no longer feel dead. 

Another line of thread and i feel myself fall to release,

No other place, 

I finally feel at peace.

Where i find my crimson read, my 

Crimson red, my secret outlet.