The lines connecting us Are jagged and broken Snagging bits of dark That cling to us Along the way Memories boiling In a cauldron Filled to the brim With dashed hopes And dying dreams It’s a rotten stew To sit down to So I don’t think I will This time They can eat alone I…
The grass is still wet And the ground is warm Roots drink in water Ants make their tunnels Worms lazily burrow A symphony of sounds If one could hear them Through soil and stone But the dead don’t hear Not like the living do The dead are listening The way the universe does
I’ve been sober for quite some time. Aug 10, 2014 I woke up knowing I could never drink again. And I haven’t. I think about and can go back into the brain I had. I can feel all the heartsick and pain. All the ways I let the world torture me… how I tortured myself.…
Sometimes I can feel it The fading or the leaving The small ways of ending It’s slight and unassuming Just a strange passing And it feels like indifference But it’s tricky that way Because it’s the opposite It’s the fear snaking around It’s the worry and anxiety Whispering so very softly Before the noise buries…
A cavalcade of horrors Abominable explorers March around the face Barely keeping pace Ticks marking seconds As the past steadily beckons Hands running retrograde The harvester already paid Searching all the memories For every infernal enemy Be careful what you chose To reverse, repeat, rewind You have only everything to lose
I inherited these genes from a dinosaur A Jurassic holy Grandmother’s leftovers Bile in my veins and worms in my brain Scorched heels and a coat of lazy for days Now my time is wasted in checkout lines Decorated in eye rolls and smirks I got a couple Snickers but they melted From the heat…
I can’t remember it The hopeless struggle The foul spirited dark Nobody left to see My sight in jeopardy I can hear the speaking Underneath the silence In between the tugs I can feel the pulls Like thread through skin Bloodless brutality I am holding breath I am purging Transparent bodies Curled up inside me…
Depression is like A taped up box Easy to open Packed full of Past experience Past mistakes Come sift through Remember this? You should be ashamed Depression is like A spooky Cabinet With no lock Fragile China feelings Ugly handmade dolls Mascara black eyes You should be embarrassed Depression is like An old jewelry box…
I see her The many hers Living life around me Growing up hard Bodies holding bruises Smiles forged by heartache Eyes that glisten like fire glass There’s always such a burning Slow and steady Working at their insides Making them stronger? Making them angrier? Will they become supervillains? Will they become heroes? People talk about…
Maybe the words won’t flow There is no waterfall No marching syllables Maybe the sigh doesn’t come There is no gentle breeze No soft release of air Maybe the eyes can’t see There is no rising sun No focused images Maybe there is no beat There is no thunder No vital signs
HASTYWORDS 