I knew I had the opportunity to be like him…willing to sink others so I could swim
When adrift in the vision would become static and differed
There stood feelings of shaken roots and birch trees twisted and stirred
Soon all became dusted with rust and more and more obscured
Being safe among and within four walls left me hanging on ragged noose
complicit but loose
Beating back indifference by way of my own blood
Compiling foundations of steady mistrust on top of ‘what is love’
I know I am different from him
I have walked the needled path daily with one leg falling behind
Alert to the triggers of his vanity weaving in and out of my mind
The two most important days in our life: the day we are born and the day we find out why!
I didn’t know if I would find him
I didn’t know if I cared
I knew for certain…
Pain would greet me there.
Prone on ice
Fallen to antiquity
Lacking in grace.
Tis’ an ache to country in the bones.
Choked up on pity
Suffocated by your misery
A family of tabloids
Yesterday’s yearbook in upon sepia’s thunder.
Not one for paying heed to the road taken.
is one small step…
in an embattled recovery.
House of blues
country in the soul?
Just a circus of faithless fools
Just a carnival of soundless minds.
…on a back road
…on a back road.
Can’t be if we just are
What of these vows we make. Real or imagined. Spoken or, assumed. Promises behind cupped hands.
I still collect…broken things.
My vain attempt at avenging secrets I would rather not keep.
All whimsical obligations.
Random boughs on a trail to somewhere else.
Court ordered family lies.
Often seen in charming disguise.
Ironic, but away from the pledge, I never feared that I would not make it home.
Comfort came with words and song.
I am used to collecting used things.
Marred, scarred, dented.
I built with pride..this broken home.
My brother, my sister,
Outwardly able to live a lie.
Able to forgo…the why.
Still in the darkness of sleeplessness,
their anger cries.
I look and lock down these stairs to the catacombs.
I understand as a stumble, there will never be freedom.
The intertwined pine and oak…lamented before me alludes to a place ‘never to be.’
Hatred and swinging leather belts.
Love mixed with skin pelts.
I write shortly of incidents others have felt.
Thus, I donate my life to disrepair.
To tiled and titled adults without a care.
Tell me now,
how polyester made life light?
Why the campfire of want…became hell?