…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…
…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…
…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…
…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…
…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…
…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…
The turn off route 93 had been slight
This is what I remember of the night.
There had been no threadbare child’s strap to encase my dreams.
There had been no traveling movie…to allow normal to be sane.
I remember those star crusted memories as though, I could achieve, I could achieve, I could achieve.
After coming from nap time with Santa and no delivered good to be had.
Remember, remember, the polka dot, the low fashion, the plaid.
Adorable in strawberry blonde.
Cute with a nose like a knob.
These days I do not allow myself to be host.
Santa, with perception, can now be a ghost.
The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to an unnamed room.
Deep inside the tomb…
my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.
Daggers dancing through the corners of my soul like,
bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.
Sliding between the ceramic maze…
a hell to be razed.
Alas, the vow,
little do your tiny demons know,
it was written long ago,
upon a wall made of cork…
‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’
Hurt has turned ghosts to gold
Newborns into antiquated entities
I come and go from the waters, time and time again
Yet, I cannot walk on
Questions to my state of mind
Part and particle of the disease…not the cure