Left-hand turn

The loneliness isn’t in the silence, it’s in the absence of commentary.

My “Silent but Deadly” litany chants in my head

“Don’t open your throat, let the demons be fed”

I want to reach out. I want to be heard. But…

Reality isn’t where I want to be disturbed

My brushes lay colorless, lifeless as corpses

My observances from the corner, bodily divorces

I’m running like hell hounds know my name

The bridges start smoldering in fingers of blame

and they all return to me. Their rejection is plain to see

If I’m not them, I’m never good enough as me.


My throne near the top of the willow tree

where I could oversee

my kingdom that resounded

with mournful train chords

and springtime robin red-breast

Thin the veil between worlds

Of retrospection cursed not blessed

It’s like a perpetual bloodstain

With solidly placed blame

Thats removed quietly with disdain

Where “It’s just how they are” to

Invisibility of me to an entire crew.

But I’ll not allow their foolishness

Not in my kingdom where I am best

Where I’m more than bone deep

Better than the company they sheep.

Not Old Enough

Turbulent Life

I won’t mourn you while you’re still here making choices;

choices of where you’ll breathe last when the time comes

decisions that are yours, and only yours, to make. Always.

I will, however, laugh with you until you can’t any more.

I will support your choices, defending your life at its last.

You’re not old enough to go, but I know that’s not up to us.

I won’t mourn you while you’re here, but I will love you,

my friend, brother to my sister-in-heart, brother of my brother.

Nobody home

All my old haints are gone

The mem’ries still linger

I can show them I’ve won

But they’ll be ever ginger

Of believing and buying again

This deli counter binger

Too much body armor on

For the paper cut, on this, my finger

Reflecting pond

She cut off the braids with the fiery fierceness of a warrior god

Watching them fall to the floor after bouncing off the sink

That drips splitsch! splatch!

Summers past are discarded,

her power regained

Never again heard,

a bitter voice that curs-ed name

TW: I never screamed

I never screamed

Not once

Because he said not to

And IF I did then horrible things would happen.

I couldn’t imagine anything worse

The white pain,

the daggers scorch,

the bloody days raw

But still to come?

No pun intended?

I just left, sometimes for days, before

Crawling down the walls on tippy tips before

She awakens.