Mom sometimes looked at me
like I had bolts
coming out of my neck
and green gray skin.
They all did,
perplexed at the words
that came out of my mouth.
Maybe my words were
a different language
than everyone else.
Aunt Patty said
I was like her.
I danced to the beat
of my own drum
its was good
to be the monster.
Sometimes the monster
was the best part of the movie.
An issue it has been for many a year,
A secret behind doors of which you often do not hear,
Within families and friends, workplaces the lot
To seek of this would not be a long shot.
It gets to us all through one channel or another,
Whether it your neighbour,friend,sister or brother,
Observe and you will see just how easy it can be,
A source, a connection you could get to in 3.
Little fear when it is felt it is required,
Over and over never seem to get tired,
A deeper need creates desperate measures,
Often leading to the sale of many treasures,
A family breakdown, withdrawal and depression,
It was only meant to be for the night of that one session,
It gets out of hand, you slip through the cracks and man oh man you wish for normal life back,
At the start, it was good, a trip like no other,
Now so deep you steal from your own mother,
Looks have changed, personality altered, an unknown individual who would have thought it?
Bruises and cuts, owed money and hideaways now a thing,
A strain to everyone's lives drugs do bring,
Your own person no longer, you thought of yourself as stronger,
Your life stolen, taken away if only that one time you had not strayed...
If you were a beautiful,
with glowing rays of light,
than I was always the sharp,
just before darkness fell on the earth.
Just random chapters I'd written from books that were never finished,
and found this little piece jammed into one of them. :)
Somewhere in the thundering chaos
drumbeat mountain silence
grows an iridescent bubble
mirror of eternity
Crashing like an ocean breaker
making the wind weep. sand.
Howling like a wolf attacking
fragile spheres of pretend safety
Dandelions become thistledown
and float their hopes
above the mangled corpses of tomorrow
fallen from the silver cliffs of never
Rising from the hope that tastes like candy
filtered through an owl's screech
Battered bubble of the soul.