I keep pen to paper
As if these words will heal me

I keep lips together
As if no words will save me.

I hear a sound.
Near my bedroom window,
beyond the panes of glass.
A rumbling and humming;
an idle motorcycle, right on schedule.
Mixed in with the little fan,
it grows into the perfect white noise.
I drift away and think of a warmer place,
bright and expansive.
In my mind, I hear bagpipes playing.
It is some fierce melody,
unfamiliar, yet deeply known.
The meditation fades back to other surroundings.
Back to the dark blank room,
buzzing fan, and noise pollution.
Then I'm reminded, I don't care at all for bagpipes.

If you're working against a better future for all of us, I will, without hesitation, walk all over you to make the best out of a world on fire.

Relapse
It's a word that keeps coming up.
Get it?! Keeps coming up?
It's something that makes us think of substances and addiction.
A narrow view of a massive crisis.
As it festers and grows, you ignore it.
It spins webs that sew into you until more fiber is relapse than progress.
Eventually leading you to the same place it always does.
A self fabricated wall with no ropes, ladders or shovels to aid in moving past the barrier.
Spanning to a wider view you'll find that relapse is a state of mind.
Toward the diet, the feeling, the mood, the bad habit, the obsession, the perspective or the substance.
Though it is a repeated journey attempting to best tbe barrier via the same path is a path to nowhere.
Be creative, be different, be confident, find the energy and want to change.
That is the path away from misery and repetition.

Screaming internally; sitting in silence.
Make these feelings wash away without a word spoken.

Articulating perceptions while throwing water on burning oil.
Flames and rainbows blend until the fuel is exhuasted.

I am exhausted.

Rapidly approaching dusk, the sunbeams are bouncing across car roofs, creating a river of deep red.
Below there's broken glass strewn across the always shining like star light bending in the atmosphere.
I wonder what the glass thinks of being shattered by drunk nomad who felt the desire to release the bottle at high velocity?
Does it care that it's avoided by all the passers by?
Does it feel free having escaped the vessel and sprawl across the concrete?
Perhaps I need to be shattered to break free?
Trapped in mental paradox I struggle to find resolution.
Wading in ambiguity without direction, exhaustion settles into routine.
Waiting to see the fruits of my investment in self.

Eloquent lair,
esteemed and influential.
Spreading disasters
that make me mental.

Not about this repetition.
Locking me in a finite position.

With a moderate delay,
reinforcements arrive.
Reminding me that it is alright to thrive.

Maturing at a healthly pace.
Hoping to survive it all with grace.