..And his head went through
the windshield,
his grey-matter splatter,  a
             sacrificial-musing:

Leading  to the wonderful
presentation
        of the ideal,
giving  all  the  world  

permission, 
to now, fully feel

providing the access for all
to now   fully heal
through all things  {real}..

borne,  from the ideal.

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

Know from where you came
and to where you are going
and count each step along the way
but keep in mind, that steps
are not exclusive for the trail
and that your feet
crave the lush greenery of meadows
long for the caressing touch of seas
yearn for the embrace of freshly plowed soil

Do not be shy, indulge them
break often from the path
survey the land instead
bruise your toes on stubborn thistle
go back, and then continue forward
get lost, and lost again
with zeal reserved for pilgrims

And finally,
as you fall weary to your bed
the ache, and speckles of your blood
adorn your makeshift cot
sum up, all of your steps
and you might find
they total at the square length of your way
smile
your journey was ideal

You are unsatisfiable unpleased and unhappy
Forever wandering
I’m done trying to be what you want
I’ve tried despite what you say

You may wander wherever you see fit
I won’t chase you any further
My heart has moved on to its next unattainable goal
Making myself happy

Inconsistency and ambivalence.
Constant push and pull.
You're here. Now you're not.
"I love you". We haven't spoken in months.
Indifference and apathy.
Mixed messages.
I'm who you want when you don't want to be alone.
Company. Just company.

Interest. Disappearance. Repeat.

Someone once said that we die twice--
First, when we take our very last breath.
The flame on our candle goes out as we
Transition between life and death.

But then comes our second dying.
It’s similar but not the same.
That death occurs when someone for
The very last time says our name.

So where are extinguished flames?
What happens to the morning dew?
What effect does speculating
Have upon our point of view?

Life has many questions to ponder.
I wonder if such thoughts are freeing:
Knowing that we once had been
And not remaining attached to being.

-by Bob B (10-26-19)