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Empty and debauched,
that hollow space
inside of me,
the cavernous
void that I tried
to stuff with
*****, drugs,
****** galore
turned out to be
the exact shape of
the Creator.

I smelled the stale
breath of death coming
for me on the
nightmare wind.
Life tasted like rotten
meat.
Maggots ate away at
my soul, and all I
touched felt like
cracked cement and
broken glass.

Always lost
forever searching.

I'm glad I found my
way home to the
sublime symphony, life can be,
should be
will be, if I don't wander
to the barren places, and
pitch a tent.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gn9IAYo0wZE
Here's a link to my YouTube channel where I read my poetry from my latest book, Sleep Always Calls, available on Amazon.com
The wind blows freely in the air,
as I sit and relax without a care--
Underneath a huge canopy of silk,
while munching on treats as I drink milk.

It floats and captures the breezy day,
this backyard canopy of yesterday--
Mother left it to me when she passed,
and now the memories always last.

A rainbow streaks across the sky,
catching moments coming from on high--
While I recall my days as a child,
when this canopy flowed, free and wild.

The summer sun is rising above,
as I'm cooled under the canopy of love--
A childlike vision comes into sight,
with mother holding my hand so tight.
I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that  
I possess countless poetic ideas.

Because at the end of the day,  
I see only failures in every attempt.  
And I'm not about to lie by saying that  
each setback helps me along.

Because no matter what,  
                        I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.                        
And I am in no position to believe that  
true inspiration dwells within me.

For even in my darkest musings,  
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?
Backwards poems are so fun to write! They take away my writer's block!
 Oct 2024 MetaVerse
Jill
No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing

No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding

No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless  
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…

A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft

A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe

Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend

I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step

Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend

Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
    with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
    that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
    long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding

The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside
Related music Pixies – Monkey gone to heaven, Doolittle (1989)

©2024
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