Plagued by the slightest sounds,
Every sight I resent.
My mere existence in this place is hostile,
Yet this persistent voice torments.
‘You have to try, you have to’ it says,
I drag my body from the floor.
‘One step at a time, and I promise you things will heal,
You just have to open the door’.

But the sun burns through my skin;
The wind ****** my neck like needles.
All of the elements conspiring to destroy what is left of me,
Even the air feels heavy.
My fragile body paper thin,
Ready to tear at any moment.
‘I can’t go outside, I can’t, don’t make me’
With shame I turn away.
I am defenceless,
I am defeated
I just want to be free.

This battle has been too destructive,
And the road to return is too long.
This crippled soul won’t carry,
Stunned silence;
I had awaited strong.
But my wasted heart and weary eyes are closing,
I want to sleep now
Please,
I just want to sleep; everything is sore.
Just let me lie here.
Let me die here.
I have no fight left in me anymore.

Its simply very easy.
Kiss them.
Hold them.
Make them feel safe.
Loved.
Wanted.

Then leave them.

Don't call them.
Don't text them.

Then show up out of the blue
With an
"I still love you"
On the tip of your tongue
With another girls Hickeys
Necklaced on your neck.

Keep your distance.
Call them late at night.
Fall asleep on the phone
To them.

Give them hope.
Remind them that
They
Haven't
Moved
On
At
All.

I felt this primal urge
This trance-like instinct
To set things right
In case I have to leave
Move on, so to speak

So
I took my jaundiced eye
And rolled it from corner to corner
Of this, my situation
And I felt so very small and hard
Lost in largeness
For cynicism is a tight thing
Which allows little movement
A strange kind of chastity

And then, you see
Changes
Honesty demanded that I see more
Grow, so to speak

And oh, my poor sore eyes
See how the children starve
All over this bitter world
This bitter, sickened world
And cynicism did this
Through the slack hands of millions
Who still refuse to believe
That things can be changed

                                    By Phil Roberts

Asked to be safe, to be calm,
with the suction-pores of each palm.
Lips in twist with skin so sour,
drawing blood to drown a flower.
Pulling back, to study faces,
shaking out of sure embraces,
her heels kicked out
and her face soon followed,
and what she left,
I chewed and swallowed.