I remember overhearing at the tennis game
  "I always take painkillers, I can't seem to get
                 the doctor to prescribe anything else
            and I never sleep, and so with my morning
              coffee, I slip some liquor in it
                      and take some Anadin, as simple as that."
      I sat and listened. Just in earshot.
            "It just calms me down and sets me off for the day."
              I see her take out a flask.
               Opening the lid she breathes in.
             "And days like this," she giggles.
         "I bring extra."
     Both the women now giggle
             I smile
              maybe this will work for me.

                    That night I went home and straight
                       to the medicine cabinet
                they sold paracetamol in tubs of hundreds
                   I was only 14
                   I'd only take a handful at a time
         not enough to harm me
                    little enough to go unnoticed
                         I felt the rush even before I took them
                         I still have the journal from that time
                   an off-balance teenager who never fit in
                         a longing for freedom so deep
                      maybe this could give me the wings
                             to fly.

© Sia Jane

looking through re-processed posts
getting tired of these cyber ghosts
I ask myself, where is the humanity
it's selfies, game invites, and vanity

Time passes
Nothing lasts
Nobody cares
Nobody there
Heart cries
Love hurts
Minds shatter
People go
So alone
Nothing matters
Without you
Lost love
All gone
Just say
Two words

Today is the first day
Of Spring in Ontario
After an arduous winter.
We have waited with
Northern patience.
I cruised my Shadow
Along Lakeshore Rd,
The sun strobing through
Leafless, budding limbs.
The smell of Spring clean-up,
The burning of leaves and wood;
An invisible, invading aroma.
That one assault held the force
Of all my Springs,
Before I worried over CO2's.

i wonder if i ever

let go this pen

and no longer gave

the words their say

would that freedom

reshape the man i am

would i rue the day

that poetry

doesn't have a hold of me

the very thought

makes me afraid

it would be like

letting go the hand

of my closest friend

that always gets her way

yet there seems to be

comfort in this cancer

pleasure in its pain

am i truly looking

for an answer

would i listen anyway

to the contemplate

of the letting go

of this pen

i tightly grip a hold

my friend my lover

i at times loath

is something

i may never know