The Judge, Jury, Jailer, and *******,
Come all at once
At the same time, In the same place.

At the same time, the trial begins
at any time.
In the morning, in the shower,
at the office, at the bar,
it doesn't matter
when or where,
it's only why
and why
and why and why and why and why and why.

They speak together:
"Why would you run from it with a 30 minute mile?"
"Why would you hide with the subtlety of a bull moose?"
"Why get out of bed when you know you won't make it?"
"Why waste that pain on your money and peace?"
"Why don't you just get it over with and die?"

And why
and why and why and why and why and why.
It's enough to drive you crazy.
But you know what they say,
Better to pull out your teeth
to feel some kind of way,
than feel nothing at all.

One does not close the gap
of eleven years.

Because each one is a mile long and ten deep.

It's much easier to
Build a long rope bridge.

Because metal and stone take time to build out.

Easier but fleeting,
As it did collapse.

And I felt as though my efforts were wasted.

Cause' she couldn't give me
the real reason why.

Why she could leave me without a single word.

My father's voice
Is quite like a canyon:
deep, rocky, and beautiful.

My father's voice
Is much like a desert:
dry, windy, and darkly colorful.

My father's voice
Is just like the ocean:
blue, misty, and black in it's reaches.

My father's voice
would be ever more pleasing
If he would just shut up.

Thank you,
For sitting quietly on the toilet lid as I cried in the shower and not
   correcting a stupid kid who had no reason to.
For tapping lightly my chest as haggard nurses pinned me to the
    examination chair so my father could better see my UTI.
For your gentle words when the angry cooks screamed at a boy
    who knew not what he did.
For teaching me when he stalked our halls and dimmed our lights
    just to blacken his blood.
For staying with me after she left, cause I knew you wanted to give
    her a piece of your mind.

Oh Death, thank you for waiting.
Patience is a virtue, as they say.

With love,
Me

Little Man, little voice
that screams so softly
that others won't hear.

Little Man, that whispers
not half as sweetly
as bitter, dry tears.

Hiding there, in the bathroom mirror.
He bears my face,
and wears my voice.
I scramble for him,
and off he goes
to muddy my coffee cup.

Waiting there, in the office corner.
One more mistake,
a useless choice.
I cower from him.
He jangles in  
my face a dirt hourglass.

Awful thing, please let me sleep.
Little Man: I love you so.

I am so tense.
I am so dense.
I am so small.
But, I can call
"I am still here"