I wish my sad was cool
I wish my sad was a day drinker
Glitter covered
Beautiful, dried tears crumbling off her cheek
Misty skinned at some glorious dark hour of the morning.

I wish my sad was heartbreaking
Others staring into a globe of poorly hidden injuries
Looking over my bare shoulders to see the balding on my nape.

Instead my sad is a creaking house at night
An unseen **** growing under the boardwalk

I turn my sadness over in my mind
Like I fold my clean washing

I hope one day my sad means more to me.

One quarter the length, a fifth of the strength and an eighth of the things I could be.

Saturday at three before six, my mind's playing tricks but I've seen them before,

worn away and the day's not begun, starting to doubt that there'll be any sun,

and my back aches,

that's probably due to realism creeping through the cracks in the woodwork.

Time was less
Huge throng
Destination unknown
Legs dragged forward
while the mind dragged backwards
Caught between two opposing forces
Not sure which path to take
Stuck in a limbo!

A lot can be
accomplished
when you pull 
the covers over your
head, and just listen.
Tune out all the
distractions and *******.
Let the silence guide you.

Do you see all the
colors whirling around in
your mind?
The greens and the reds?
The indigo and violet?
They are thoughts forming.
Grand, artistic, unbridled thoughts.

People will desperately
try to distract you, and keep
you from this place.
They are a stranger to it.
Phones will go off.
The crowd will knock
at the door,
don't answer, they will
always be there.

Your job is to create in
your beautiful, dark womb.
There is a spark,
electric alchemy going on.
Don't question it.
You are an artist,
and you are giving birth

Virgo in the ascendant,
Saturn in decline,
A retrograding antidote,
A calculated rhyme;

Overtones of melancholy,
Undertones of mirth,
A surfeit of misfortune,
Of musery a dearth

Faithless Fortune taps her foot,
While plotting my demise,
A rhythm most unruly,
A metaphor unwise;

In minutes and in seconds,
She wreaks havoc on my pen,
A glib faux pas, no coup de grâce...
And so I start again.

§

My zodiacal tendencies,
Triumphant in their prime,
Fade to skepticism
As life spins on a dime.

…dawn breaks like a blow to the heart.