I don’t know what to write about
I cant sense what yearns to come out today
The nib of my pain has become dull
It tries to write sweet poetry,
But all it manages is thick illegible lines of blood.

The hurt and despair spill out,
but there is no instrument to form them to words
No skill to set them to meter,
So they flow unchecked,
Soil the sheets and make a mess

If I could I would fashion my misery into a song
To give as a gift to the next generations
They could read my words on the dungeon walls
When it is their time to be locked in
Written in acid tears:

‘I was here..

Life is inconvenient and annoying
Life is a round hole in a square peg
Life is miserable beauty and beautiful misery
Life is all that must be, and isn’t, but could be

Life is the shadow
of one moment of joy
gone forever
doubted forever

It must be reproduced by all means,
but cannot…

Life is, times up’

I am boxed in by my own expectations
I am afraid of my own fore shadow
Of things that need to come

I suspect that if I were free of wanting the things I feel compelled to be, which are vast in number, I actually have a decent shot at achieving great things

Can I cast aside the pursuit of false projections of greatness and pursue nothing but the whims and inclinations of my mind. Will that lead me to greatness.

It’s ironic that my plan to conquer the world has crushed me under its weight

Do you feel like you want to get out that ONE feeling and no number of notes, tones, sounds that you can produce seem adequate?

The sound that you produce if you persist is the sound that is unhinged from everything, from all formulas, from all previous roads taken.

Time stands still in the shower ,
The earth stops moving,
The warmth is like the warmth of the womb,
With infinite room for the mind to play and dream,
The world can’t touch you when you are in the shower.

In wanting to become everything, have I become nothing?
Why is it so hard to master this?
Why do I feel so poor and incompetent?
Where has it all gone horribly wrong?

Why am I here at the bottom of the ocean, with no air and no gils?

The way I laugh has changed over the years.

Now I laugh harder and louder,

Betraying strain,

I laugh like my life depended on it

My body hurts in fifty places
But my spirit is doing alright

A long but sweet day
A pleasant weariness, a joyful pain

Bones and muscles strain and spasm
With fond memories of a day well lived

Where human bonds were tied with smiles and hearty laughs
Where forced conversations turned to a genuine exchange of the heart

A day well lived. A poster child for days