I drowned a little yesterday,
The big brown eyes invited me to swim.
I caught my breath and dove in,
My knees weakened by the clash of red and black.
Tensed and ready for the onslaught,
I placed all my trust in the youthful face.
Expecting nothing but the world to be put to rights.
A little release, soft yet painful.
Like removing a splinter but leaving the cut.
Will I heal over the cut like always?
Will she dig it out and cut deeper to heal better?
Therapy is not for the weak,
But living is.
;

The thought train has left the tracks,
Derailed by inattention.

Pulled apart by thought, not horses.
Imagined enemies have become my saviours.
Truth peddlers work for free, liars require restitution.
Free thought is seldom without its price.
I am not always right, even when I am.

Orwellian insight provoking apocalyptic visions of prophetic rodents,
Mammalian entropy divining inconsequential apathy,
Veracity overshadowed by facility,
Empathy vanquished by semblances of narcissistic affliction.
Alacrity a surrogate for hollow accomplishment.
Disturbances are null and frivolous in midweek ennui.

Almost was addicted to the numbness.
All thought and no deed makes pharma rich.
Give me a sunset and a laugh over pills any day.
Want to live there? Go right ahead.
I’ll be over here, smiling after climbing out.

My slippery friend came knocking today.
Sensing my fear yet my unwillingness to yield gives him pause.
My mind is stronger, I am stronger.
Healing is always tougher than surrender, winning is certain.
Two steps back but three forward.
Confused jumble of thoughts like sharks circling,
Waiting for the opportunity to attack.
I drip my blood into the water, daring them to face me.
But the shark is the coward, not me.
I win again today but I may lose tomorrow,
Fighting fists are wrapped, my mind shield fits me now.
I am ready for the good fight at last.
Peace will be my reward.

Voices are screaming,
Heart is hammering,
Skin is sweating,
Lips are trembling,
Limbs are aching with phantom pain,
I think my brain tumour is back again.
Is that the DT’s?
Or is it disease?
Won’t someone listen? Please? Please?
Priceless things, those good friends’ ears.
Wish I’d known that over the years.
Bottled up and seeping out,
Feel the venom while I shout.
Poisoned by my own reticence,
Maybe I need another penance?
Forgiving myself for all the guilt,
Making myself accept the trip.
Relief is temporary, pain is real
I bet you can’t tell what I feel.
Guilt, shame, fear and doubt.
That’s what my poor life was about.
But no more! Says I,
I’d rather die.
Than give in to it, or sit, and sigh.
And now I learn I’m allowed to cry.