Anxious.
Like the attachment style.
Becoming involved,
and over-thinking everything.
That's what you called that, right?
Over-thinking
these old insecurities that I can
never seem to
quite push
away
for good
while my pen bears its ink
down into and past the current
page because all my muscles
are tight
and my stomach is
sick
and my mind
is distracted.

You. You. You.

She'll pick you up,
put you down
once she's read your pages
and harvested your words.
Is it true?

I've been discarded before.

Tried to trap the bird,
what a foolish mistake,
and it flew away
leaving my hands full
of ashes.
I've pushed too hard
and clung too tightly
and lost it all
many times.

I get nervous, but I know my center.

I see your wings,
a magnificent ocean blue
which have been carved
through years of struggle.
Never think that I do not.
I would never deign
to clip them.
I would never make that mistake again.

But I, too, have my share of books
which I have picked up,
read fully,
or half-way,
and put down,
discarded.
I have lifted from branches
and flown further
when I've been trapped,
clipped.

I get nervous.

I want to stay,
more than anything,
but there is fire in my wings,
and fire in yours too.
We are certainly
birds of a feather,
so I wonder,
can we not,
could we not,
should we not,
fly together?

limbs of the fallen
upon a funeral pyre
failed offerings to a careless sun
the sacred forest lies in ruin
trilliums no more to flower
silence mocks the land
no songbirds in the bower
spires from the wreckage
rise verdant and aflame
magenta resurrection
wild and untamed

You are not new
These feelings will never fade
Just be replaced with someone else
I'll watch from a distance like I do
Too scared to say a thing
But too stubborn to let go
That's romance for me

Cobwebs

Just before
the night claims me,
errant thoughts usually traipse across the landscape of my mind.
There's always
bits and pieces from my conscious day that play out and then there's the bits and pieces that creep and crawl  in
from the cobwebs of my subconscious mind.
God, how these thoughts plague me, harangue me.
And it all twists and turns internally in the twilight of my dreams and I battle through it all.
I fight and I struggle and I break through the surface and I breathe.
And I awake. I stir, I struggle, and then,
and then, I decide
that this day
is another day
that is worthy of my time.

I am but one, alone to find,
To search the darkest parts of mind,
Here to ponder, alone to think,
A man in haste, but not one thought to think,
Secluded still, and yet to find,
That tiny little piece of mind,
Over yonder, but not quite fonder,
Still so rare mere impossible to find,
That tiny itty bit of mind,
Oh is woe, and woe is but me,
Perhaps I've lost my sanity

This time it is for real and for real you will go while I'm crying on the floor screaming no no no.

The first time your the fool but the second times my turn, but the fifth, the sixth, the seventh time and it really starts to burn.

For reasons unexplainable and some would say insane, the smell, the taste, the touch of you is burned inside my brain.

Your like a cut I cannot find, a pain I cannot cure,  but the love we had, burned in my mind seemed something rather pure.

Your a piece of me that much is true my love I'll never find, that piece of me that left with you when you screamed "IM GONE THIS TIME"

Now I hate, with my heart turned black, the thought of you not coming back, I hate myself and all I've done to make you turn your back and run.

Now I'm stuck, with me, Myself...
No prayer...
No love...
No hope...
No help...