Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Hit the breaks, no room for mistakes,
feeling like the world's about to quake.
Caught between the choices I've made,
lost in stormy weather on an abandoned lake.

No directions— no clear route to take,
so many choices — afraid which to make.
This literally took my 30 minutes to make…… i am so exhausted today…
Thursday-July 3rd- 2:53-passed away-

I'll always love you--
even though your gone,
I love you to infinity and beyond.
🐕🐶❤️😢
He was a half hearted man,
with his legs torn open from
falling from the top of the earth;

one leg down and
the rest of the body to go.

I met him at his house.
he was good and drunk,
and his house was as neat as
a catholic church.

He stumbled for a bit, muttered
some ***** and *****
before sitting down on a wooden chair.

I was there to fix his leg.
The drunk had torn it open in a display
of falling glory.

The wound was a giant blood filled
blister that got vacuumed and removed
and now a giant hole remained.

He said he didn't give a **** what
happened to his leg and I believed him.

So i cleansed the open wound, about the size
of a banana, giant hole down to the muscle
in his leg. New clean bandage applied.
He said it felt good and that was an important
victory.

And he said his pain was controlled well
with the *****.

and i told him how ***** has its time but
how it screws up the healing process and
that this gaping open banana in his leg
won’t close unless he chills with the ***.

he said life ***** sometimes and the *****
is a remedy.

Some part of me wanted to have a drink with
him and just hear his side of the story;

what kind of **** had he been through, why he
felt alcohol was the answer,
why he didn't believe in hope
and why was their
a feeling that if death was to take him today,
he’d be more than willing to go.

he didn’t really delve into much detail about
his past and I didn't especially pry —this was my
first time seeing this patient.
I typically wait till the next visit before
going into therapist mode and asking about history.

Maybe some people would be content with just going in
and doing this guy’s wound and dipping out like he was
a piece of an appliance on an assembly line, and get out.

Maybe the intoxication reminded them of someone they knew.

But I want to know another’s struggle.
I want to understand why the life that we all live is so unforgiving to so many,
I see a brother in arms, and
I want to listen to whatever he’ll reveal.

and maybe its nothing, maybe he won't tell the
whole story.

but I want this patient to know
listeners exist, strangers care,
and we might not be able to banish your
demons
but I’ll be ****** if
I
can’t sit by and listen
and
hear a man out.

And so we shook hands and I left wondering
if he could see my demons, too
One tear of true pain, it's better than multiple tears of despair.

When you're hurt multiple times, the wound only gets deeper, the pain etched into your heart.

Love, hate, greed, suffering, impurities, compassion, several contemplations I've experienced in this life, all that brought tears.

Tears, they're precious. Valuable. Beautiful. Tears.
The death's head dagger
Your grandad
Took off of
That dead ****
The scooter
From the chase
Of Diana's paparazzi
That banner that read
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
When George W
Landed that fighter
On that warship
In the Persian gulf
Good luck
Selling that stuff.
I'll meet you
In the Rothko Chapel
We'll get a private view
I know some people
It'll be no hassle

Fourteen
Big canvas
In various black
We could stay there all week
We might never come back

Or as long as we can't take it
Raw emotion

Mostly dark

Go out through the emergency exit
Into the
Surrounding
Sunlit
Verdant
Park.
They always start
With a disembodied radio voice
Over a black screen
That fades up
To a blissful domestic breakfast scene

The voice is halfway through
A mundane story
Then another that hints
At how things
Might get gory

But at the moment
All is serene
This house is where love is
And has always been

It unfolds slow
Stopped clocks
Missing signals
Distant screeching brakes
Then unlikely explosions
As humanity shakes

What is it?
What is it?
What is it?
they cry
Along with the viewers
You and I

We the audience
Know the template
Yet the nervous expectation
Makes us contemplate
If it was me what would I do?
Succumb like a *******
Or survive through
The gloom?
It's the fuel and the juice
It's the ******* excuse
Some say it's the fathers ruin
It was born of the need
When water needed the ****
To filter out some of the poison
It's was the grease
That we oiled
To forge
The forge
never spoiled
Where our models
Of the future rolled out
Some say
We should cut it
To the smallest amount
But you'll always find me
On the end of a spout.
Next page