The flute is mute
it's half-broken
the flautist leaves it alone
old age has spoken

once he was the pride
of the musical world--he brought tears
to his listeners - now in the silence
of his sick-bed--he wants to forget all his past years

by Ryan P. Kinney and J.M. Romig

I am shards and reflections
Machinations and reactions
I am translucent pieces and parts
Assembled and disheveled

Spitting.
Clicking
Fingertips stumbling ever so awkwardly
Across the keyboard
Slightly stale leftover love
Making memories
Drift in...

My conscious lacks a separation between the human and the inert
Most sociopaths have a certain charm

Not so sure it's good
For me to be alone
Gives me time to think
Of the things I know
And the things I know
Never are quite right
The way I think I may
The way I know I might

Not so sure it's good
In the choosing of the sides
Where my brain convenes
With the left and right
While one stands up for yes
The other sits for no
Never can you tell
Which way this mind will go

Not so sure it's good
To let it out to play
Where in its adolescence gets lost
Or just ups and runs away

Plagued by the slightest sounds,
Every sight I resent.
My mere existence in this place is hostile,
Yet this persistent voice torments.
‘You have to try, you have to’ it says,
I drag my body from the floor.
‘One step at a time, and I promise you things will heal,
You just have to open the door’.

But the sun burns through my skin;
The wind ****** my neck like needles.
All of the elements conspiring to destroy what is left of me,
Even the air feels heavy.
My fragile body paper thin,
Ready to tear at any moment.
‘I can’t go outside, I can’t, don’t make me’
With shame I turn away.
I am defenceless,
I am defeated
I just want to be free.

This battle has been too destructive,
And the road to return is too long.
This crippled soul won’t carry,
Stunned silence;
I had awaited strong.
But my wasted heart and weary eyes are closing,
I want to sleep now
Please,
I just want to sleep; everything is sore.
Just let me lie here.
Let me die here.
I have no fight left in me anymore.

(In the kitchen
after eating oatmeal,
I spot a pen...)

I like this pen
because it's purple.

This may not seem
like a big deal,
but I used to not like purple
because everyone else did.