The flowers
don't change colors
with seasons,
that bold yellow
mocks my instinct
to adapt
while it willfully
dances
daily.

Blank face
stares at a blank page
there was so much to tell
the thoughts whirling in space
within that mind,
confused,
edgy,
but nothing would spill.
If the finger could be pricked,
and blood poured,
its dark mad rush
could exhibit,
the craving contained,
but there was no puncture
that could let out the rage,
and let in air,
that could whistle through the veins
and fill the hollow gut
that remained.

It is after the fight,
and the other members
of the family,
ones without a heartbeat,
go quiet,
and there is a silence,
hesitantly found
discomfiting;
for we are used to
the bickering,
the nasty snarls
and grunts
snorts of disgust
and the occasional giggle,
always in confidence,
it is then that I realize,
it is only home,
when there is noise.

I have a coffee machine
which spurts and groans
in the morning,
while I sputter and grunt
in wait
for the liquid that
dissipates
the clouds which surround
my brain.

It has a faulty handle,
and needs to be held just right.
I learnt after two stained washcloths,
and three fingers
which turned pink
on sight.

It also has a button,
which turned on sometimes
shoots sparks,
I feel the current,
(I can see the ****** thing!)
but do nothing,
will do nothing,
till it dies.

It has been months
with my machine,
but I like this routine,
of it and I,
I have learnt a lot about myself
about my discomfort with change,
about my unchanged need for comfort,
about the degree of my laziness
and about how I'm willing to
make things last a while,

I have a machine that teaches me lessons
all before I have my first cup of coffee,
I mean, what more could I ask in life?

The vacancy
within my body
giving room
to laaazzzy
living

I need residence.
I want it to say,
"Occupied!"

I had a star (bright!)
which dimmed a little
some nights
I may have used it too much
on the twenty something wishes
I had listed (such a rush!)
Once the wishes started
to come true
not all (of course)
but a few
my star disappeared from sight
I dare not think it died
or that I may have killed
(noooooo!)
the star that had
made me wish.

Holding on to the spool
gets difficult
when the thread gets tugged
from behind
and I have to stop.
Turn around, look back,
and wonder how to get it
un-stuck.
I can't stay and get loose,
I can't move forward
without.

I walk back
re-trace the path
that got me so far.

I wish I had tugged instead,
and severed the bond,
I wish I could drop the spool
and just keep moving on.