I'm the pillow you
threw off the bed
because you thought
you wouldn't need me.
Little did you know
that in thirty seconds
you would pull me
off the floor to
support your back
so you could lean over
your smelly handmade
journal pages to write
this short silly poem.

Don't be so naïve to think
you don't need me.
Don't throw me aside
in arrogance thinking
you'll be more comfortable
without me.

If I were a painter,
I'd paint you the hundreds
of marigold leaves
hanging on the branches
of our one-lane street.

I'd color the canvas
with the image of myself
blowing air on the flames
of our Sunday-night fire,
watching it dance to life.

If I were able to
mix the oils just right,
I could shine a flashlight
through the fence to find
the deer as it rustled in the bushes.

If I had the finest Parisian brushes,
I'd seal our memories forever,
hanging them in rustic frames
on the walls of our home
where they could be

remembered daily
rather than just
once-in-a-while
when the campfire smoke
finally jogs our memory.

Anesthetized and scoured clean, my mind reflects these halls
Of almost-forgotten ***** spills and madness within these walls.

Artificial sleep,
Restless, blood-shot pits;
Reflections, dark and hollow,
Echo visions in raving fits.

This place is said to heal - return sanity from whom it's fled:
Ammend the twisted, save the wretch, cauterize what's bled.

I had a dream last night
My mother put me in the pool
There were anchors on my feet
I struggled for air
Because that's what was expected
Eventually I drank
It felt good to be a fish
I don't have to hurt
If nobody wants me to struggle