Part I


My soul is tattered.
I long to be taken from this world
and yet I can’t let go.

My father’s closet
Third shelf on the left
Chilling metal.

I’m searching
for a place where I belong
to no avail.

The casing slips into the barrel
easier than
flipping channels

Day after day
I run tirelessly
in circles.

Down the stairs and out the door
No one can hear
my blunderings.

Is up a direction?
There is none
in this hopelessness

Click.
Ready.
Am I?

What is focus?
Shapes and forms
All is a blur

The metal is cold on my tongue.
finger on trigger.
Ready?

I am nonexistent
and the world goes on
without me.



Part II


I am here.
A whisper,
but existing.

Bustling crowds
are blind
to me.

Blood has been spilled,
across a splinter collection
for me and you.

A whisper
striving to be less
and let him seep through.

Backwards philosophy
permeates my thinking
I.  Must.  Become.  Less.

Once bold.
Now faded.
Soon lost in
the chalk dust

I LIVE for Him.