Yesterday
I found it a little harder
to pick up my pen
a little harder to smile at strangers
hand limp and heavy
eyelids dry and sagging
life’s **** sometimes
finding myself
caught somewhere between
catch twenty-two and murphy’s law
When did it all turn so dark?

ugh,
inspiration is a *****

And yes, Today
the pen is still made of lead
but my inspiration is stronger
and ink flows

This morning I sutured my open wounds
tears of blood staunched for now
soon, I wish, I hope
to stitch it all up
slap a clean bandage over it all
Pronounce it done

Tomorrow
or maybe years from now
it will fade to a scar, a memory
faint lines, a reminder
and not Reality