every waking moment is spent wondering
and anxiously awaiting another faulty moment-
another reason to write a poem
another reason to spill my guts.
I've always had such a way with words
except for when they were slipping
from my loose lips or trying to convince.
So for some inane reason I tend to fixate
on the reasons why my mind and heart
play tug of war with my nerves
leaving my body emotionless and numb.
More than often I am conflicted on approach-
So I succumb to the negativity that is my circumstance.
I was never one to play the victim
or dwell on the things of lesser importance
but it seems tragedy comes everyday
and sanity is far few in between.
I have tried to grip tightly on the idea of normalcy-
it just sounds like a good way to realize
that you're actually more broken than you know.
In some ways I am hoping that I will learn
why the tides of grief wash over me like the waves
or why the sands of time tend to turn me to dust.
But I am just one feather of a desert eagle
shooting holes through logic and mental stability
finding ways to undermine the melancholy
spending days searching for my sanity.