i want to write something,
bright and beautiful.
but those things,
are memories,
out of reach,
on a high shelf.

i see them, in crooked
neck glimpses,
as they gather dust.

i hope to find my
rose tinted glasses
soon,
perhaps,
when i get home
and have some rest and sleep,
i will find them nestled,waiting,
in my bedside drawer.

i know my record has,
but a few grooves right now,
and sings only lamentations.

the fragility of my body,
assults my mind.
and the reliance on chemical
relief provides, physical respite.
but brings,a side order of
mental frailty.
so anything you get...
has those filters attached.

my world right now,
is miniscule.
this is my window...

but i know,
things will get better.
bear with me friends...
i will write,
beautiful  again.