ryn 1h

Received a surprise.

A massive ball
of depression,
anxiety and
hyperventilation.
All laced and
bundled up
with fancy ribbon
tied in a bow,
served on
an ornate platter
and accompanied by
a quaint little
card which I
only read later.

It said,

“Choke on this asshole.
Happy birthday.”

ryn 23h

Stuck in a
narrow hallway.

White, clean...
Clinical.

Either walls display
a parade of
clean-cut doors...



But there aren’t any knobs.

ryn 2d

Nursing a head full of questions.
Things left voiceless and unsaid.
Thoughts running errant,
and cracked promises half made.

In my already bloated baggage,
I take in an extra load.
A tourist in a familiar place
stranded by the side of the road.

Should’ve noticed the clues...
Should’ve read the signs along the way...

Now I stand in the middle to nowhere,
reliving yesterday, today.

ryn 2d

My digits tremble
as ink falls to paper
Drip...
Drip...

I know you’re listening


My eyes blur
as tears fall to smudge
Blink...
Blink...

I know you’re watching


My insides crumble
as these words are written
Creak...
Crash...

Because I know you’re reading

ryn 3d

Throw him scraps from the table.
Feed him tiny morsels off the lean.
Offer him last dregs from the barrel.


He’ll take anything you’d part with...
For his eyes are blindfolded,
and his mouth sewn shut.

He sees yet he doesn’t know.
He fights but he does not say.

He can only piece together so much
from mere dribs and drabs.

So toss this crow some loose change...
Clothe this jackal in complete rags,
And hand this vulture his just deserts.


He’ll swallow whatever you’re willing give him...



Because he can no longer bear
being left in the dark.

ryn 4d
Boy

The boy no longer goes by that name
He was told that it only cycles the same

That boy you once knew is no longer
The battles he fought only saw him falter

Most would say to persevere like anyone should
But he ate into himself like you knew he would

Weak is his spirit like the legs of a newly born fawn
A mere thread holds feeble before he is long gone

ryn 4d

I’m counting the seconds;
For every one that passes
is a fragment of the future
which I have claimed
and committed to the past.

I’m counting the hours;
For with every chime on the hour,
I celebrate quietly that I still
live and breathe.

I’m counting the days;
For with every rise,
and every set,
takes me farther from
where I had been.

I’m now counting all the times
I’ve told myself that and scoffed.

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