she finds that time is not linear
in the gospel-like gold and amber
that glaze the green poplar leaves
in her suburban summer evenings

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

at dusk the water ripples with silver-toned echoes
whispering mythical adventures and heroes
and the words churn and boil in her mythical blood
"I would rather be ashes than dust!"

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

every night still she stargazes through her ceiling
a coward's tears on her cheeks slowly peeling
courage like corn husks from her ancient soul
leaving her core shivering in the dust and dusty cold

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
freezes
with legs in tired atrophy

yet i stand again alone and cold
watching
an onslaught of angry wet bullets
pummel my peanut-shaped torso

if every midnight a new ghost
was born to loop again through my day
all my naked peanut-shaped torsos
would be standing here
too
all my red veiny feet burning a hole
through the white ceramic floor
and thousands of the same absent brown eyes
watching
– only a few
seeing

all my fingertips work in sync
rubbing face cream into
millions of layers of sticky skin
as our gurgling stomachs tie themselves into knots
and we record in our dejected minds like abused children
shivering in the corner of our skulls

the sickening feeling of
being both
perpetrator and victim

the alarm clock
in my childhood bedroom
has always been
fast by a minute or 2

every month or so i
realign the last digit
with Apple's universal truth

and every month it
slips
out of sync
again

it must be off by such a small fraction
of a second
i tried to calculate it once
0.00001 some-odd something
one brick so minimally out of place
causing the gradual collapse of a skyscraper

i havent found the energy lately
to practice this ritual
and today

my old clock
is fast by 3 minutes
neon green bars flickering silently
marching on
announcing fates to the unwilling and
making
rash judgements

there was nothing i planned to do
with those 3 minutes
and i knew it was
justified in its conviction

but i
realigned the last digit
and watched for 3 minutes
the green flickering rhythmically against
the black screen
climbing minute by minute
finalizing again
my execution

Staring at the ceiling in the dark
A new world comes to life

Dancing shadows
Like familiar silhouettes
From memories once so dear
Doing dips and pirouettes
Entangling then seperate
Few seeming so desperate
Whilst others only bid adieu
For not all is too
Far gone, far down
All things shall arise

Ribbons like smoke
Or regrets chains that choke
A serpent, slithering in the mind
Plotting to seize control

A figure of shadow
Creeping by the doorway
Moving soundlessly across the ground
To stop and stare
At the one who dare
Look back
Into the eyes of a darkness.

- Jay M
August 24th, 2020

From children, you can

never tell that they will be –


boring as adults.

i wish i could love someone as much as my cat loves me

and i wish i could feel something when i touch myself

i wish my life existed outside my room

i wish i had things to talk about

I feel like a puppet in suspension
Like I'm not really myself

I'm just watching this world from my lonely little self

I'm forced to see the same **** things go by
Every single morning and every single night

I don't have much to say in the matter of this plight
Even if I did I wouldn't try to fight

Because no what you do
Or what you say

It always repeats
Every single day

Anxious.
Feeling insufficient.
Knowing I'm insufficient.
Wanting insufficiency.
Not quite sufficient.
Comparing and contrasting.
Contrasting.

Wanting acceptance to be my most authentic self.
What is my most authentic self?
Where do I find her?

Focusing on the next milestone.
Getting there and doing the same.
What do we meet at the milestone?
Will be happy will be content will be accepted will be winning,
at the next milestone.

How do you live in the present moment?
What is the present moment?