I'll be better here sometime right before never,
I swear
Not trying to be clever
I'm being sincere
Just can't assign a specific timeline to recover
I've tried it,
Found it only helped set up the next failure
The one that's already lurking around each and every corner
I stand defiant, against my own self preservation order,
Almost daring it to leap from the darkness a couple corners sooner
I'm not trying to be negative either
Life is an iffy endeavor
But I don't not get it,
I can see it from the view of the average observer
It's gotta look like a recipe for disaster
But it's better than what I see in the mirror
Something I won't need a memory to remember
Branding me with this, scared flesh on each wrist,
A gut wrenching reminder
The kind that can only linger forever
Stalking me from the edge of what I'll be able to remember
But it'll get better...
...they swear

©2024

Like a drug taken for a quarter century, this writing doesn't help like it use to...
See,
I'm starting to feel like it's working against me
Holding me here in pain and misery
Cleverly disguised as creativity
I use to lie and say it was a way to get rid of all this negativity
But I've spilled so much blood and tears onto stationary
...and not even purely metaphorically...
I should be completely empty
Hell, I think I might be
I think it's moved onto draining my energy
Can I still call this writing therapy?
Is it healthy or does it keep me from a new me?
Holding tightly but in spite of me
Hiding a different side of a complex personality
A new level of maturity
Is it actually helping any?
Today it's hard to say, but maybe
Unfortunately, it's something I'm good at, a skill I enjoy and I don't have many
So I've begun to notice I look at it differently
It was suppose to help me let go of the painful unpleasantry held in many a memory
But it woke a part of my ego that I didn't know would grip so tightly
It might have been a mistake to rely on it so heavily
It's no longer moving along the story
No cautionary tales to learn from because they never become history
It becomes a bookmark that I don't use properly
I never move it to the page I left off on and now, I must admit openly, I'm doing it purposely
I keep the worst of me right next to me, close as a frienemy
All because I notice I DON'T write when I'm happy
And I like to write so I dance around emotions strategically
I don't know if it's anything worth saying but writing is calling and drawing me in closely
A ghostly presence that when I look closely I see my identity
It hasn't always been but is now a big part of me
But does it want all of me?
Can't say either way with any certainty
No AH-HA moment, no clarity, only a death grip on disparity
So I recklessly walk the line of happy and tragedy
Like a DUI test on the side of the freeway, drunken pageantry
Eyes closed usually
No thought of mine or anyone else's safety
Dangerously close to calamity
And I just worry

©2024

Be that clever one , who knows to be a fool at wanted times..

My body becomes rather rigid when it’s time to follow instructions
“Keep out” nah lets go in
“No smoking allowed” hah but I’m the kingpin
Give me some orders so I have something to throw away
Don’t even think about reverse psychology
You’re the town’s local theater while I’m New York City’s Broadway

Rebel against rebellion
All the ends march in four directions
North to south to east to west
I’m busy digging up treasure chests
I fly while you’re motionless
You turn to cement while I flow
I am the sufferer’s bandage
You are the world’s chateau