The Sovereign spins string on its fingertips
Creating a tapestry of one’s existence
Forced and bound tightly with silk
Silk braided into barbered wires

Choking and constricting to the very core
Thread searing and branding the body
Trapped in a web of deceit
Puppeteering while I try to lead

Captivated by crystalline chains
Chains which bind me to the eternal night
I stare at the darkness
The darkness stares back

Writhing in these woven webs
Struggling and suffocating
In harmonious cacophony
Desperately clawing towards freedom

The crystalline chains crack
Braided silk unravels into strands
Woven webs wax and wane
Nature’s hold withers away

Released from the cocoon of futility
Threads of fate snapped and spindled
Forced tapestry destroyed and left undone
Replaced by a blank piece of cloth

It had been 11 months since I dared burst my skull
The ghastly vision that ebbs and flows
from mirrors to walls and solemn windows
Their precarious steps clouding my neck—
bottle after bottle and their vision recedes
How swift the mind guides away from the ruptures
How swift the world seek change at unwilling ends.
Stillness at the silence of once bustling dwellings.
Cyclical patterns I once fought to leave
Elated thoughts and galactic dreams
No longer suppressed within the concrete eves

The ceiling fan sends its emissary
to breathe upon the candle’s flame
the humble blaze enclosed but free
in the small clear glass vessel.
Silently it wiggles and swirls
asserts its freedom
responds to the breezy envoy
with light.

May I and you, constrained and nourished
within life’s bounds,
embrace freedom’s grace
and respond with light
as we dance with the wind.

Son, I remember smiling faces who
gathered around the television’s glow. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each one.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang out to
me like precious songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember faces who
gathered around the television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang to
me like songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember who
gathered around television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," sang to
me like, my family.

Son, remember who
gathered around. "Are
you?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," to
me, my family.

Son, who
gathered. "Are
you?" Asked.
"Yes," to
me, family.

Who
"Are
you"
to
me.

Hold on to yourself
Don’t let your scars become you
Lest you scar others

There Was A Long Month Called January
Which Filled All  with untold constrain and worry!
Tired of her scotching haze right from her beginning...
everyone ached for her end that was never beckoning
That Hell of A Long Month Called January