for Tascha

deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment


dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver

But I never think about

death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred

differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past

May 2015

The world could remain gas and fume,
The woe could remain lonely doom,
The words could avoid the plume,
The wilt could avoid the bloom;
If the womb could be my tomb.

I'm rarely dreaming.
Waking from a rarely dreaming,
I'm always screaming.
Only in my head, without a single sound,
But it's still far too loud.


Realities are deceiving.
I'm never sure of when I'm dreaming;
I'm always waiting for awaking.
The thoughts and doubts form a crowd;
I cannot look around.


I'm barely sleeping.
I'm afraid I will wake up in the evening,
And it's still the evening.
Being alone, in the deep night drowned,
Dreams or deeds astound.


It's a funny feeling.
The morning should be relieving,
Even if it's without meaning.
At least, I could be sure of the ground,
Not just being without a bound.


Am I dreaming?
I have no landmarks steering;
I might be sleeping.
Dream in a dream in a dream sowed;
In a mind that may be underground.