Here’s your piece again with the title included:


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Wildest thought
roams freely in my mind.
I want to hold her—
hands pinned to wall,
breath against her ear,
and claim her with hickeys,
enough to chase men
from her.


---

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Been living in my head all day.
How it saddens—
yet gladdens
my heart.

---

I lost one follower,

I apologize.

I'm glad my art could please them,

For a little while.

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Laughing aimlessly,
trying to forget
my depressed soul—
so lonely.

How cool would it be
to feel normal,
like others do—
not always thinking
about my broken life,
or how it might turn out.

But in all,
we must keep going.

---

   Vickie

The old poets haunt me
they taunt me from the shadows
following every keystroke I type -
they’re critical of phrases,
they demand narrower themes
and mock the very clichés they invented.

I remind these frightful spirits of how tenuous
life was, how I’m blindly living these experiences,
how prevalent desire is, how human it is to chase
the things we’re told will fulfill us, like goals and love.

I try and explain this Internet thing,
how the more copious my writings,
the more people it says are following me.
How I really don’t want to sound paranoid
but as hard as I try - I don’t see anyone.
.
.
Song for this:
Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx
Reelin' In The Years by Steely Dan