Still I think of an old habit, that I had once made to inhabit, it developed quick as a rabbit.
                              With how fast the crimson would flood, with mountain of tissues soaked in blood, as my body is tossed in the mud.
                                       In all honesty I still miss the rush, the gush,
                                                  That silent shush.
        But I'll keep my word,
Though i might be a flightless bird,
    I can still be beautiful even with the scars, is that so absurd?

perhaps
a sudden
flash of movement
as they pace
back and forth
or
a glimpse
of
a head
           a shoulder
                           an arm
as they bend
to their food
it's quite common
to see them
from behind
while their attention
is focused on something
bright
and colourful

it is not always possible
to see the inhabitants
of each enclosure
but
rest assured
they are in there
somewhere

may i suggest returning
at 8 o'clock on Thursday?

It was 12:30 and if you'd believe it...this was early for me
I try to acknowledge these small victories
Hardly an epiphany it seems, but maybe it was for me
but as I sip this coffee made lukewarm by thoughts and reflections becoming the sunlight through the window illuminating a different spot on the floor, I know I must acknowledge it
The taste is more bitter than that first sip and it makes me question if this is really about taste
With each stretching step, I look for something new to set my sights on and make this worthwhile
Loading memories of adventure and friends and brighter days as a habit
and then scolding myself for not being here right now
Though I breathe deeply and take faith
I've made it through, more so I realize
I like myself and
I might as well

I find myself caught in recycling
not cans and paper and glass
but thoughts and actions
habits can help
but being stuck in the habitual
sloshes me into a swamp
dank and stagnant.

What if I broke the cycle in half
opened myself to hidden reaches
of my mental soulful caverns?
Maybe this interruption
would reawaken my muse
from her drowsiness
sparkling and sprinkling me
with poetic stirrings.

It’s worth trying.

I write, deep ache inside.
I cry, not knowing why.
I sleep, one more pill.
I drink, just want a thrill.
I read, not to feel alone.
I eat, not to reach my bones.
I dream, fed up of my life.
I quit, one more time.
I smoke, feet leave the ground.
I fly, elevated mind resounds.
I apologize, failed again.
I fall, wish to be dead.

My life is filled with bad habits

                I don’t have the energy to break