I guess there are a couple of people on this site
Complaining they are being stalked by another member
All I can think of is
Where the hell is my stalker?!
Am I not stalk-worthy?
The status symbol of a stalker
Eludes me
Maybe I should make one up
I'll bet half of them are fictitious, anyways

Diagnosis now confirmed
no need to worry anymore
all's that left is to exist
based on the verdict I can't dismiss

checkbox marked on the form
DSM stating the obvious
discerning the true verdict
from the wreckage of my life

now the path has been prescribed
in the book of consequence
unknown pages yet unturned
none or more before the cure

being broken is not enough
medicine must be consumed
if the diagnosis is made firm
the undoing is all that's left.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180202.

I am a Traveller on a journey with no beginning or end

I am a Traveller who seeks new experiences with Family and Friend

I am a Traveller who likes to write about what she sees, how I view the world of course is uniquely me

I am a Traveller and set my compass to my next destination, plan my trip from A to B leaving room for spontaneity

I am a Traveller seeking out what I know, historic places, jewels in the Crown, maybe stumble across some old parts of town

I am a Traveller who loves to meet locals, sitting at a bar or restaurant, friendly chit-chat reveals a hidden treasure I would surely have missed if not for the local gossip

I am a Traveller I travel by plane, car, train and sea, there is no limit to the places I wish to visit and see

I am a Traveller who records everything I do and see by Pen and Photography

I am a Traveller with my husband by my side, we will travel until we can travel no more

I am a Traveller until the day I die and one last trip to the cosmic sky

.
I have always known you
Stranger,
In this whirling tavern,
Where life is plasmic.

You speak with sweetest
Nothings,
In my groping, deaf ears,
Where sense is non.

And now we are laying
Hollow,
On this letted, fresh bed,
Without any clues.

Your are plain, beautiful
Stranger,
Your hands ply my soul,
As bees on dry flower.