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Tick tock.
The shock of glancing at the clock
realizing 10 years have come and gone
without adding so much as one lyric to your song.

It’s not as if you haven’t tried,
Haven’t mulled over thousands of words to scribe
Haven’t heard the melody, so soft and so sweet,
Driven towards insanity as it infinitely repeats.

How does one materialize the immaterial?
****** the spectre from the world of ethereal?
Add substance to air without choking to death,
and learn to take a different kind of breath?

Perhaps you need a second hard slap,
waking you, once more, from your aqueous nap.
If only you could emerge from this dark
free as a bird, with the voice of a Lark.

The creation of an emanation of the purest vibration
is all you would need for your divine transformation.
So what is preventing these sacred sound waves,
and forcing you down into this deep, dark cave?

There is a way out
or haven’t you heard?
Just open your mouth
and speak one, true word.

As long as it bounces around in your head,
hidden, secret, and not to be read,
you’ll forever be waiting for your time to come,
the day you’ll break free and bask in the sun.

Take a deep breath and walk up to the ledge
Place your back to the wind and repeat this pledge:

"I am a true artist, right now and right here
I give up my doubt and release all my fear.

With this I am free, I am boundless, and great
I have what it takes to express and create.

And when I sing true, aligned with my heart,
nothing can stop me from playing my part.

For I have a role, and it’s perfectly unique,
I harness my strength and empower the weak.

I give all that I am with joy and with ease
And surrender myself to life’s gentle breeze.

I am ready to jump, to leap into the air,
confront the unknown, and love and to share.

I pledge my allegiance to all that’s inside
to give it a voice and never to hide.

Now all that’s left is for me to say this:
I am a true artist, I will follow my bliss!"

Turn around, inhale, and reach your arms up tall.
Step forward and exhale as you begin to fall.

You’re free as a bird now, ready to fly,
ready to sing, and soar through the sky.
Free from the burden of stagnant “what-ifs”
Free to spread out all your wonderful gifts.

You’ll no longer feel that sharp, stagnant, shock
Because you’re finally free from that sound:

Tick Tock.

-BPW
5/12/2014
I have a confession
It's called an obsession.
A preoccupation
With my aggression
I feel it building
Like Lego for adults
Doctors say it's part
and parcel of my
Depression.
If that's the case then
All serial killers
and not nice people
are just depressed.
Not obsessed with hurt
or pain or emotion.
Just a little down
Take a pill
Chill.
Don't ****
Don't obsess
You're just depressed.
© JLB
 May 2014 Tim Bustin
Tea
The shadows are waiting
The voices are chanting
In the humming I hear
slow taps

The eyes start bleeding
The lungs aren't breathing
Silently I hope for an
inevitable collapse

The throat starts coughing
The devil is laughing
I wait patiently for the
pain to start

The darkness empowers
The emptiness devours
But there's still a faint beat in
this hollow heart

— The End —