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Isaac Aug 2018
when you look beyond busyness
what is it that you see?
a world endlessly searching
for what it was meant to be?
a mankind desperately looking
for the answer to its ache,
striving to achieve
some sort of break
from its broken heart
of pain and agony,
hoping to fix this
crippled reality?
when I look beyond busyness
I know what I see
a world waiting for God's return
when he destroys the enemy
a world waiting for the story to turn
to the part where Earth is set free
Written 18 August 2018
Kagey Sage Aug 2014
In person body language for the quickest returns
and obvious signs of disinterest and distress
Telephones for voices; plain, animated, or faking it
Letters for gesture, or a classic long slow catch up
And texting...
I know you got it
I may even know you read it
What's your excuse for delay?

Perhaps a brain lapse, perhaps some monotonous busyness
Perhaps I'm now an ignored fad, maybe you got better plans
Yet, could it be, our collective muscle memory pines for saying things by other means?
Andrew Castillo Nov 2011
Busyness is rampant every day
Running our lives
No time to play
No time to love
No time to relax
What is the point of going on
When you cannot even dance?
Enjoy yourself
Crazy Beautiful Mar 2014
I keep waiting for the phone to ring
Yet I know it won't be you;
I try to fill my life with busyness
Yet all I do is think of you.

What became of us
And all our dreams and plans;
How could you turn and walk away
As I watched our castles turn to sand?

Do you never even miss me
Don't you long to caress my face;
How could you forget so easily
And You I can't erase?

I want to be in your arms again
To see the laughter in your eyes;
But I guess the joke's on me
And Oh! Was I surprised!
Derek DM Apr 2017
When did we call become so

Infuriated by the rain
and the sunshine

Impatient to run
and wait in line

Insecure of space
and empty time

In days where the end
was made by the farmer's hand
pinching the flame out

There were only rows
the sun and rain made
over a season grow
abcdefg Dec 2011
In my backyard, the deep sauce
of sun-gold air swivels lazily,
stirred by the occasional bumblebee.
I’m entertained by the idea of anything beyond this.
No continents, no glitter-splashed ocean.
The softened world settles into itself,
transforming from its usual busyness.
Squash lounges in the garden and
preschool train operators maneuver Thomas
through his wooden kingdom.
They move trees and buildings around their set and we,
still fascinated with the cucumber in the garden,
don’t look up from skimming our fingers through grass,
changing our own soil kingdoms with the sweep of a hand.
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
They warned us not to worry,
Just do our best in school;
Those worldly professionals,
Taught us work-to-rule.

They did a few case studies
On twins from day of birth;
There's a fifty-fifty chance,
A will be born first

They are urban fighters,
Of fire, crime and blame;
They live in high rise condos,
They return from foreign lands.

They  wait over subway vents,
Their hearts and heads are bent;
They show-up in walk-ons,
They go without for Lent.

They fly in and out of space,
They don't identify with race;
They're picked up for vagrancy,
They dance cautiously in the street.

They volley warning shots
Across our private dreams;
They sign and seal a peace accord
They're sincere to a degree.

They contribute to the run-off,
And spiked our holy water;
They enlisted Moms and Dads,
Then slaughtered sons and daughters.

They made rings from ivory,
And pale lamp shades from skin;
They list dissipation
As a personal sin.

Then they did unholy things
With wood and nails, then atoms;
They tore at our goodly earth,
Wreaked havoc with their mapping.

They distilled our alcohol,
Made smoking so appealing;
Then they rang the tower bells,
And preached we had no feelings.

They dug deep for wishing wells,
Grew stuff to **** our germs;
They bestowed us rods and reels,
And spades to dig our worms.

They connected us
Through wireless touch;
They counseled us on loneliness,
And the traps of busyness.

They pronounce death is art
When they hang it on a wall;
Then blame it on our women,
In a scene based on our fall.

They're newsy opaque,
In love or hate;
They are the ambiguous,
The they, them and all of us.
In fashion with non-gender pronouns.
Austin Bauer May 2016
Why is it that every night
I change into my pajamas
Only to remove them
Ten minutes later
As I climb into bed
In my undergarments?

I reckon it is the routine
That calms me from my day,
Shedding the skin of
One day to embrace another.
It is the preparation
For my seven hour 

Sabbath where I rest 
From my seventeen hours
Of work, play, and relationships -  
Responsibilities that keep me
Too busy to take a moment
And enjoy the skin I live in. 

So each night,
I must shed that skin
In reflection of the day
That is now gone,
And rest as I prepare
Myself for another day.

Another day of busyness,
Another day of striving,
Another day of trying my best
To be the man you have
Created me to be...
To embrace who I am
In every waking moment.
Mike Essig Nov 2015
Thanks for the title, Boss.*

When I was a kid
my hometown
basked in that
(uncertain) period
of peace and
prosperity between
Korea and Vietnam.

It bustled
with busyness
and it seemed like
everyone knew
everyone and there
was always more.

Even the poor
felt included.

Half a century later,
peace has fled
for good and
prosperity too,
leaving only
vacant storefronts
and neighbors
who do not know
each other.

Perhaps this
was inevitable;
perhaps it is

But there are
moments when
it feels like
a lifetime is
just too much
to witness,
just too long
to live.

Nobody loves
a corpse.

Äŧül May 2014
All the mothers are working all the time right from their birth.
They are always learning and teaching for the sake of humanity.
They stay in our memories even after they have completed their life.
Whether they realize this or not but yes, they are always busy working.
In childhood they are busy learning basic skills required by human beings.
In teenage they are busy learning how to differentiate between right & wrong.
They then learn cooking and get married only to get more busy altogether.
They get extremely busy indeed if they started working at a service job.
Adding to their busyness are children and their bringing up as kids.
We must take care that they don't get depressed due in their lives.
That's the least thing we might do for our respective first love.
Dedicated to my mother and all the past, present & future mothers on this Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day

My HP Poem #627
©Atul Kaushal
Brandon Jul 2013
The man opposite the table of us ordered a dry sack rather ****** and loudly. Derek leaned back in his chair so that he was balancing on the back two wooden legs and shouted over to the man “I’ve got you’re dry sack right here" while grabbing at his crotch with his one free hand. His other of course being occupied with his seventh whiskey sour. By this point he had been ordering more whiskey than sour and his thirst was still far from quenched.

Next to him, Julie Ann laughed in her quiet way at the disgusted look on the mans face that Derek had insulted. She enjoyed Derek’s lack of restraint when he was drinking and the comments he would haphazardly say. Especially if it were directed towards the upper class. A class at one time she longed to be a part of but had since changed her mind. She flirted with the stem of her martini conjuring up boyish childhood fantasies to any man that was aware enough in his drunken haze to focus his eyes upon the stemware. Her seduction grew all the wilder the more her intoxication spread thruout the room. Julie Ann used her charm and looks as much as possible. She knew she would not always be the way she was and decided to live as hard as possible before her time; whether death, disease, or age; happened.

Her most recent fling, Franklin, sat beside her enamored as the rest of the men (and admittingly some women.) He nursed his death in the afternoon drink, one he felt the need to strictly remind that the mixologist behind the bar used absinthe and not Pernod, and watched Julie Ann’s animated movements. He made no illusions about his courtship with Julie Ann and was often quite boastful about it. Franklin was a hard person to like for moments longer than a few minutes and even less likable when the alcohol ran out. He would talk about his future with Julie Ann while she quietly rolled her eyes and never approached the subject of a future.

Nothing ever lasted long with Julie Ann except for cocktail hour.

I ordered my usual gin and tonic and watched the crowded restaurant in its busyness. Waiters were scurrying from table to table replacing drinks and bringing out large orders of food from the kitchen for the tables that could afford luxuries like eating. They swerved and dodged each other like an artful ballet or a war without casualties.

The man that ordered the dry sack quickly drank his aperitif and, upon further heckling from Derek, decided to skip dinner and leave. He paid his bill at the table and left a fifty cent tip for the waiter. He grabbed his jacket and wife by the arm and made his way towards the exit via a route that included our table. As he approached one could see the nerve swell inside him and as he neared even closer his mouth began to open before Derek opened his and said that if he dared to even utter a sound Derek would have him lying flat out on his back with his eyes rolled in the back of his head and his wife would be around back learning what a real man felt like.

The man stopped for a minute in his tracks and thought about his options. His wife eyed Derek with lust and was secretly hoping that her husband would open his mouth and say something but he never did. He squeezed her arm even harder, shook his head towards Derek, and walked out of the restaurant. A loud, raucous laugh exploded from our table.

Julie Ann was smiling a devilish grin and we all inquired as to what mischievous deed she was thinking. She took her left hand out from beneath the table and produced a wallet and opened it up to reveal the license of Mr dry sack. His name was Richard which we all agreed fitting.

While he was preoccupied with Derek, Julie Ann had reached around and pick pocketed him, stealing his wallet and the eight 100 dollar bills that he kept inside.

I asked for one of the bills and she handed it to me. I folded it into a paper airplane and set it into flight, landing on Richards table as the waiter had returned to clean it off. He unfolded the bill and looked around before stuffing it into the inside pocket of his uniform.

Julie Ann ordered another round of drinks and we drank and laughed and talked and danced and drank until 400$ of our newfound cash was spent.

After paying our tab we stumbled out into the cool night air and each went out into our own directions with promises to meet up again the following night and drink away the other 300$.
Thando Masekela May 2017
So busy so busy.

Getting mine getting yours
What's the sine of  this?
Add 9 to that!
Wait. I'm too busy!!!

Busy busy busy.
There's a species said to be associated with this.
They'll bee forever remembered
For their to and fro and their
Back and forth.
But I'm too busy! Too busy to notice.

Bees. Bees. Bees.
Mind our own bees wax!
You're busy alright, busy being an anteater that's what! Hm.
Get your nose out my busyness!!
I'm just an ant. An ant. An ant.
Not a worker. Just an ant.

Keeping ****** busy.

I'm done. Being. Busy. With the. Business. Of. Busyness.

I can't take it. This Human Nature.
Scrambling Thoughts. I caught a few here.
for Nave*

Busyness makes one idiotic and forgetful.  And we nearly sunk the night
didn’t we darling, leaning on the wrong swing.  

(It is always the peach tree.)   Katrina doing her Harpy on Fullblast thing
with such deftness and professionalism she leaves us no room to respond

to legs and offers of spread cheese.  And poets cave in like lonely black holes
if they cannot response as fully as they have peaches in their coffers to do so,

or at least they think so and so do we so I escaped to shower, and tried to make
the water hot enough to round me straight again, but my skin still gets in the way.  

I wanted to peel off everything and douse my soul straight in the hot and the lavender, questing
for a readiness beyond the pale, some state rare, and infinitely usuable.  

It was only when, and this is true, when I decided to make a list of
why I love you that the water went in

and the lavender grew instantly between my toes.  And Rosemarey Clooney
danced you in to me and you were a happy Papa at last, and we knew enough.  And there
was finally room enough to
mambo home.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i have six beers and only two cigarettes
and no philadelphia digression.

as a pronoun you can dissociate yourself
from nouns and common noun usage
and censorable noun usage,
and find that the deconstructive aspect of *derrida

is not found in nouns but primarily in prepositions
& conjunctions
and the timing of adjectives to respect the manual labour
of cobblers & tailors is almost arbitrary
for the six digit people employed to use two five digit extensions
and swing less under par when unemployed on retirement
looking for busyness and 6am and the alarm clock’s chandelier at noon.
st64 Jun 2013
how it ever

they all pass me by
and no-one says a word
to me

the earth moves
one more time
and it all
starts again

on their way to work
high-heels totter
they chatter on
birds in smoke
hardly aware

from the evening subway
attachés whisk past
looking so important
eyes down on text
talking into boxes
streaming... streaming

onto the bus
a struggle
a pram is lifted
distant cries of a baby
an echo of an old man
in a park nearby
sitting, lost in thought
counting the arthritic joints
of his fingers

in such great haste
as on an almighty trail

footfalls go
some clackety-clack
a thousand by the minute

by now
I lose track
of the number

they look my way
and they don't really see me
not anymore, anyway

I'm just there

but I hear it all

the steps..
they clack-flash across my ears
the words..
they flaunt over my silence
the secrets..
they furtively long to share with someone
the awful rush..
they long to shed
the frustrations..
they find no space for
the dreams..
they ache to realise

only *the mendicant traveler

comes by
once daily
with a battered Coke can
to sit and keep me
just for a while
a little while

leaning against me
I smile inside
to think
I can still be somewhat

or the occasional trolley-lady
who guards all her assorted treasures
a bric-a-brac of unrecoverable dreams
all neatly piled neglect
reflected in
society's abandoned grown-up child

then, that funny visitor
comes by
to bestow on me
hebdomadary gift:
his customary ****

too lazy for a WC!

I am just
what I am..
on a wall
as pretty as they come
yet half-invisible
I am here

I keep track
all the beings'

as the busyness
of life

(once in a while, though...a new pair of eyes may flash upon me and love me for my worth.
then again...just for a few seconds...but it is enough: I may be peeling now, but I am such the fine burgundy-and-green masterpiece, of a rather stunning bird, caught in mid-flight.... that once was the great love of my esteemed master, the eternal artist...long, long ago.

and I can smile...inside)

I dare to smile, yes..

how the earth moves
one more time
and it all
starts again

S T, 26 June 2913
The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Do so love the use of metonymy.

sub-entry: 'pictures etched'

a fine day for rain, it is
soaking into earth
warding off all noise
but the gentle
of half-born

such grasping images
all attentive
tremors unaware
pictures etched
deeply into psyche
they sit

slow birth
some very

then, write a heartfelt note
and lick a stamp
post it off
in a spiffy new
London-red box
distant destination

final score
no parting

break down the wall
rescue that light
Katie Nicole May 2014
surrounded by love
and chaos and busyness
totally content :)
ChinHooi Ng May 2015
there's a
jasper in the sky
the dews rinsing
the dust
the breeze conveying
the sounds of nature
the weary footsteps of birds
like the clock on the wall
and busyness reverted
to tranquility
and tonight
there's a jasper
in the sky.
loric Jan 2013
I saw Death today. He was riding a bicycle.
And I was frozen there, struck by his casual confidence as he passed me. I could not stop my gaze, afraid his image would mark my eyes for him.
Further down, he faded into blur, past people task-busy, unaware that Death was near.
Finally I was released. I turned to walk to my own busyness, shaking my head to clear the slow-motion pull that held me.
A smile dared to start in relief that Death did not want me today. Two more steps and I felt the crunch of a busy bug under my foot.
Death and I are companions.
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Pull down thy vanity.*

Woe be unto you. Sighing children. Left behind.
Make the best of it. Stand by your Brand. Freelance.
Start-ups of futility. Write content for six blogs.
Wake up and smell the copy. Serve drinks.
In three bars. Kludge together the rent. Part-time.
Hustle. Hurry. Make of virtue of activity. Be productive.
Convince yourself busyness is productive. Deliver.
Productivity as Divine. Ten steps to improve.
Seven ways to better. Fifteen hacks to boost.
Means of production stolen long before you.
You are cormorants with rings tight on your necks.
The truth shall make you work. Harder and longer.
Believe you are on your way. You are. To getting old.
Old and broke and lonely. To wondering what went wrong.
Your children will disdain you and the world you made.
Same story told with tattoos and piercings. Good luck.
CharlesC Nov 2013
These celebrating weeks
Offer the settings
For an overcast
A dark concealing
Of the season's light..

Busyness and buying
Small concerns compound
Webs of chaos attach
As a virus
To the season's light..

Fortunate is she
While boxed and bound
Finds that moment
Unexpected quiet glimpse
Of the season's light..

Perhaps this footnote:
A paradoxical gratitude
For that chaos
Her viral entryway
To the season's light…
Darison Strange Aug 2018
Monday, August 6, 2018
11:33 PM

Time slips away with hardly a second glance,
it slips silently into the void of forgetfulness and busyness.
What moments pass us by in those forgotten seconds,
Our busy lives striving for that next dose of the drug called comfort,
Of a sip from the pool of peace and quiet.
Those glimpses into a reality so unlike our own.
We long for one more moment,
We sacrifice so many forgotten seconds on the altar of our discontent.

To survive,
to persist,
we allow our lives to slip through our fingers like sand through an hourglass.
What battles have we lost without stepping foot on the battlefield?
What victories have we forfeited by never entering the ring?

Have we forgotten who we are?
Did we ever know?
That question gnaws at the core of our souls like unrelenting rain on a tin roof.
A tiny pinprick in the armor of our psyche.

Will it grow?
Will our discomfort of stagnation overcome our infatuation,
With that alluring mistress called safety?
Will our quiet hearts break free from the cage of our own design?

What if it did?
Could we rewrite our souls,
To enjoy every moment like it was our last,
What would that look like?

How many people have thought these same thoughts,
And gone on with their lives like they've never heard them.

When we look in the mirror,
And regret our inaction,
Dont worry, it will fade.
To a memory, and be lost in the void,
Of forgotten seconds and hidden regrets.
Struck with conviction for driving on autopilot for so much of my life, I wrote this one morning to process those feelings of regret, and anticipation
Bo Tansky Aug 2019
The day dripping
Towards its final demise
The night uncovered/discovered
A cover for all the nights’ disguise
Either way
Making way
For the ticktock busyness of the fray
Time to dress/undress
Whatever’s underway
Such a lonesome stay
Either way
It’s ok
The where is neither here nor there
She said
She was
A crepuscular creature
Of neither night nor day
A potpourri of either way.
Revealing simply what she wants to say.
A reconciliation of either way.
Petal pie Mar 2014
He occupied her mind
Like a sit in protest
His eyes flashed like torches
His smile like a banner
The memory of his touch
Like raucous shouts
Igniting her zeal

She tried to subdue it
With busyness
Hoping to police
Her thoughts with new
Self control
But thoughts of him
Overcame it
Even riot shields
Couldn't contain it
Eventually tear gas
Would ***** her eyes

All the while his thoughts of her
Visited his mind
Like a passing tourist
Enjoying the convenience
Of a hotel room
With a free minibar
Mark Rossol Dec 2010
My life consists of walk-by smiles
Shallow, lacking any real depth
No burning passion, or even deep regret
Just small ones--here or there
That culminate into something more.
My walk is sometimes slow and sometimes fast.
I love the pretty girls that smile back.
But a smile is only that, a smile
It is here and gone again.
The brief excitement or fuzzy feelings fade
Into nothing but the cold breeze against my face
Reminding me that somethings missing.
It is more than just the smiles
They are only a small piece of the whole
The feelings of an incomplete existence
One lacking so much love and joy
Filled with busyness, addictions and indifference
Feeding the bad with attempts to remove
But lacking the courage to fill with good
Perhaps too much pride, or doubting I deserve
All of it let alone a little
Resolution eludes me even now
So many distractions deepening the disillusionment
Will the walk-by smile life ever lead
To stopping, a hello, even coffee or tea...
I usually make too big a deal,
but I see the problem is probably me.
Hayleigh Jan 2018
And each morning as she slept
I'd take her a tray of poetry
A croissant of commas warmed from the inside out
An ounce of assonance
A cup of freshly squeezed couplets
A bowlful of rhymes
That inside she might find
Our promises of forever
The memories we crafted together:

I’d take her a teapot of
The little things we’d forget
In the busyness of daily life
I’d take her a knife to spread
across the toasts we’d host
To the moments we cherished most
To our victories and our regrets
And every morning as she slept
I’d place a kiss on her head
As I placed beside our bed
A tray of poetry,
The words she so carefully, cordially, candidly
Composed out of me.
Zulu Samperfas May 2012
A tornado of busyness, preparing to go away
You were a ghost today

I predicted this
Then why is it you I still miss?
Ensconced in your job, you're already gone
Wanting you, but I must move on

Hoping for a connection
Just a little wisp of affection
Alex E Nelson Jan 2016
Laid aside a precept
Better for the bet
Barter and a letter
For there to so
Then yet

Leave at last
The measures
At cook and bake
A meal then a send
An echo at a call
For not to feel

Best the bargain
For what's left at
A right to leave alone
Loose the grip
At steady for
The door a frame
Then home

Back to long
And never for
A con that's
Just a fess
Lay the lore
And listen
In the all for no
Then yes

Best at leave
A longing
For a wink
A care to there
Last and how
And heavy
For a wring
A wrong to share

Barter at a fare
The ride then
A ticket just to see
Better at a letter
There the tides
The cares to be
Barbara Swan Jul 2013
It is late, I should be asleep, but thoughts go swirling in my head
The day has been busy, work is done now, why can’t I relax?

Work done, not really! Never a time with nothing to do,
Relax is an unknown scenario, feet up, head back,  No Way!

Even if it could be, my clock would make me stand at attention
Guilty for the laziness running through my bones

Oh well, as long as there is a purpose for living, work will be there
So as I lie in my comfortable bed, let the busyness swirl, finally to sleep
Tomorrow is here
Colin Kohlsmith Feb 2010
In the silence and the calm
The echoes of the birds ring out
The sky is lit with soft hued light
Announcing yet another dawn

Take me beyond the hectic realm
Of busyness and toil and self
To listen to the birds that sing
Whose joy of life overwhelms

We’re meant to sing and live and laugh
And start each day with hope and praise
Anticipating the wondrous start
Of all that good that will come to pass
Ashley Nichole Sep 2012
Miles above earth and sea
The world stops for an hour or so
Leaving the passengers
To chat
Or read
Or sleep
Or stew

It’s mostly silent except for
The enamored couple on the left
And the life long friends four seats up
And the baby screaming in the back
And the attendants hustling down the aisle.

But life is on pause for these passengers
As they travel from one destination
To the next
Soaring above the world
Full of busyness
And cell phones
And worry

They don’t realize their solitude
Tucked away from the world below,
They chat
Or read
Or sleep
Or stew
Anxious and waiting
To go back to that world
To rejoin humanity
In all its laughter
And sorrow

Thank you Gravity.
Chineze Feb 2016
Your journey has been a one of struggles all through
A fierce contention between life and death
But you strived and survived all these years
What happened now that all of a sudden
The young seedling have been deprived of light,
Shut out completely when its first bud broke free?
My heart is torn;
I’ve brought flowers, you can’t feel
I’m painfully penning down words, you can’t read
I wish your heart would beat again
And your beautiful eyes will open just one more time
So we could have 5 minutes together
Reminiscing on good old days.

Busyness and distance made our hearts grow apart
Forgetting that someday we all will end where we started from
Total nakedness, holding nothing from where we came
Surrounded by human beings
And not life’s fleeting things

Yet, I am comforted knowing
There is a place for angels in human flesh
A place of surpassing peace
A place I’m sure you will never miss

You treaded this coarse earth with blistered feet
But there in your true home, you will walk on golden streets
Though your body was consumed by sickness and disease
In your glorified apparel it will find release
There were times you wondered “why is my course in life like this? ”
Honey don’t worry you are on your way to a place where all your tears will cease;
And to your troubling questions, you will be given the long- awaiting keys.
Kripi Jun 2013
In the busyness of life
We have forgotten
To '''Live The Life'''

Over the obstacles of life
We are not playing
The melodious music
From the fife
We have forgotten
To '''Live The Life'''

While fighting with each other
By holding a cutter
We are cutting each other
With that of the knife
We have forgotten
To '''Live The Life'''

Just wanna tell
Destroy the hell
Of battle and war
Of my and your
Just give a shove
With love
To yourself
Directly to the heaven

Start again
To play the fife

**'''Live The Life'''
AJ Robertson Jan 2013
‘I prefer it dry’ he lied
& proceeded to try
& impress her with a story
about his income & his busyness
& his car & his business

she pretended not to care
answered a phone call
& laughed
cos her & her troupe
were ever so proud
of being real crazy
& funny
& busy
& they found
that people wouldn’t notice
unless they told them
so they made sure they did so
when there was someone new around

she then hung up the phone
&  listened to him drone
about the perks
& the jerks
he worked with
& how
he could do much better
if and when he was in charge

he then talked of which countries
he had been to
all over asia, these last 4 years
& how he had got drunk

she didn’t care about the details
but the stories strangely aroused her
but somehow moreso in her *****

she could see her kids now
with blond hair & cuts like Beiber
well clothed
& out of the way
while she stared at day time television
& the lamented the angry day
   that April told her to ‘get ******’
   &  so she slapped her across the face

he was pleasant
  wasn’t smelly
  wasn’t fat
  wasn’t asian
& as for the meal he did pay

the waiter brought the bill
& they quivelled
so for the drinks he didn’t pay
they left together
and slept together

he didn’t call her
but she didn’t care
alwaystrying Nov 2013
yes, been hectic
ups and downs and busyness
yet long for the day we can stand toe to toe

oh god how i dream of that day..............

met up with lady on tour yesterday
spent the whole day in her company
refreshing and easy and now i getcrazy this morning
i was too relaxed
too easy

Sia Jane Jan 2014
My head feels like Oxford Circle, maybe even Times Square
it is noisy and bright and flashing and frustrating
everyone is walking over each other's bodies
horns are beeping as lights flash and men shout
a child screams a woman swears an Asian man calls me into his shop
artists singers shoppers never slow down
it is exactly like I am screaming but no one can hear
they cannot hear a single thing
and as I type here, probably sixty or more words a minute
my head still races and yet words fail me
there is no word in the entire world
in any dictionary (including the newly stated Urban Dictionary)
to describe what is occurring within me
and that is only my head
as for my heart
it pounds so loud that I can barely fathom
what those around me are saying
match it with the noise in my head
and those close to me wonder why there is
such a blank stare with such busyness in my eyes
rapid eye movements trying to keep up
I wobble and stumble and I can see the voices
they move so slowly around me and it is like
the air and words form and morph
it is like smoke in the air
'o''s being shaped rehearsed and practiced
snapped out by a waving in front of me
all goes numb
the ring has been pulled from the grenade
I can see all the blood spilling out on the floor
I can taste it running down my head
all brain matter splatters in slowed motion
to the floor and I scream in fear
in absolute terror of what is happening
like a bullet hitting my head
silent voices are a shouting a name I once knew
they are not in panic they just want to be heard
they don't seem to concern themselves with the blood
the mess that has fallen out
passing out hitting the slate floor
out cold
resting in a peaceful slumber
my mind is at rest
at least I believe it to be as no thought exists
I hope to never wake.

© Sia Jane


I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

"And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -"

Emily Dickinson
Chris Hollermann May 2014
In the name of health I stopped bandaid-ing with busyness
      with food
          with spending
               with caffeine
                   with you
and it stripped me raw
        back to a preteen self before the trauma really came
and a preteen me after the waves hit
                                                           year after year of desperation soothed by self medication

Exposed without crutches I find a dull pulse of someone who wishes to be rotting
      because to rot suggests life and I feel like a statue in pieces  that never meant much of anything to anyone
   not even my creators

          counting hours down without anything to count to; afraid to live like I was and afraid to exist like I am

I'm taking my courage with what little grace I can offer and I'm giving into faith, the Father.

— The End —