Monthly Archives: February 2013


Reaching for my ankles as I do yoga again, I reach down into myself. I feel my muscles stretch, and the shackles of a crippling depression start to loosen. I’ve been held prisoner in this hell, for what seems like forever. I’m still afraid to completely hope for true freedom, but against any better judgment I still hope.

If you asked me to tell you 100% honestly what I thought my life was like three weeks ago, I would have said I was not alive; I existed. My very best days were shit, and I fought _so_ hard to get them, and they were becoming so infrequent that I was forgetting what it was like to have a “good” day.

You see, I am a complex mishmash of problems. A medical conundrum, my doctor has told me. A wreck and a headcase, what I call myself.

But now I have this glimmer of hope, and it’s wonderful, and terrifying, and overwhelming, and uncertain.

Yet so is everything else in life.

sickening purple prose

happy or sad — angry or glad
it matters not tonight
still I am here
dark and eternal
melancholy lingers on me
like cheap perfume
or a bad taste in my mouth
constantly hovering
somewhere near the dismal recesses
of foreign unbegotten thought
brought on through self-reflection and
dismissed by Dionysius’ tears
the sun won’t shine
the moon won’t show for me
so I’m left to sit staring
at this blue-green ping-pong ball
around me
neither being hit nor hitting
rather sitting idly
in some bleak atheistic limbo that
never was never will be
only is
sitting solo on the doorstep of the universe
without the keys or even reach enough
to the door handle
(which was broken off eons ago
to my unfortunate misinformation)
listening to the falling of my futile tears
of sorrow and remorse
for a condition neither ascribed
nor achieved but
only is
and mine alone
as all has been until now
and may always be
who can know tomorrow?
or yesterday?
no one knows today
(or at least no one is sharing)
selfish greedy bastards
mistaken in thinking their truths
lie secret in their adulterous bosoms
whilst whores and gigolos sell them
for a quick hot meal and shelter
or an evening’s escape from now
everyone’s an entrepreneur
in today’s mercenary escapist market
of denial
so pity the poor!
they face it all with straight heads
and pure hearts…
should we pity?
or envy?
or rather kill them all —
will that solve the problem?
pity the rich and envy the poor,
condemn the solemn man and
praise ye who worship gossip
and burn books of astute grandeur
of life beyond mere stimuli
action-reaction grows old
in this realm where youth reigns supreme
full of floating nobodies
all are everybody
bearing bridles and saddles
not fit for royalty
but the lowly troubadour
the troubadour who seeks the last
of valiance and chivalry
tell him not that he seeks in vain
and neither grieve him your best wishes
simply let him be whilst
ye sit atop your self-made thrones
seeking the same celestial orbs
that once graced the skies
of this horizon for you
and I
in our untenable bliss
and self-reprieve.


wrong number

The thoughts go racing ’round my head
Exhilaration and guilt, fascination and disgust
Of you, of me, of all the memories
Most of which I truly don’t recall

Though the security of your devotion was real enough
and it lingers there still
On the corners of your mouth
Tainting all of your words sickly sweet
Making me cringe, yet holding me rapt
Like watching the aftermath of a train wreck
Seeing the carnage down the tracks
Knowing I am what derailed you

While some idealized adoration seeps from you like blood
Coating your tongue
turning everything you say
Into an unrequited plea for mercy
Yet all I can hear is the sound of my own
Laughter, righteous and haughty
Coming from somewhere within, someplace dark
Dusty, forgotten, and echoing through me
Like shouts reverberate in dense caves

As I listen to my cackling, I wonder
Why you would want to subject yourself
To such a lethal ride again
You’re full of hope and of longing
When you tell me you’ve missed me

And I hang up the phone.


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