Confession: Army Brigade

I haven’t been reading much blog posts. I find in my depressed moods i can barely emerge from my cocoon… and anxiety is worse to try and read.

Is it selfish to wonder if others are reading me? Heck, i rebel against these letters. Yet, they some how keep the union strong. Unite against me. Bond. The New Army Brigade, 26 letters strong.

They force the issue. I retreat. They win the argument… A thought is but a rain cloud pouring down angst against me. The evidence sufficient to imprison me for years. And the nervous out pouring brings the show curtain down. Behind-the-scenes i dance. The music puts pen to paper, to recite the days events.

I need to rest. I know. But a thinking mind rarely obeys. And so i bore you with my show.

Guess we are even. I am bored by you too. So lets be bored together.

long-winded roads

all these stories
i read them…
pause in the middle
of the road
to notice the caution sign

turning cars approach
from all directions
i wonder
where are the exclamation points, periods, and paranthesis?

i find
these neglected words
dismiss traffic signs
thickly settled, a clue
to, too many people
tracing the same thick yellow line
replacing them with broken hash marks
where passing allowed
accidents happen

poets are drivers, see
fast and frantic
long-winded roads
too traveled to make a difference

ramble on

i may never
meet such a man -again

covered in satin
words edged in diamonds
born in his throat
the fire sparked through

never heard a syllable
the rat-a-tat-tat -thunder

our hearts beating faster
he hides in my hair
a stinger barette
left behind to chew

suttee

Afraid
to let you go
i twine the words
of complicated grief
there was no goodbye
never another hello

and then i made it worse
opened myself
wide
displayed before savage eyes
killed myself slowly
with little pride to show

flames shooting higher
than ever thought possible
i sold my soul to the devil
who paid a hefty price
to lick bitter tears shed for us
and consume his last meal.

peril

The deepest,
darkest
rises in the fog,
burned away -hidden desire.

Oh, why feel
so free
behind the screen?

And how our creator
tapped into the sensual,
leaves us mourning
the loss of soul.

Interior Designer

And automatically, the words became sentences, with stems and petals. Forced from the fertile soil, stories grew arms and legs. They not only held her dreams but they carried her to lands far away.

People have no idea what’s going on in my head. Most days i wish i didn’t either.