Poor Choices

On my own again

Stranded on an island

Of my thoughts-

The waters that surround me

Are currents of my memories,

Swirling whirlpools of chaos

Keeping me isolated.

 

I can’t escape

The dangerous waves of

“What ifs”

Formed with the wind and the choices of my past-

But I’ll construct

My escape from this godforsaken island

With a study raft of good intentions

And move forward on unsteady waters

To a new world yet unexplored.

On My Mind

Midnight thoughts

Intrude on seductive sleep

And push it away,

Pulling my mind

Into a late night tango

Of past moments and parallels.

This exhausting dance,

My body moving to the tempo,

Keeps moving to the music

Until my legs can’t keep up.

These thoughts,

These nights,

These unforgettable moments

Make for mental messes

To be ignored- an insomniac’s gift-

Until the next late night

Where my mind won’t stop dancing

To the beats of the past.

Work in Progress

Vivid white paper

Stands out against dark lines

Waiting to be written upon.

Words may come

Words may be erased

But thoughts are never ending.

This time,

Write in pen

To immortalize your intentions.

Take action to show improvement-

As all living things

Are a work in progress.

Finding Myself

Exhausted with potential interests

I bury myself deep

Layers upon layers of comfort

Holding me back from exploring.

A fire burns within me

But my cold emotions seek solace.

Envy’s seeds are planted within,

A hint that spring is coming.

How do I plant seeds of hope instead?

I want to change along with the seasons

But what can I do

To break free from old habits

To explore new possibilities

And to find myself whole?

Getting Help

I want to tell you

How I’m feeling

But don’t want dependence

To weigh you down.

 

I want you to see

That I’m hurting.

It should be obvious

Without words.

 

I want to know

Why nobody is around

When I’m hurting the most

But I don’t want an audience

For my tears.

 

I want to be heard

But can’t help

Soldiering on in silence.

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Nightmares on the Wings of Angels

Alone with her thoughts,

She slips-

 

She dreams of a world

High above where

Everything is beautiful.

 

Darkness cowers in shadows while

Regal angels soar with

Elegance

And grace

Making music while children

Sleep soundlessly nearby…

 

Home. This is their home. The

Envy she feels can’t be suppressed and

Rears it’s devilish head (awakening hidden demons).

 

Nothing is safe

In this godforsaken He(aven)ll with

Gnarled angels snarling and reaching out to

Her with knife-like claws

To trace sermons on her

Marble skin, marring it

And crushing her bones to make her

Red rivered veins

Emerge

Shredded in disarray.

 

“Come here, darling” sighs an

Oil-slick voice

“My children wait to feast on your

Every fear.”

 

Alone, she stands on

Legs of paper

In the presence of subjective demons

Viciously awaiting her

Encouraged extinction.