a double edged sword

At some point it

almost feels like

for such a long time

you’ve only been

imitating life, or

perhaps that

death would be better

than all this

wasted life you seem

to be faking.

But retrospect is

a double edged sword.

It all just depends on

which angle you’re taking

and whom

you’re gunning for

really I don’t know





Robin Williams

Robin Williams

under the right light

had the warmest

coldest, sincere

blue eyes.

Oh, those blue

blue eyes.

Like Arctic waters

were those sad blue eyes.

Just a man who

made voices

who made miracles

who made hearts sing

who made hearts sigh

though he couldn’t see himself

without those majestic blue eyes.

So perhaps he made a choice

with all depression laid aside

to go out as himself

before disease could take his mind

before it could wash away

those blue blue eyes.

lovely pearls.

If you could put

everyone’s depression

in an ivory locked jewelry box

and free the world of self hate

anxiety, fear, despondency

there would no doubt be

someone hidden in daylights shadow

waiting, aching, yearning

and ready

to try on those lovely pearls.

We do not want, but accept these things.

Unintentionally rude.

Little disheartened sighs.

Incapable of speech.

And worrisome.

Fearful of what, exactly, is unknown.

Trying not to incite confusion.

Attempts not to quarrel only create greater tension.



We do not want, but accept these things.

In silence,

there is no argument but a stalemate.

Like a fruitless game of chess.

On egg shells,

we walk,

stiff kneed,

toes clenched,

trying not to crumble.

Trying desperately to surrender.

Our sympathy and concern,

marred by our inability to grasp the others discontent.

We slowly close our eyes.

And wake in the morning,



Far off in the distance they scream.

“Someone is going to die!”

Passing by the window now is another.

“Someone is going to die!”

Turning to page 359, I’m reminded.

“Someone is going to die!”

And I could describe the flashing lights.
Or the screeching of tires.
The anxiety.
The awesome routine of the Ambulance Driver.

Though my better judgement tells me other wise.

Not do describe the pain.
The wailing.
Or the fact that Sirens are neutral.
And that red is the only conceivable color to match.

“Someone is going to die!”

Turning to page 404.

“Someone is going to die!”

And another passes.

“Someone is going to die!”
“Someone is going to die!”
“Someone is going to die!”
“Someone is going to die!”

Farther off in the distance now,

like a tribal chant, you can almost dance to it’s rhythm.

Wee-Woo, Wee-Woo
wee-woo, wee-woo