Get out of
bed
Untangle from
sheets
And
breathe
Each day
new
Another crack at
life
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Toeing the edge
There is a fine line —
like a tightrope walker
toeing the edge —
between
complaint and contradiction
that makes me want to set
this whole word farm on fire.
The Craft
Tears well
followed by
a deep breath,
sadness
is a fine art,
and I’m still
after all these years
developing the craft.
Commute
Purple sky.
Blinking lights and a deep sigh.
Cars pass by.
Daily Fighter
The
world’s
got me
beat up
again.
Like
every
great fighter
on the ropes,
I
can’t quite get the sweat from my eyes,
blurring my vision
of the battle
I’m sure
to
Win.
No need for a title
I’m not sick
but I am tired
trying to grip
anything
that will hold,
because
it’s been some time
since I’ve been inspired
and life has a way
of taking its toll.
Off the bright side
It’s either on the wagon
or off the wagon.
There’s really no in between.
Conscious breathing is still hard.
There’s no easy way to fall asleep.
And either way,
tomorrow isn’t looking any brighter.
Start Digging
If you’re stuck in a hole,
remember:
Nobodies going to help you
longer than it pays.
Minimum wage doesn’t mean
livable wage.
And chances are,
they’re also knee deep.
So start digging.
Yin and Yang and Me
I had this friend
who did nothing all day long
and this other friend
who never stopped moving.
So all day long
I sat and wondered about these two,
like wings of a dragonfly
my mind raced back and forth
up and down
turning them over like a pair of Jokers,
all day long,
sometimes, all night even.
Pacing back and forth
I never stopped moving
contemplating everything
which turned into nothing.
Another On Depression. (written some time ago) Or something like that.
It doesn’t feel like a weight
or an isolated incident.
It’s more like a cloudy headed hangover.
The mind knows what it needs
but the body refuses to cooperate.
It’s like sitting with a good book
for hours, no wiser in the end.
Or driving aimlessly
with no set destination.
It doesn’t feel like anything,
really.
Just a relative constant
that comes and stays.
Like an uninvited guest – talkative –
with nothing good to say, whom
upon arrival you wish they would go
but on departure, a part of you wishes they’d stay.
It’s nobodies goal to be addicted,
is it?
It doesn’t feel like anything,
really.
Or something like that.
Words Of An Average White Male 