872 0 0
|
He marvelled at himself. How his decision and the consequential action, could free him up, make him almost jolly, almost well. He didn't give a fig for his lack of money and inability to pay his rent, he didn't care anymore that he was no longer inspired
|
126652
|
Yesterday morning I sank to the depths of hell and barely crawled out in time. There is no answer except possibly death that will find me relief from his distant presence. I am free but yet I am not and I slowly sink into a hollow world where nothing hurt
|
86400
|
My body continues to tread water through its daily existence and each day challenges me to find some sort of grounding. I often wonder who needs taking care of as I find myself sometimes spiraling in a downwards cycle-- not even taking a required break
|
97822
|
Why do you lie? the old woman repeats when her mouth is not busy filling the waste bin. We sit as far away from her wheedle and wretch as the small waiting room allows. A young woman glares at us through the mental health clinic's safety glass…
|
23144
|
Maybe in a world like that lying could kill you. It was a realization that made me colder than any wind blasting down Main and shaking the trees, because, unlike my brother, I lied all the time.
|
87341
|
For hours and hours she swirled, and swirled some more. She was trying to be there for everyone, yet no one realized how much pain they were causing her. Some of them had thrown invisible darts of anger all day, and she had endured each one, because she c
|
11533
|
There is no other way / to tell you: I woke up afraid I was going to live. / There is no other way to say how I was overwhelmed / by the mundane things – / dishes, the shower, breakfast – / I could not be anywhere.
|
86331
|
When the house was sold the new owners walked in on what they believed was a former life stopped cold. There on the table remained a half-filled teacup and a well-read magazine lying open from years gone by. A Royal Doulton dish set lay half packed on the
|
11555
|
Not with a bang but with /
a whimper, they say, /
that is how the world will end. /
I am not Ophelia and there is /
nothing beautiful about my fall.
|
1494109
|
The crumbling meccas/
gnaw/
Each fiscal year’s quota of blood and bone,
|
97373
|
Spring show its populist face,
Flies in the house, missionaries at the door...
|
108472
|
When the black cloth falls on you all food tastes like airline food. Every song sounds like Barry Manilow. Every poem sounds like Rod McKuen. It’s all just noise to you now.
|
121154
|
Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince
|
109032
|
my fingers vibrate magnetic/
a humming void/
where my brain was
|
104966
|
Not today. Even when the Isar rolls so cool and deep and I could wade and wade 'til sleep. Not today. When I have the tablets in a drawer in a box winking chalkily at me. Not today. When the church tower soars and it's bells toll out a seductive beat …
|
