Pain pervades the landscape of the modern day
Seeping into sleep, where I once escaped
Caving in around me
Falling on my head
Jagged edges cutting deep
To pieces, I am rent
Monthly Archives: August 2020
To sleep.
Ether from the cracks, spilling forth languidly
Lingering on the air, on the clothes, in the hair
No scent, sweet or sickly, but invisible
Visually nondescript
No taste, no sensation as it creeps across your skin
Spinning world, short of breath and out of balance
Laid low by the spirits
Invading lungs in silence
Dulling
Pick me up
Put me down
Put me out again
I’m familiar with the deal
I know I’ll yield the shorter end
Send me up the river, adrift without a paddle
Leave me with the burden
With the weight, I am saddled
Run me aground and leave me there in pieces
It’s only hurt
Of late, I hardly feel it
So dulled is the world
Senses spent against the waves and rocks to which I’m hurled
Thistle Days
Early morning hours, creeping up again
Eyes blurred, heart beats weakly in my chest
Lest I take myself to bed, I’ll surely fade away
Pain will greet me in the morning when I waken out of place
Frayed edges of sleep, caught on thistle days
Pulling at the threads that help me keep my shape
I unravel before the sun
Low Noon
I’m a shadow of myself in the low noon sun
Faint and thin
Stretched beyond recognition
A wisp, blending with shade
Soon to disappear as the last light fades
Escaping from the eyes
As silent as vapor
Stiller than the night
I fight it, running from myself
Hope that in the morning I’m someplace
Someone else
The Constant
Change finds its’ way to every place, into every facet of your life
Nothing is quite static
Nothing feels quite right
Short sighted, self involved
It doesn’t really matter
Time marches on
Obstacles knocked aside and shattered
Nothing stands up to the test
The only constant in your life is the threat of death
The Faded One
The small hours never feel that way
Weighing heavy on my chest
Heart struggling to beat
Fatigue is crushing me to death
Sure, I quit the meth
Yet the damage has been done
Clean six years and still the faded one
Life undone and stitched back up
It’s never quite the same as it once was
thInkStains 