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


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