My Pleasure To Bear Your Pain.

Amid the anger and tension,

something I forgot to mention…

just a simple truth or two,

words I’ve spent before on you,

And since I seem to fade away,

things between you and me remain,

always, a thing:

unclean – unchanged…

thunder rolling ahead of rain,

this sense of solid certainty,

on my word, will die with me,

hard-wired deep within my brain,

A treasure chest in my rib cage,

you are woven into my destiny…

A truth at rest inside of me,

Until the Gods show me differently,

You can look for me,

and here I always am,

it’s my pleasure

to bear your pain.

A Butterfly’s Wings.

I spent all of this miserable time,
With an eye ever watching what’s mine,
Oh, how these strong emotional walls,
Break to bits when they finally fall,
Watch as my own wrecking ball,
Bitterly destroys it all in due time.

Wildly employing harsh strategies,
Idly killjoying my fantasies,
See how the peace is so far gone?
The why and how, the right and wrong,
Unsevered ties to my tragedies,

No bottom to the darkened depths,
no solidity beneath my many missteps,
Hear how my world is death rattling?
See my walls of glass as they’re shattering,
Around the feet that the mirror reflects?

Like a fluttering paper in a wayward breeze,
Screaming answers to queries whispered silenty,
A blessing disguised as an atomic bomb,
To explode and expose what our oaths have become,
The violent detachment of a butterfly’s wings.

Futile. 

I’ve never felt so alone.
And, Ive spent my life feeling alone.
…didn’t know this kind of alone was even possible.

Injustice and Anxiety.

Anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.

— Arthur Somers Roche

Injustice alone can shake down the pillars of the skies, and restore the reign of Chaos and Night.

— Horace Mann

America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.

— Abraham Lincoln

My, Oh My.

 

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.

My, My.

It will someday claim,
All I’ve left of these short breaths…
My “anxiety”.

It pains by no name,
Bringer of a thousand deaths…
My old memories.

It’s whipped me to shame,
Jimmied my heart from my chest…
My own mockery.

It’s always the same,
Threatening to take my best…
My PTSD.