Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Our Best.

Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

Henry David Thoreau

I once heard a person announce in sheer stupidity,

how “if we put forth our best there’s no regretting anything”,

I recall how I longed to kick out all of his front teeth,

and wipe that fucking smile away from my periphery;

Guess what? Out beyond the picket fences of oblivion,

there’s a broken home to the overthrown and forsaken,

those of us who gave our best and can never rest again,

full of regret over what their’ “best” took away from them;

it’s clear how blindly deceived those who like to believe,

in the law of attraction and satisfaction of positive energies,

and don’t consider how I have tested these very hypotheses,

but these theories can’t hold up to Life’s painful realities;

the next time somebody dares to tell me to “think positive”,

I will show them just how much of my best I got left to give,

I’m so full of resentment over all things impossible to forgive,

under the enchantments of my own “best” spell of negative.

Pleased for a King.

Stand tall and silent in the face of me;
against the trickery of the Milky Way…
in compliance with the God of Defiance;
forget ever seeing me broken this way…

This prayer is born of necessity;
these pitiful tears turn out to be mine…
I again, come back to feel your whip crack;
I’ve been lost: following the eyes of blind…

Please grant to me: your moments asleep;
I’d be pleased if a King was to still dream of me…
don’t cast me too far beyond your sovereign reach;
please circle back for me, before you finally leave…

Without your presence of balance, I’ve lost my way;
I need your conversation and I want feel your kiss…
time to act, no holding back another single day;
what’s most important here is that we can still do this…

Palms up to push at the bottom of your heart;
but you cursed and swatted me away…
I bet you will look for me here eventually;
after I died waiting to see that “someday”.

Misery’s Metronome.

I find that often

during times

when I reflect

back down the line

A saddening

has indeed been

a constant thing

to cruelly


a trend

in the bending

of a tragedy

misery’s timeline

when I look

more closely

at the heavy

weighing down

dragging the line

of my ever-darkening

own, grown legacy

the only thing

then, that truly seems

left for me

to dare perceive

as belonging to me

to conceive or believe

as I also lose

and also find

my mind, in time

I find that

I’m at borderline

just temporarily

it’s all so clear

fleeting moments

fully aware

heavy torment

I can hardly bear

the darkness here

or the sunshine there

I always sink


beyond every brink


bottomless pits

dark omens

where blackness persists

among settling bones

misery’s metronome

tick – tick – tick

within the inner hollow

Life’s slowing drip

no more grip

on tomorrow

the present moment

is all of my sorrow

silt settling on bones

dirt shoveled over

our buried loved ones

a human component

the final atonement

the weight

from the shoulders

too late

and it’s over.



Too Many.

In a motion more like teetering,
than it could be described as anything;
I sway back and forth,
to these blues my Life sings,
I’ve been burnt by the torch,
I’ve been charged with carrying…
Up and around and right through me,
comes the whipping sound of irony;
I pray to the Gods,
give promise to each and every,
I’ve seen too much blood,
I’ve seen one year too many…

Wretched Life.

wretched life

Angel of Shame.

Sunny outside and seventy degrees…
Mother Earth’s butterfly kisses fluttering…
I am barricaded deep within bloody memories…
can’t I just be normal and somehow just feel happy? …
Another season’s campouts come and go again…
another click added between Life and the Wasteland…
the older I get, the less I relate to my once closest friends…
it’s just me and CPTSD – not much else worth any mention…
no matter the efforts always made in true vain…
I’ve carved years out of Life with just trying to stay sane…
after so many times of being burdened by false blame…
and being kicked in the face by the Angel of Shame…
it comes to a place where I’ve got nothing to give…
where each day is painful through grace that I live…
and each moment is nearly impossible to perceive…
where the only thing left is hope in which to believe.