Sometimes, I feel invisible, someone the crowd will never see. The collective and the individual residing here inside of me. Sometimes, I feel invisible, my words a faint reprieve. Their subtlety and subtext, misconstrued and unperceived. Sometimes, I feel invisible, … Continue reading Invisible. A poem.
You have built yourself a tenement; a home for your sad, anxious mind. For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book formats. … Continue reading Tenement. A haiku.
You abstain in the light At night, small confessions Are saltwater wreaths Around your neck Dragging you along In a relegated riptide. This abstinence Has carved a furrow And driven conversations With shadows and mosquitoes Wondering when the light will … Continue reading Abstinence. A poem.
There are far better places to while away the time, yet we continue circling like reverse-vultures. This obtuse concrete garden (no doubt designed by Daedalus, whose Labyrinth was but a flea compared to this circus) leads us astray in every … Continue reading Airport Carpark. A poem.
Why the sadness, the music tugging at heartstrings in pizzicato fashion, stretching my angst beyond reproach? Why the darkness, flowing in a syrup-like tsunami, to swallow my horizons and the shoulder I’ve hung my head upon? This rhythm and rhyme … Continue reading The Music in Me. A poem.
From there, upon his pedestal, he lingered longingly on the crowd surrounding him. Dialogue and dialectic, commentary and whimsical surprise, his cult of personality awake and on the rise. But fate is fickle, as is the crowd and it passed … Continue reading The Crowd. A poem.
Poker-faced, a nascent clarity before my eyes; while behind confusion and regret in tides, that while away the dawdling time. I seek to speak but find no words to fill the vacant mire that fills this space with more pregnant, … Continue reading Castaway. A poem.
In the blackest, midnight hour, wandering perpetual halls, wondering if you’ll clear your dreams of demons and finally get to sleep. Your trackless thoughts always return to her and her alone; You grasp your hands and suddenly she’s there—your futile … Continue reading The Midnight Hour. A poem.
He who hesitates is lost … Continue reading Seesaw. A short poem.
I thought that you would let me be But here you come, rapaciously Slicing me up from inside out Filling my head with irksome doubt Your inky fingers in my dreams Painting landscapes and charcoal scenes A bottomless parade of … Continue reading My Depression. A poem.
I’m spiralling again: an anxious emptiness, a long bitter refrain, that repeats over and over and over and over and over in my angry, lonely brain. Old friend, you’ve never let me go, though you always let me down/ bring … Continue reading Old Friend. A poem.
Too plain, too pretty Too full, too empty. Too big, too small. Too short, too tall. Too rich, too poor. Too fine, too sore. A constant interchange of histrionic and catatonic, a test and trial of long-held resentment. Find a … Continue reading Discontentment. A poem.
The mirror image was unflattering. She had been trying on dresses for the last hour. They always looked better on the rack and in the fitting rooms before she bought them. She knew there was something about the mirrors in stores. Like the ones at carnivals, but warping everything to look better (maybe she should get one installed…). It looked like jeans and a blouse were a better option. Three changes later and she was satisfied. Black skinny jeans (almost a miracle needed to get them on; not quite the parting of the Red Sea, but almost) and a billowy … Continue reading Date Night. A short tale.
I’m not sure how some of my poems come to mind, or why they are all so dark.
Oh, yes, I do. It’s because I’m a depressed and anguished soul. Well, that was easy. Next question? Continue reading Eyes. A Poem.
I hate having depression. It’s not hard to guess what I wrote this poem about. Continue reading Mountains and Valleys. A poem.
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