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, no recognition behind her eyes, to signify a reminder of a long, overdue goodbye. ForContinue 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. Click here to find out how to get your copy.
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 answer you again. For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, LonelyContinue 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 moment, much like our heart’s content. No way out, it seems, no exits or reprieve.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 brings me down and wrecks me, wrapping me casually around the telegraph pole that shouldContinue 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 subsequently; a brief rejoinder as it exited, a momentary lapse and then return to unregardedContinue 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, hesitant desires. I am wrecked again upon this island; coastal reefs and waves, burgeoning watersContinue 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 ghost. Perhaps you’ve lost your pleading mind, far from the brink of sane, until theContinue reading “The Midnight Hour. A poem.”
He who hesitates is lost upon 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 hell in sync With all my loathing and self-contempt I thought that you would letContinue 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 me down: the crown upon my brow that weighs so heavily on my doubts. I’veContinue 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 balance and make your point before you exceed your quota of angst-filled discontentment. For moreContinue 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 shouldContinue 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?
I hate having depression. It’s not hard to guess what I wrote this poem about.