The hole stares back at me, A great, unblinking eye That will not let me be. The hole is black as pitch And filled with pain and lies, Every scar and every stitch. The hole it draws me in, Inescapable … Continue reading The Hole. A poem.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
Of this lingering half-life, only the iceberg tip exposed. Beware what lies beneath: cut glass, mirrored edges and radical toxicity. Splinters and elements better left submerged; its palpitating heart, decaying in the half-light. For more of my poetry, check out … Continue reading Half-Life/Half-Light. 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.
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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