The Sunken One

I had to kill it.
I had to make you hate me,
Before it killed me.
I had to burn it.
This tempting bridge which,
Every night I would dream.
A dream of marching across
My shambling hordes of sorrows.
I would have drown you
If you ever gave me the chance.
I’ve never seen the surface.
This sun, under which you dance,
I’ve never had the pleasure.
I want you down here.
So I made you hate me.
This day may burn me to ash,
Before I ever lay beneath it,
And watch you glow,
With someone else.

An Explanation

I would picture blackness
where there might be life.
A simple,
sentimental attraction
to preconceived plight.

No garden bench serene
could convince me
of such peace.
A warm heart seems obscene
because of this disease.

Spare me your judgments,
I’ve already heard it all.
A life that is so loveless,
it seems no life at all!

This truth I know.
You must see that I agree.
It’s not the life I chose,
it seems to have
chosen me.

But, if you’re really listening,
let me speak one truth that’s missing.
Pretending makes existing
all the more

So stay,
and hear the echoed sorrow.
One day,
perhaps even tomorrow,
I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.


I am cursed

by a passive, leaden burden.

My vitality is strained.

For why, I’m not certain.

A disease, perhaps,

crass and furtive;

my eyes; shattered glass

beneath fast flowing curtains.

The foundation is cracked,

all the lumber is rotten.

I sit and I laugh,

at all the hope I’ve forgotten.

This home, how it moans,

as I lie here alone;

if I let no one in,

then no one can go.

It’s too rotten for guests,

I guess it’s for the best.

Mold has infested the pantry,

rats have nested the gantry;

To eject me from this tomb

would take true necromancy.

Message In A Bottle On The 37th Floor

To those who find this,
Take comfort, for I have found it.
The edge we seek, the limits of humanity.
I took a peek.
I peered over, cautiously.
My knees felt weak.
Vertigo, you should know,
Was the least of my fears.
Falling, a fate met only by tears,
Not me.
I made the leap.
You see, we seem to be surrounded by darkness;
A bold, black outline of time,
Marking the distance we crawl,
Before the cliff fall.
I stood.
I stepped through the shadows
And fell through infinity.
I soared through halls of Aztec gold.
Flew through the lost, sunken city.
Crashed through the gates of heaven,
And left not a trace.
Made not a peep.
None but a slap, and a crimson stain
On the concrete.

Field Notes

It’s a mind-body connection problem. The PTSD

of a life-threatening addiction. The weight

of a depressive condition. The prison

of insanity. We have to face the truth

We have to find direction.

Having a reference point is helpful but,

it kills the romance. Sanity as a goal, a place; it’s

quite the commitment. Really kills the moment.

It simply orders, “This way to good, this way to right.”

And so we cling to our petty rebellions,

our egos and our lust. Eyeballing the fantasy

of healing and growth, while not having the courage

to ask it on a date. Too scared to fall in love.

Too weak to love ourselves.

So, the balance tips, the chest deflates.

Virtues decay.

And we’re left sitting, anxious.


Cooking Show

I have a new drip
dropping into my brain.
It tumbles and flows,
through channels and veins
spreading and creeping,
lighting fires
and extinguishing pains;
a crude alteration
to my landscape.
A projected horizon flickers;
dimly, it withers,
melting into something new.
Brewing within a bubbling,
bulbous cauldron,
filled with thoughts, fears,
and fleeting emotions.
A recipe lost
so long ago.