I have just
trimmed my face
weightless.
I wouldn’t say,
the face is now free
for an expression.
It no longer
expresses
along with a weight.
There are
earthquakes
carrying one
forever.
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Vague terrors of those dreadful nights
grip my heart, a crumpling piece of paper.
Regret rising from the river, a smiling ghost
what could have been but never was.
I do regret but think to wash away
the stains with cheap tears while
he is still alive, my poor skeleton prince
I owe him devotion, warmth, and shelter.
Recognise my agony I pray; getting too old
for my desperate dreams, too old to fight.
Regret: he must never know.
It’s hard to tell from a picture
If it’s raining
Just like when someone is breaking inside
It only can be noticed
When all is left are raindrops
On a window
Or the remains of someone’s tears
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It’s just that one
Thing
Inside us all
That thing deep
Inside
A memory long
Lost, screaming
Let me out.
She cries a silent song
I hear the quiet agony
She feels exhaustion
From insomnia
I walk the floors in the Dead of night
She feels her nerve endings
Raw on fire
The futility of neuropathy
I bleed from
Her labored breath
And need to disconnect
But can’t pull the plug
She is one of many
I carry around
Like loose change
We see what we want
Yet rarely chase it out of
Fear and long-standing despair
Never taking those random
Chances in life and love
That tend to spring up
As we battle our own
Inner demons and failures
Self-doubts abundant
Staggering thoughts
An angel on one shoulder
And a devil on the other
A perpetually confused mind.
Arguing with oneself is
Like arguing with a
Battered old suitcase
Tired and weary of the
Fight yet willing to carry
Our stories; it’s the
Will I won’t I, knowing
Desirable things come
When least we expect them
Depending on which
Shoulder we listen to.
My hand will not
Do as I wish
My eye travels
To the place I would
Not go
They all rise up
Each part
Each segment
To overthrow me.