Metaphor Anxiety Poems

The jars were meant to confuse even me —
labels scrawled backward,
dates falsified,
contents misnamed to keep them harmless.

I stacked them like decoys —
rows of false feelings,
the...

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I’ve been here before
at this event horizon

Is it shadow? Nothingness?
Heat?
A death
a fire of refinement

The pressure
madness?
The spaghettification
of my timeline
rage, doubt, clout
drawn into this pull

A cycle
I’ve been...

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Sun's swimming low
diamonds in the waves
heart out with the tide
lost between a mountain and a molehill

Chasing the night
sky's got no stars
moon hiding high
trying to outrun...

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Reflection catches
My guilt .
I lose the trust 
In whatever  , God,  I  pray too.
I need a release ,
I need to take the...

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i need to know what's going on
we're barren over here, yet over there
look at them smugly reading the NEWS

'can you throw one over pal?'
he pretends...

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They asked for a piece of my mind—
so I offered silence, wrapped in gold.
No rage, no clamor, no thunderclap,
just breath unbroken when the world turned...

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catacombs of fear
     lost in my own illusion 
          a downward spiral
...

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There’s this voice that echoes inside of me,in the pit of my soul
He has long sharp nails, with which he tears down the walls of...

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i text dead people for advice.
not because they answer—
they don’t—
but because they never interrupt.
i tell my grandfather
about the boy who left mid-winter
and how my ribcage...

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In the spirit of hope, we contemplatively search
Beyond the horizon for the mystic exorcism
Of the pandemic deaths proliferating from
The disparity reigning from viral social
And political...

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It brings to mind a question: why?
Why does the river run?
Does it need to?
Why is it considered peaceful?
And can it be obtained by other means?
And...

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Let me rest, 
For now I am tired of these quests.

What prize for me awaits?
Those hollow salutes and opened gates?

Or those meretricious praise that would...

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A paper man
Under paper clouds
The sky is falling
and he doesn’t know why

His edges are folded
He feels he’s undone
There isn’t any warmth
from a paper sun

Cellophane grass
Cardboard...

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I am wildly conscious of the fact
I don’t know how to speak up anymore.
I feel like I’m yelling and no one can
Hear me
I was told...

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POTD June 15 2025

Smoke And Mirrors – Channelling in the Spirit of Edgar Allan Poe

When regulation picks at pillaged dreams

The searchlight shines its brutal beams

As...

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