Cinnamon and clover lingers on my breath,
a reminder of power that lies dormant.
Building …
hesitating…
yet still being fed.
The wrangler of such petulant magick
understands that spells have wings to fly.
Building…
levitating…
taking to the air.
Respect the ability to maintain control
letting it all go and pulling it back in again.
Building…
decompressing…
breathing.
That is the conjuring.
Loving my studio is not enough
I have to actually go over there and pick up a paintbrush
Reminding myself who I am
Today is the day, I say, halfheartedly.
Not ready yet.
Sticking myself back into lah lah TV land
A world that never brings satisfaction of any kind
Yet here I sit hour upon hour
Decompressing and decomposing.
Go paint! My muse commands.
Making things worse.
I despise being told what to do.
I click yes for the next automatic show I am not watching.
soaking in warmth
of late autumn rays
~ decompressing
The sweet beeps wake me
another cold Saturday morn
death she lost again
letting go thoughts of depression
decompressing the contemplation
raining down
fog lifts for a minute
as I search
bloody knees and lips
for traces of sanity
ice packs freeze
an already stagnant mind
wandering bout the abyss
freedom calls in the form
of an hourglass
as last grains fall
time is running out
excuses to live
have been copied
whistles blow
the mundane march
clouds cover
taxi's roll on by
Back for today
Maybe longer : ))
I confess that I'm a mess
When I am under lots of stress.
You might not guess the truth, unless
You see the signs of true duress.
Then more or less, I will regress
For coping skills I don't possess.
If I'd express what I suppress,
I'd be much better off , unless...
I could address why I repress.
That isn't easy - nonetheless,
By decompressing, my distress
Might disappear or be much less.
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