Imagine a chamber filled with blackened smoke
Always swirling and churning, making you choke
Each narrow passage heavy cobwebs cling
A deep breath taken is a wasps sting
Tack on a dusty layer so thick
Just like being hit with a brick
Barely a whisp of air to flow throughout
Exhausting is the struggle, without a doubt
Add a vice, jaws clamped tightly around the chest
The beast within devours each morsel with zest
Dining for years before it is seen
A touch too late to repair, no vaccine
This devil within has a ravenous appetite
It has no feelings, no cares, just delight
Slowly consuming tender bits from within
To leave a withered deflated unusable skin
****
Written Oct 7, 2026
To experience an incurable disease.
October is here and I fear it is clear;
low gear, it competes with some holiday feats.
Halloween greets day thirty-one to stun-
with fun that October alone does own.
But I groan, as I said, it's too far ahead!
To be led to Christmas trees hoping to please
will tend to tease us to shop till we drop -
fast hop to a holiday two months away!
On display, gift-filled sights, and Christmas lights
are December's rights to sell fair and square;
not share at this time in October's prime!
A crime to now steal our Autumn zeal!
Biting cold night
Tears on a rose
Her petals turn gray
Death sucks her life away
She stands alone in feeling
No one knows her secret cries
She has shed away her hopes
Her beautiful soul holds memories
Of times sunshine kissed her face
Now darkness swamps her world
On the grave where they have laid her to rest
They sit, and They beg
with Dark and Gloomy eyes
Waiting...
Wondering...
As they let out their tears.
People Look
People Laugh
And People just walk away.
They Sit, and They Beg
with Dark and Gloomy eyes.
I heard you are not allowed to turn on the light.
Yet you try to cover it up with tape to shun it form me.
Follow the narrow path set by 613.
Yet I have toiled exactly 11 years of my life in that area code.
Now knowing that my Mars line was going through there.
You wear a wig to look pretty.
Yet if I were to squint you look exactly the same to me.
So tell me why did creation create such thing in the first place?
Creation begets creation.
So just slap me with a copyright claim and keep copying your forefathers.
For you use said creation to create more falsities.
You wear two spirals like dead logs around your head.
Shall I just count them both as my shiny pillars and name them B and J.
After all y'all just flowers that I shower my water on.
Carrying great smells for my dog.
Yes you can say it backwards and can call it god.
Without the circumference of the ozone layer there can be no life on earth.
So why keep depleting it with CFCs?
One thing I will take kosher is this grain of salt.
( for Robin Williams )
~ while your soul screamed "help!"
the world heard only laughter ...
we loved you ... to death ~
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
There is an empty chair
Awaiting your arrival
To sit and talk, drink coffee, laugh
No concept of deprival
There is an empty chair
Awaiting your appointment
To sit and wait, deliberate
Fearing disappointment
There is an empty chair
For me to sit and rest
While wondering just how you are
Resulting from your test
There is an empty chair
Sitting side by side
Hearing the prognosis
The need to run and hide
There is an empty chair
Sitting next to mine
We hug and cry and wonder why
Your health is in decline
There is an empty chair
Just to the left of me
Holding hands we reminisce
Of life's sweet memory
There is an empty chair
Awaiting your return
But you are gone, now an image
Of that I only yearn
No one can save me, its sad but it's true
It's not a reflection of how I love you
It's something within me, deep down inside
A feeling of numbness that I've tried to hide
It's recurring presence is tiring me now
I want it to stop but it puzzles me how
Why does my body not work like it should?
Why does my mind believe I'm no good?
I want to feel joy, live life to the max
See goodness in others, take comfort in facts
It makes me feel sad that my mind is broken
Writing this now, a pitying token
I do not want pity, I do not want shame
I do not want loved ones taking the blame
I wish I could be so much better at life
I wish I could be a good mother and wife
But when sadness consumes me, I don't want to stay
I want things to end and to just get away
I'm angry because I know its not right
So I stay here today and continue the fight
But deep in my soul there's a truth hidden there
That one day I'll give in to the returning despair
It will catch me one day with its challenging sneer
Directing my actions 'cos I shouldn't be here
Autumn is reliable,
She will always be on time.
She's a good in-between
Of harsh winds
And when the sun still shines.
I love when she's here.
I hate what she represents:
The new year coming,
Another chapter ends.
Another school year,
Another “new year, new me,”
Another person who will never
Be as beautiful as she.
Because she can change
Without looking back,
Drop the old her, and still
Look beautiful while doing that.
Nobody I've ever met
Is as breathtaking as she,
Because she doesn't dwell
On shedding her summer leaves.
She changes colors,
Letting everyone know
That winter's coming, but for now,
It's her autumn show.
I wish I was autumn,
Being able to drop and change.
But I hold the past too tight.
I'm too afraid to play her game.
Hickory dickery doc, the arms move on the clock, you count the minutes until it's 12, the tears in your eyes begin to well. You write the letters in your books, to mom, to dad, anyone who would be glad, you count the seconds until its 12, until i get to move out of this hell, you tie the rope, you grab the chair, but you just stand there, the rope around your neck but not kicking the chair. You wait, wait until it's 12 and it finally comes, but you're scared, you cry until your eyes are dry, scared to die. So you untie the rope, get off the chair, your neck feels bare. You look at the clock and think in your mind "what would happen if i did it blind".
Nothing in this world is as beautiful as their laugh
Nor their smile
When it shines all the horrible things fade away
Leaving a brief moment of possibility
Leaving a short breath of relatability
Nothing in this world is as sweet as their happiness
Nor eyes
When they let it flow all the vile things slip away
Leaving a draught of peace
Leaving a small wish vulnerability
Nothing in this world burns as much as their soul
Nor their heart
When it breaks the world shudders and quakes
Leaving a lifetime of sorrow
Leaving the sickening thought of inevitability
They say don't waste your breath
But what if my breath is the only thing I have left to give
What if all I can do is sit and breathe
Breathe through the pain
Breathe to relax
Deep breaths to slow the fast beating of my heart
I talk, and I breathe
I walk, and I breathe
I run and breathe and gasp for air
Air that seems to be evading my lungs
Air that seems toxic to everyone around me
I only talk to myself
I walk alone
I run toward no one and away from everyone
They say don't waste your breath
But breathing is the only thing I have left to waste
My socks don't match
I can't find my shoes
I forgot my jacket
I dropped my coffee
My pen stopped working
I ran out of shampoo, but not conditioner
You tower over the doorway,
wavy blonde hair catching the harsh fluorescent glare
of the hallway outside the prep room.
Everyone parts for you—
you carry that old, easy popularity
like a jacket you never have to zip against the cold.
I am sitting two desks down,
drowning in a sea of manila folders and printed articles,
our thirty-minute prep clock ticking down to zero.
They say extempers have to think on their feet,
have to look a judge in the eye and command a room,
turn global chaos into a neat seven-minute argument.
So why does a single digital inbox
leave me completely paralyzed?
I sent the words weeks ago.
A confession typed out in the dark margins of midnight,
shoved through the mail slot of your attention,
and you just walked past me this morning
with those sharp blue eyes,
looking right through me to the whiteboard behind my head.
You don't even have to offer a rebuttal.
Your silence is a twenty-four-point font,
screaming louder than any speech I have ever given.
I feel like I remember
What better was,
But I can't see it
as clear as I see my flaws.
Yet there is proof.
In photos and videos,
a memory of who I am,
that feels like an echo.
Cause I can see it
past the clouds of gray,
That yes, in fact, there was
Such a thing as a good day.
Days where my thoughts
didn't always win.
Days where a negative magnet
didn't pull the positive from within.
I try to catch a glance,
forcing my way into that moment,
back when I wasn't saving energy
for my mind's endless torment.
I've entered every password
that used to work before.
All those “get better” tasks,
but they're not working anymore.
But I can't remember.
It doesn't matter how hard I try.
I'm locked out of my own system,
with an error code.
Telling me to die.
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