Should I write of terrible emptiness or speak of a future so uncertain no pathway is clear?
Is the act of writing catharsis or catalyst?
Form sentences
in service to the sacred
or am I a blasphemy,
unworthy of your consideration?
Embrace emotion and be bruised by cold shoulders,
words spoken softly
become daggers when syllables drop dispassionately
Fake dreams,
distraction from a life fraught with dirt standard ennui
Or passionate pleading prayers
to an uncaring universe
that this time will be different
Burn it all in pleasures and pains
that only leave me emptied
or fill me up with poison
fermented on the vine
Drunk on sharp edges and missed schedules
Easier to say
it’s too hard and walk away
than to embrace misfortune and ill timing
No right time for love,
no perfect step, no lull in life
Just now, now is all we have
Plan a future
but start today
or watch all plans disappear
as flash paper memories
You can’t push me away hard enough
once I’ve decided to stay,
but you can walk away
This desolate desert of ablated could have beens
A wanderer
Alone
looking for water
Pelgris 