I used to travel the world, sitting in my grandfatherโs lap. He had an old Texaco map, and I an imaginary friend.
The world was very flat back then, his fingers cold, so stiff so hard. Turning pages, going off somewhere new, with Amelia by my side.
The travelling did eventually stop, old age and poor health got the better of him. I lost my way the day that he passed. Will she ever come back to finish her task? To guide the lost boy back on his path.
How far in time and space
between one warm embrace and
the next
How far in time and space
between a kiss
How long to wait
for the spark to ignite
To join the stream of
entanglement
the monsters under my bed are gone
no space left after I dumped the frame
the monsters in my closet remain
bordered up I think I am safe now
the monsters in my head are near
always present whispering
their truths linger
my sanity questioned
their truths burdening
my sanity hurting
their truths
my sanity
their…
my…
insanity
The poet cried in silence
ink stained collar bound
the last of the papyrus
withering away
no more rebel
no more guard
pacified by silence
muted; incessant; ergo;
by finite confines
restrained
On a good day I will tell how I became
On a good day I will appreciate you dream
On a good day I will send you hugs
On a good day I will laugh out loud
On a good day I will not hold back
On a good day I will not
write anything like this
so many words
written in delusion
illusions of that which
will never come to be
no matter how many times
I repeat them
in thought
in dream
in scream
in hurt
“Nothing is written in stone…”, I muttered
“Have you ever visited a graveyard?”, he countered, smugly
Empty bottles
echoes of better times
torrents of thoughts adarken
a final revelation waiting
the length of a piece of string or
bullets loaded for the Russian roulette
the spinning bottle always lands on
me but in the end it does not matter as
long as someone refills my bottle and
squeeze the trigger till clicks follow
clicks and the noose is firmly tightened
as someone kicks the bucket
my final stand
Still concerned about the length of a
piece of string, fairly long I gather to
throw across the beam and back, to
fasten securely and leave enough for
a comfy noose
