there is so much to say that i’m not sure there are words

pain is consuming me to the point of agony

stealing my joy

holding my foot on the stool

is misery necessary for creation?

i don’t know,

but it certainly seems to help

i long for the days when i was free

free from responsibility

but mostly free from aching all the time

my neck gets tight

my eye starts tearing

and i know i’m in for a wild ride.

and can’t i please get a mechanical keyboard?

anything to make it stop

gun to my head

no freedom from this.

and i ache


remember when there were no rules?

when life was about finding truths at truck stops

and realities in joshua tree

no one prepared me for truth not being real

for fact holding so little under the weight of perception.

and it’s different for all of us

there was a time when that difference wove itself between us, creating a simple reality of misunderstanding,

now all it seems to serve is isolation on a pretty plate.


perhaps we have to be miserable to create

perhaps i don’t want to create anymore

but it pours forth in waves

as shocking as the agony that drives me into my cave

in my dark room, soft bed, with the animals draped around me

a kitten to my right,

a dog at my side

a kitten at my feet

in cold, blessed darkness, where sometimes i find peace.

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