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.