24

They pushed you by.
Deceivingly quiet I sat.
Inside stormed,"Not yet. Just a few more minutes please. Please?
They drove you away anyway.....

Episodic?
Oh, yes please.

I fall apart.I hit the road.
I’m only as good as the charge on my mp3 player.
I take the long way home.

I am music, really,really bad music, until the tiny hours of morning.
(techno beats and everything)
Diet Mt.Dew has yet to equal a bubbly cure for insomnia.
Just thought I’d experiment.

A little reverse psychology.

It’s still just fizzy fruit juice laced with crack.
My heart feels like it will explode upon consumption.

I have pages of words, but I can’t find them.
How can I tell your mother of the ways I loved you?
How can the words I tell your father ever surface the way they sit honest and true and big in me?

We seem to be novella.

I am.........

A quiet dark thing.

The Days After...........

I don’t know what normal is right now.
I just know that nothing seems normal at all.
I keep sneaking back
to the blue shade of the mountain shadows.
I greatly disagree with the sun.
I'm finding solace in written words.
I’m still searching for my own.
10 p.m.. quickly becomes my worst hour.
I hate trying to sleep.
I lay there ready and waiting, sure that, that concept has
died too.
It’s one, it’s two, it’s three in the morning and dark
finally kisses my eye lids.
I hate waking up.
The previous days progress is lost in dreamless sleep.
I blink once. I blink twice.
I start all over again.

You Left Me, Sweet, Two Legacies
by Emily Dickinson

You left me, sweet, two legacies,--
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.

WORDS

Words fail me. Words betray me; words thunder and quake at the thought of me. They are playing hide and seek. They turn to pillars of salt and scatter and blow with a wicked frenzy. My words discombobulate and look like a trailer park after a tornado. . Blinking cursers, a,b,c,d,e,f ,g …..all black and white. Staring at a white screen, my words at the ready, flowing from brain synapse to never endings circling my finger tips. Now my fingers ache to caress the shutter. My words have turned into photographs. Now my words form and I reach for a light box and glass.

Life is fast.