Tuesday, November 10, 2015


How do I explain
the workings
of a fragile mind?
How can I make you

I do not choose
to be weak.

Of all my words,
which ones will you
Of all my words,
which ones
are believable?

I do not choose
to be dark.

I did not want
to hurt you;
I did not want
to burden you
with my frailty.

Thankfully you heard me,
you held me,
you did not judge me.

You understood
my nonsensical ramblings,
the admittance of guilt,
my fear of
giving in.

I did not choose
this bipolar life,
yet it is what I live.

I do not want
to fall.

But when I do,
I choose to go
to you.

Monday, November 9, 2015

The Man

I heard the man,
whispering in my ear.
His soothing voice
drew me in,
his choice of words
convinced me.

I saw the man
in a mirror;
he was perched
on my shoulder,
his talons held me
in their fierce grip.

I felt the man
touch my soul;
a dirty black spot followed
his every caress.
Pain coursed through
my very core.

I fought the man;
every blow
caused him to laugh.
He fended off
my weakening attack.

I followed the man,
submissively I obeyed.
He led me astray,
every fork in that road
was the wrong one.

I cursed the man,
but he shoved me along;
he forced me to go
where I was too weak
to resist.
My words
had no effect.

I heard the man
He spoke of things
too dark to mention.
Yet he made it all seem…

I allowed the man
to keep me alive,
to get me lost,
to give me pain.

It seemed I had
no choice,
no choice but to give him
my soul.

I want it back,
for I hate
the man.