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Shackles cast of steel Held by ball and chain Heaving with my shame A pretense of a shield Stench of failure, unclean Decay chanting its creed Encased, the coffin is sealed I claw and try to scream To demons I forcibly kneel Fraying and tearing at seams Body bitter and maimed “Spare yourself and yield” “No!” Shouts a soul...

~ “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what's left and live it properly. What doesn't transmit light creates its own darkness.” ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations ~ I looked back and saw kindergarten Memories playing vividly in my head Halfway done they said and I asked "Didn't life start just yesterday?" I wonder if it...

do you feel it? as you walk slowly through the dark, in this fallen neglected labyrinth of the mind, where mold and filth fester upon crumbling walls, and rainwater seeps and falls like tears of the damned, this once great building now diseased and decaying, a parody of the minds once entombed within, can you hear the echoes of the screams? from...

In shadows cast by stone and fear, I find myself, the path unclear. A dilemma looms, a heavy weight, Where do I turn? What lies in fate? Shall I trust the echoes of my mind, The wisdom gathered, the truths I find? Or delve within, where silence dwells, Into the chambers, where my spirit swells? With every breath, a whisper calls, Inward...

The dusty jacket, tattered, did belie Within held pearls bespeaking truth To bring within perfect symmetry The recipe I needed in my youth So distracted I walked through the falling library Of shelves begging with every groan To collect pages torn falling unwary Those voices would fade to the unknown About flew ravens taunting with...

Woe is it to be the Unconvincing, The horses have all been led to water But none are drinking, Have you done enough, Or are you just giving up With confidence shrinking? If you have the proof that you’re right Why is no one believing? Should you just accept it’s your fault That you’re so damned unconvincing!

He stands alone, an obelisk beneath the sun, his hands still blackened from the tar’s old murmur, the shovel, stiff like history, resting at his side. The street is silent now, the fracture filled, its gaping maw of ruin smoothed, a sleek insignificance to all who pass. They will not notice. They never notice— the absence of damage, the absence...