Note to self

he's that someone you ignore
the one that was created
from the muck on the bottom of your feet
from the dust of the road you've already traveled

he's anxious for attention
because you've shut him away
deep in the closet at the end of the hall
yet you still can hear the quiet rapping
the ever present tapping
on the back of your heart

you tell yourself that he can't help himself
that he was sourced from fear
he was raised from the depths of hate
that anger is his blood
and malice is his breath
and you shutter at his delights

you keep telling yourself he can't help himself
and you're right
only you can do that

Dam

the blank stare is a dam
with no emotion is how the day can go on
for behind the stark eyes
there's a teeming mess
a wriggling knot of serpentine memories
festering in each fleeting hour of the day
they are a puzzle of which no one
can decide where to start the unravel
and be it duty
the desire to continue
the wish to eat and keep eating
or simply keep warm inside
the blank stare must remain
the charade must progress
the gates that keep the mangled monster
of a soul from seeping out of its skin
must remain shut

The burn

the candle bleeds heavy
and pools at its feet
the flame ready to drown
in its own wax
its light ready to succumb
to the ravenous dark

the dwindling fire dances
a sporadic, tipsy waltz
where a one, two, three
can drop anyone to their knee
where the tiny hot hands
reach out beyond the wick
praying for acknowledgement
begging for unity
hoping for change
wishing that it doesn't
meet the same fate
as those many flames
that have come before
to be blown out
by an unobservant
passerby, to be
spat on by bigots
to be crushed between
two fingers moistened
with hate and disrespect

the dwindling fire,
my how it dances