open light, sitting on top of another saturday morning, as anxious loathing builds.
today is no day for the escape of poetry, sipping deep breaths made shallow and waiting for the inevitable destruction.
i’m angry today, not at the world but at myself.
the cold feels good though, still chill, soft wind blowing tales of the coming winter.
how I can survive this one?
high one day and low the next.
i’m not bipolar, i just woke up in a bad mood.
life can get messy, rusty.
it’s hard to hold the fire.. to focus on what you need.
so many distractions, giving in, i can’t seem to get what i want, probably because i don’t really know who i am.
yet after all this the word still has power.
sometimes it’s so simple, to cure this atrocity, just write.
write for yourself, wright for someone else
write to fight, write to escape
write to release, wright to hide
write to pass the time
write for the birds and for the dawn
write to spawn uncertain futures
write forget about your pain, write to remember the rain,
write to recall you’ve written this before.