Off the beaten path
Where the sweet smell of decay
Wafted up
Towards the slate grey autumn sky
The Traveler kicked the recent living
And newly dead leaves
Across where his sinking footprints had marked
The murky earth below
In a few weeks this evidence would be consumed
And lost forever
As his latest was now
Flaxen hair had gripped the leaves
In moments on the ground
Grasping and clinging long after
The soil settled back over
Where his footprints were erased
Insecurities
They bleed
Will I, Should I, If I, Could I
Twist my mind by day
Race with it by night
How do I stop
This unstoppable thing
This weakness born of suffering
Neglect
At the hands of those
Who installed
These hypothetic and pathetic
Ticks
Of a clock that winds its way to doomsday
Will it, won’t it
Be my fault, my shame, my
Silly bleeding thoughts
Dripping, running, pooling
Insecurities
Small town termite
Wears her sadness like a trophy
Weathered lines of disregard and suffering
Empty out your pain for all to see
Seek pity from your neighbor
But his lines wear deeper than yours
Competitive sadness is the race of your race
Empty bottles and hearts
No more promises to break
Fill your cart at the big box
With those things you could never escape
Orange flakes of fake cheese dust
Scatter across the floor
And the hand dives back in for more
Broken rubber wheels shimmy and shake
The early death rattle
Blue light special is just an aisle away
bluefalling 