some days the words flow like a winding river

coming easily

a feeling of serenity as they pour into the world fully formed

other times it is like ripping pieces off my soul

poetry flows

it is just an extension of the emotions already bubbling under the surface

an outlet for the overwhelming feelings that steer my ship

but when i write short fiction

when i put myself into the mind set of the characters

force myself to feel and understand their emotional distress

it is agonizing

picking scabs you didn’t know existed

reopening old hurt long buried

it is my fault

i don’t know any other way but to mine my own pain, my darkness, my faults

they infuse the people’s lives i document

and i have to relive it with them

makes it even harder when i know the ending but have to crawl through broken glass to get there

like life

and life feels so bent beyond repair right now

like there is a car crusher and mine ran out of fuel and unknowingly the crane operator picked me up and not so gently set me in

and as the hydraulics force metal against metal

indifferent to the carbon based life form inside

smashing and leaving a cube where once lay smiles

i didn’t care for the cubist period then

i most certainly do not now

more a blue period to keep the metaphor going

a light coating of sorrow on everything, like a dusting of orange after eating cheesy snacks and watching an inane movie

i have cable here in this nice facade of a living space that is only that way for a couple days but will be my hell for weeks

and i sought to drown out the words watching it

but after flipping through twice and everything seeming so lowest common denominator

or feuding cable news spewing lies for the half of the country they seek to blind from the truth while claiming to represent

and it all seems as pointless as anything

as everything

and the words aren’t flowing but coming out in chunks

choking me on their stench

and i’m so tired

so tired

so very tired of being tired and needing to write so it can go ignored

like here lies a man that was so inconsequential that even the words abandoned him for another

but some days they flow like a winding river

and some it is like picking emotional scabs

today has been both and neither as i try to learn a job i can only imagine as temporary

one everyone who does it has confided they hate

and they ask me

what do you want to do

and i say

when i grow up

i want to be a writer

and they nod sagely

and the words yell for attention like a three year old hopped up on sugar

i’ll pull this goddamned semi-aquatic vehicle over and drown us all if you don’t give me a moment without pain

without need

of solace from my pain and need

please