i try to etch all of
the confusion
the sorrow
the anger
the need
the desire
the love
the fear
the madness
the wonder
the hope
the angst
the loss
into the æther
yet all i manage
is hollow prose
childlike sketches
of chuldhood scars
rough approximations
of clinging scabs
as i bash my head
against the wall
again and again
until the darkness
consumes me
until dawn breaks
the sparrows sing
and i try

the futility
provides the fuel
sends a shower
of sparks
and still
i cannot admit
the words have
defeated me
as the world itself
has left me
battered and bruised.

another morning
waiting on the sun
or the storms
uncertain which
deluded skyline
awaits me as
the coffee brews
after another long
night of impatient
insomnial turning
bleeds into
another long
day of mindless meandering
hopeful today
is the day that
the words
come out right.

they won’t
yet that doesn’t
seem to hamper my
compulsion to
etch them out
in electronic static
in a dissonance
of one.


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