with the constant state of panic sweeping the globe it feels odd not being the only one with crippling anxiety hiding at home but at least for most everyone else it is a temporary thing to me it is the same as breathing this hidden away half baked poet become prototype for sheer terror
the light filters through the blinds through the smoke in wavy lines across the empty room the orange ember of the lit cigarette reflected back from the dead television screen the only sign of life flares occasionally the crackle of tobacco an accompaniment to the lazy exhale the birds are silent or he is deaf […]
it feels like the perfect ending to a totally fucked up play one where the spotlight zooms in on the hero laying in a pool of his own misplaced emotion the real hero is the one guiding the light across the darkness unseen unknown leaving in the shadows of those he illuminated the entire evening
the moon stole down from the sky hid itself away in a cave overlooking the sea in the night it would peer over the edge of the cliff watching it’s own reflection dance upon the waves hidden so it wiled away the time whispering of love long lost far down below beneath the waves with […]
don’t fall in love with a poet in the end it is the words they love the need may be laid upon you for a time but that fades don’t let the words convince you there is more hidden beneath there isn’t what lies beneath is the cold darkness from which the words are drawn […]
Mike's Manic Word Depot 