Dimming

Far too often

I go to the darkest places…

I would say a

it’s against my will

but I am in control

and I take myself

repeatedly.

Those I love the most

are those for whom

I cannot stop

seeing

the very worst.

The saddest part

is how selfish

this all is,

for in all my worrying

it is my own lament

I fear the most.

I kill myself,

daily,

with the panic

and histrionics

I am sure I would feel

were the worst

to ever happen.

I am left

unable to find pleasure

in most things

as all I can do is wonder,

“How much will I miss this

if it is gone?”

I must be stopped.

Disappointing

Far too often
a passing stranger
will look at me
and visibly
sigh…
they are disappointed
and they don’t even
know me.
This is very hard
to take.
What can be
so obvious,
from a passing by,
that it causes them
to feel so let-down
on so little
exposure?
It is slowly robbing me
of composure
and dignity
and that makes me
disappointed
in me…
great….

Slack

Forgive me
for having already
written this,
but sometimes
(wracked with thirst)
I must drop the bucket
into
this dry well.
The rains will come,
they always do,
and I will grow bored
with all the bounty.
Today,
however,
I work the winch
and bring up
mud.

Double cream

Why doesn’t cheese

love me

the same way

that I love cheese?

I cannot imagine

not having

a delicate brie,

or a sharp cheddar…

but,

I can be sure

that the cheese

never worries

about me.

This fact

makes me sad…

so

I eat more cheese.