Forced reflection

I am terrible,

I am manifest…

I am the very worst

that one

can be.

I am this,

and more,

because time

is evil…

and time

is all

I have.

Fear me,

but no more

than I fear



Casual (Satur, Sun, Mon, Tues, Wednes, Thurs, Fri) day

Getting ready

to leave the house

(I have many

things to do).

Probably just

going to 


these sweat-pants


I hate myself…

and I’m not 

too keen

on you


It is not caring

I would say
that I’m fading
that’s not true.
I am stiffening.
I am becoming
a statue…
not even in monument
to any former self,
or glory,
but to my current malaise;
this frozen-form
that mars me.
Nothing feels worth anything,
besides the obvious needs
and my immediate blood,
it’s just an open void
stretching out ahead
and being approached
at a snails pace. 


“A figure on the horizon, its back turned… you beckon to it, and it beckons to some distant, unseen person too….”

I dreamt that the sky was lit with sulfur,
and that the worst of us were running
(shrieking, shouting, crying and bereft)
from a thing that was simply sorrow.
I turned to see the place to which they were fleeing,
and saw only more in flight, 
and they were rushing without pause
towards the place where I was standing.
I too began to run,
but which-ever way I looked
I saw the encroachment of angry faces,
all focused on me.
Terror gripped my soul;
my bowels cut-loose in a torrent of panic,
and shame ripped through me,
as I dropped to the obsidian ground.
I wept and shook with fear,
as their voices overwhelmed the sound of my sobbing.
The last, desperate, conclusion I sadly reached
was that each face was my own.