Scribbled Thoughts

A darker mind

imagines the possible death,

the tragic surprises,

the unexpected interuptions.

They rehearse and prepare

for prevention

so those of light

never have to consider,

and can shine their pure light

a little into

their shadow.

Hide the remains

of a last desperate act,

sealed for months,

years,

before daylight

touches its truth,

and welcome

the horror

such enlightenment

brings.

Return to

lack of sleep

to prepare the day

for ungrateful recipients,

who stare

and ask why you’re here,

a question

you can’t answer.

Spill some ink

across the ground,

soak it into soil

and imagine

it reforming

beneath the surface

into a beautiful

world of words.

Flesh left abandoned

and only metal

left to bury

in a graveyard

created by one man

to grieve lifetimes

worth of friends

and have none left

to walk beside.

Throwing rocks

towards your goal,

hoping to reach it

a little faster,

feel more hopeful

that it can come true.

For those who

come after.

Paper boat

floating

as it grows damp,

sinking on a surface

it won’t leave,

searching for another.

Sturdy, wooden boat

passing by,

never noticing

the rippling nearby

is a desperate

soul’s grave.

Time trickles through

aging fingers

that still feel young enough

to chase the dream

of change.

And life.

View a tree of blood

feeding on humans

who gave up living,

feel the hopeless

vastness of your insignificance

and sink down

into its roots,

burying all trace that

you could have

tried.