Scribbled Thoughts

Beautiful possibility

that can never be,

cradle you in soft tribute

with a final hug of goodbye

and an acknowledgement

some ideas

are too precious

to fully form.

Tired mind

explores the world

of mist,

still seeing the beauty

and letting thoughts

quieten

as they ignore all maps

and keep walking.

The original stain

a faint mark

but still visible

to remind you

of the beginning

of the end

and the limbo

you’re still

currently trapped in.

Count the tasks

and calculate

the space within

three days

you must fit them in,

bending and twisting

until they click,

but scream out in agony

at the misshapen

creation left over.

Touch grass

and judge the experience

by the quality,

brittle and dry

or vibrant and damp,

pressing against your palm

and deciding

how the outside

will be presented.

Revisit with another,

glimpsing their demeanor

with the familiar

instead of the polite mask

we are forced to wear

to please and pacify.

Take me to a river

and let grief consume,

screaming into a rushing waterfall

and choking with the dead,

while my body

curls into a ball

of pain

and anger

and all engulfing loss

at what they deserved

but what I couldn’t deliver.

Collide with anger

then feel it steam out,

wondering where it

hissed from

to begin with.

Harbour the dead,

shelter them from the world

who never even knew

they were meant to exist.

Cling to the corpse

a little longer

and pretend

miracles

can revive the gone.