Late Summer 2013

**warning – confused sortation on mental illness**

I am sweaty with burning muscles and stink of fatigue.. alone once more in the quiet empty room where slow morning light seeks to hide from itself outside.

There is laughter in my heart someplace… it too hidden from obvious view.. mired with grief at the realization of where things have gotten to. He is so young and yet so wise with perception that leads only to apathy and despair. How can I show him and make him see when I myself am nothing but lost with words that dwindle as empty as I?

I am fighting against nothingness. Drawing inward as strongly as I might to stop from slipping to oblivion. What kind of father am I that could falter into selfishness and idealistic charades of uplifting things that matter not? Who am I to convince a life is worth living and that even in the simplest of measures there are great triumphs and beauty? How is it that I have been immune to the mental strains that now seep into the fiber of my soul, pulling me down into its lacy tentacles of heavy tar like lungs full of smoke and sick with goopy cancer bound for death?  Away from denial.

Where are you? Who am I to confide with where my perception is wrought with cynical views and heart heavy with sadness? What happened? My god I wanted the best for you.. still do… still fighting, but I am tired.. worn.. and near defeat.

A worry that plagues my soul is weighing me down. I cannot stand being in the presence of others for messy words or a slanted eye give way to more. While I know I am not the only one alive, I cannot cross the room to pull back the truth, for with it goes my footing to a place I may not return. Shielded from discussion, I am alone and know not what to do; aside from work and sleep and toil,  I pander in the shadows of my mind looking for reason. Patience is pulled by grief and a desperation to save a life loved throughout time. The in-between counsel is weak to an audience sick with anguish and despair.

There is no more for us. Now you be, only as it suits to stand but for the conflict of habit and routine. But alas, for me, I have crossed my soul’s threshold where love abundant has finally ceased. Do you not see? The plight in the diminishing light has made for a long day where my strength is no longer in sight.

I will sit today.. riding out another weekend.. waiting to return to work where I will sit, again, until the end of day whence I return to the door and into empty room where I will sit some more…waiting to breathe and praying for mental comfort to sweep over me.

A Vomit Page

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can’t sleep and back is killing me.. damn air mattress on the floor syndrome.. wondering how long we can keep the facade..

the moon rose in a way that only can be described as once in a life time.. no words can describe what everyone already knows and understands for their own significance where none is more than another.

the lady lies sleeping, awake in her dreams where she has mastered peace someplace beyond the touches of this reality. She stirs lightly but continues to drift.

a fishtale does trail in thought as the river winds through a lazy morning.. nature seems more powerful these days.. to be revered more earnestly.

then the painter captures the light and being that she is a painter begins to analyze each stroke of sun as it shoots from the gaps in her minds grip where she keeps it there long enough to coax the essense of it to her canvas

I am not but a messed up remnant of a man who has tried to forge my own path in life with what I have, while life has leaned in with beaurocracy to define how my path should be..problem is, beaurocracy has often required much more than I actually have..

My children are beautiful and I worry for them and their friends daily.

If then there were yet another eye looking down at my miserable life, what would be told from that perspective? What if it were so that this life was to be answered for? What could the consequences be other than death, which is a natural cycle of life anyway? Or are we simply to believe it natural because that is what we have been told?

The buttersquash was delicious and made my cheeks pucker from the inside with the spices that were used. Of course, there is no such thing anymore as buttersquash, but it is nice to remember.

Conspiracies are only as concerning as we tend to believe. What’s more is when too many people come to believe and then people begin to act out of fear and the mob begins to act like a mob. At that point, did we ever figure out what was valid about the conspiracy in the first place? Or does the basic belief in something all that matters without tangible proof? Apparently so – case and point – religion.