Day Three: Work

A poem about work. I skipped yesterday, but today I’m on track. I hope you enjoy.

I look out the window

To a world far away

The sun is shining

What a nice day to play

The air is brisk

The sun is warm

But something is looming

It’s dark like a storm

The hours they pass

To quickly to hold

I must go to work

Or so I am told


The Dark

Often, I stand in the darkness to awaken my senses. The wilderness brings a plethora of noises lost when the sun warms the earth. I hear things only the darkness can bring to light. The wind rustles the leaves and each leaf sings to its own tune. The bugs talk briefly and then listen to the wind. The birds hum and stop to listen to the rain tapping the earth. You can hear a howling dog in the distance. On some nights you can hear the coyotes breaking their silence to deliver their special code to let the others know the hunt is commencing. The shadows dance with the wind. Their fierce tango drives the moon mad. It looks upon the earth hoping to paint a perfect picture, but it angers at the wind and its games. It draws the clouds like a veil to shield the insanity.

The night brings a different perspective when the eyes are limited with vision. Suddenly, the dark plays tricks with your mind and nestles visions never seen. You stand, motionless, hoping to hear something you’ve never yet heard. You stand like a stone while your senses develop a deeper intelligence. Your hair starts to stand. Your skin starts to crawl and you start to wonder if you were meant for the night at all. Your eyes dart in every direction making your mind wonder if what you heard is real. The black encases you. The wind tickles your hair. You move quickly, turning to see what is there. It’s the dark, telling you to leave. For maybe the moon is on to something, using the clouds to blind itself. The dark hides what we are not ready to view. The wind lets us know to return to our slumber until the sun makes it entrance.

What draws us to the dark? What makes me stand there welcoming the unknown? There is beauty in what we cannot see. There is beauty in the silence. To listen to the rain, the birds, the howling wolves, or the insects whispering is more than noise. It is the break from useless chatter, buzzing phones, and a senseless box telling me how to feel. The dark is more than a sign to wind down. It is a message. So I stand in the dark awaiting a message that the light fails to give; a message to the senses.

The Struggle 

All who know me, know my mind is a dark place. The only true solace is my fingers on the keyboard. It is a sweet release. Poems and short stories seem the way to go for myself. I hope you enjoy. 

I look ahead,

I cannot see. 

I look behind,

I’m drowning. 

I see my soul,

Its darkness seeps. 

It oozes out, 

It cuts deep. 

I reach for life, 

I grab at death.

I open my eyes, 

Before my last breath. 

My Troubled Muse

I often write things that are dark, scary, and completely morbid. It is a direct reflection into my mind. The mirror stands tall. It holds cracks and is often distorted. If you know me, you can see past the imperfections and know, even though my soul is damaged, I am content. I am thoughtful. I have empathy. I long for sanctuary. I can not often find the peace I long for. My mind races with thoughts that I beg to disappear. My thoughts, the ones that put me in a dark place, the ones that pull my inner psyche into a darkness from which I have to claw my way out, are my own. I hate them, I loathe them, I yearn to be with them. However, I won’t apologize for them. They are not for everyone. I live in torment with my mind, and it is often the most beautiful place and the most painful all at once. I wouldn’t change it for anyone or anything. It brings to me a beautiful muse. Unfortunately, I often have to poke the mind in order to bring my muse to life.

Read what you can. Find the meaning of the words as they flow from my troubled thoughts onto this blog. If you’re as troubled as me, and I know I am not alone, you will appreciate every minute your eyes scan the page. If you can not relate, you will have trouble digesting what I am feeding. .

Breath. Enjoy. Live. Inspire. Embrace. Forgive

Remember, it’s all about perspective.

A Taste

My mind flutters with thousands of ideas for books. In order to hold myself accountable, I am taking time to organize my ideas and try to set goals. If you have followed me over the years, you can attest that I have horrible follow through. I am working on this aspect of my life.

One of my book ideas – is still a secret, but I would like to share with you a piece I wrote not long ago while I was, (and continue), to finish this masterpiece.

Enjoy and if you feel the need, place a comment below. I look forward to your feedback.


I can’t piece together all the things that have happened to me in a single setting. However, I remember them all. It’s a sort of jumble. But that wouldn’t be the correct description. It would be a dark room. It’s cold, slightly damp – just as most scary places are described. But that wouldn’t be right either. It’s darker, hot, and my skin is cold from the sweat. My nerves on fire. I’m blinded. I strain to focus. My hands search for something familiar. Perhaps I can find a wall, a door – anything. I can’t. My feet keep moving forward and I lose my balance. I lose everything. I fall into a hole, though I am not sure. My senses are out of control. They are on high alert, but sounding off all at once – like a machine losing control.

I fall. It seems I will fall forever. I hope to be scratched by a limb, a pipe – anything, just so I know where I am. The speed increases, and I spin into the darkness. I am never in control. I am only given the illusion of control.

I cry. I try to scream, but the speed of falling reached into my lungs and snatched the air. I grab my arms. My nails dig into my skin and I hope for pain. I dig deeper and feel nothing. I can only feel the cool blood drip down my fingers. It’s relaxing in its own demonic way. The fall, the confusion, seem to fade; it seems to become a second worry, as if it isn’t really happening. It’s the focus on the blood and the wonder if I can produce more. The need becomes strong. I am determined to produce more blood, something to make the fall disappear.

Nothing more produces. My will is discouraged by my need for survival. I see a pin drop of light. My speed decreases. My senses are more under control. The tears dry. My mind quiets. The light returns. I fall with a soft thud and I can feel the ground. But it isn’t the ground. It is the cold tile floor in my bathroom. My tears have soaked my skin; it lays around my feet. I search for blood. There’s none to be found. I notice I am grabbing my wrist – not a scratch.

I take a walk. My emotions, my mind, my memories, are now my own, until the next time.

The Relief

It was subtle. The thunder echoing in the distance. The clouds gathering at a snail’s pace, their color changing as they merged. The wind rustled the tall trees and danced with their leaves. Nature was singing its normal tune, at its normal time. The heat grew over the course of the day. The humidity remained thick. Often, a walk outside was a daunting task, like pulling back heavy, velvet curtains, in an abandoned theater, without assistance from pulleys and ropes. The air stuck to your skin like shrink wrap. The increasing speed of the wind was a relief. The thunder made its presence by growing in anger; adding lightening to show its seriousness. The clouds changed hues – a light grey to a deep black. The rain was impending. Natures relief. As a human swallows all its pain from the day. Its anger growing and growing until its only release is a fountain of tears. It was the heat. It drove them mad. A day spent outside, with a back to the smelting sun. It melted the skin, the humidity clogged the pores, until breathing became a chore. Water wouldn’t help. It only slowed the process of melting into the earth. The insanity of it all boiled the blood. Humanity felt the wrath of the day. The thought of the storm was the only solace, the only release. The lightening flickered and crashed. The thunder screamed. The wind howled. The trees bent, no longer rustling. The leaves were no longer dancing. They struggled to survive. The heat lost its effect. It was slowly losing the war. It deminished behind the clouds, behind the darkness. The humidity slithered away, awaiting its return. No longer was the storm a subtle sign of relief. It was an answer to a forgotten prayer.

The Darkness

A short story about losing your mind. 

The dreams are strange. The confusion upon waking grows. It festers, boils, and locks on to what may be reality. Were they dreams? Was it what is perceived as real? My mind can barely tell the difference. 

When I woke in the morning, my body pulsed from the heat brewing inside me. I paused before I plummeted down the steps. Visions oozed through my mind. They slowly began to erase what my eyes saw around me. The trees merged into the buildings. The cars melted into the asphalt. The birds vanished into the clouds. I held onto the railing as I slowly made my way down the stairs, out of my apartment. I shut my eyes tight, hoping it would all go away. The sun broke my concentration. When I opened my eyes, the world was melting. I gripped the railing tighter. My body temperature rose and my pulsing skin began to keep pace with my  quickening heartbeat. I sat on the steps, refusing to ungrip the rail. The world was melting into my dreams. 

I envisioned the melting buildings and trees merging into monsters. The birds were popping when they touched a cloud. Their blood soaked remains covering the ground below them. The cars sank into the asphalt that began to boil. I screamed. The screams were not enough to drown the sounds inside my head. Strange voices began to emerge, calling my name slowly. They grew louder and began to increase the pace. I screamed until my voice cracked. I covered my ears. I shut my eyes. I rocked back and forth. I broke and started to cry. The tears were hot and I could feel them burning my skin. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn’t. I scratched at my face until it bled. My nail beds were covered in flesh. 

The world was melting and starting to fade. The darkness oozed over the monsters. It flowed over the clouds. The birds fell to the ground, but now walking away unharmed. The darkness crept over asphalt, cooling it’s boiling core. The cars froze from the cooling ground. My screams were stolen from my lungs. The darkness reached inside and took all the air. Black surrounded my corneas. It pushed me into the steps. I laid in an uncomfortable position, frozen; the world consuming me. 

Large amounts of time passes. I hear beeping, but it feels far away. The air is cold and it smells of bleached urine. I try to open my eyes, but they are heavy. I try to move my body, but it’s weighted down, constricted. If only my eyes would open so I could see. A light flashes and it blinds me. I hold my eyes shut. The beeping is louder. The smell of urine is stronger. A shadow crosses over me. I slowly open my eyes. She wears white and stands over me. I look down at my arms to see I am confined, strapped to a bed. She takes a syringe from her pocket and injects the line coming from my arm. I try to fight, I can’t. Sleep drapes it’s blanket over me, the darkness returns.