Buckling at the knees
Trying to stand against the turbulent wind
That etches these lines on my face
It’s not age, it’s disgrace
Fallen at every hurdle
I’m not Sisyphus
Never could be
My lips are burdened with the weight of frowning
I’m not an island
Though I tried to be
With all these thoughts
Taking flight like the birds
Around me
Gannets gouge my eyes
And Satan just flies on by
With the little yellow glint in front of their eyes
As they laugh and I cry
They are grace
But what am I?
An arms race inside my mind
Trying to be of the world
When I’m blind

Could never imagine


I want to be the silence
That accelerates the breaks
A thunder storm of shock
Rolling across your face
To communicate the ferocity of this pain
I could never abbreviate this self hate
Encapsulate it for you to contemplate
I want to be the knife
That cuts through the silence

Before you call in the sirens
Remember I tried to be an island
Battling these tyrants
Running amok in my head
The asylum
I tried to be defiant
But I never could imagine
Sisyphus smiling.

© May 2016