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right as rain

Addicted; for years you were addicted.

Still are—
in some capacity.
If not to one thing—
than to another.

All the same.


All the same.

Can't blame you either.

Even if it meant nothing to them.
Even if you said it meant nothing to you.

"I could snap you in half":
a show of force.
"I could snap you in half":
a show of strength.

All the same.

You flee to a world anew.
Then to another.
Then to,
Then to:

crawl out of your bed,
into your throne.


mind rotten; body frail and weak.
corpse hollow; inner edges charred black.


novelty of new realms run thin.
false realities offer no respite.

"I could snap you in half".
Even today.

Delivery altered, their message remains
all the same.


escape earth

Boiling pot. Shaking walls. Shattered glass. Rattled awake from exhaustive apathy.

Running with a sense of urgency. Although, without a sense of direction. Just away.

Adjacent to a bottomless pit. One-thousand disembodied arms pull me back from the unknown. They choke me, beat me. Chest tight - like a corset. Stagger. Slip. Cloud of dust - swirling.

Fingers, wrapped around the edge of bright red stone, pull into the void. Rush of wind, followed by:

Suspension; Clarity; Release.

Pot boils over. Walls remain. Glass unscathed.

steady footing

Floating. Through time and space. For an entire existence or more.

I am breaking free, but to what extent? What exists external of the paths that define us?

Climbing up a tunnel of sludge. Cramped. Narrow. Slick. With comfort to be found in the crevasses along the way; dug out long ago by those embarked on the same journey.

Feel the warmth of the sun’s glow overhead. What other comforts lie just above the edge of the known world?

Progress is slow. the climb exhausting.

The mire swallows you up; though the crest is nearer than you know.

How long have we been at the beginning of a new day?

the ship is gone, but the journey remains

We've entered the 'real world'. Business casual. Corporate America. God bless green paper.

Tired, stuck, and adrift in a sea of mud. I find myself surrounded.

Mud men smile through me - long lost to their own pursuit. Perfect teeth and an aura of self-importance; highlighted by the stench of misplaced dreams and forgotten promises.

Calling out for connection, they mutter to themselves with insincerity. "Beautiful weather today". "How's the wife"? "How's the job"?

Empathize with their spellbound existence, though don't be fooled. Their eyes peer out, recognizing only performance metrics and return on investment.

Don't make any sudden movements. They can't see you if you don't move.