Monday, March 7, 2011


The paint on the walls are already

peeled and spent.

For years it has been staying within,

making me its home;

it has become a true companion,

something of a friend,

holding my psyche

in its tight clasp.

If I need it, if I do not,

If I want it, if I do not,

it is always there,

ever nearby,

with its growing naked roots

and entangling secret branches

hovering and collecting

loose ends of my thoughts;

half silhouette, half seen,

knotting up layers and

cervices of mind,

throbbing and hammering,

till I am left with no dreams at all.

Now I wait to sleep.

Time is already disfigured and bruised.

The remnants of life lie on the ground;

hope, this time the sleep will be sound.



Brian Miller said...

whew...a haunting write...making a home of me...keeping the shattered psyche held together...nice....

dustus said...

You express the depth of addiction so well, how it seeps into the deepest corners and crevices of mind influencing behavior, in addition to the sense of self and sense of home. Great challenge response.

deeps said...

thats one powerful poem with thoughts scattered yet a deep anguish, restlessness running throughout its vein...

Rose said...

Fantastic poem, don't know how I missed this one!

Steve Isaak said...

Solid work, good flow.

Unruly Rebel said...

nice post... :)