One. Stream of Consciousness.

One. Stream of Consciousness.

Electric Blanket, dona heavy, Traffic passing, sleepy street.

Slightly bloated, shoulder hurting.

Winter. Night. Cold.

Work in Morning.

Shallow breathing. Asthma sucks.

World still turning.

Life on pause.

Train, echoing throughout.

Brisk air?

What dreams shall come tonight.

Remember.

Spray Melatonin.

Beside cluttered.

Nightly chaos.

Try to be tidy.

I am happy.

Also sad.

Always in back of head-

Missing  my parents. RIP.

Shit this got sad.

Cotton Candy-

Melts in the mouth.

Carnnie games-

What a rip.

Feel like reading-

To which I will do.

Thankful. Night-

Is the moon bright?

 

 

 

Current Times. Longing Moments…

Current Times. Longing Moments…

Shall we ever be reunited with the world that once was-

Precious moments of accompanied laughter,

The bustling atmosphere of cafes-

Such bittersweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee-

Teasing…alluring…..the senses of human-kind.

An unplanned date-

Corn Kernels transforming into a buttery delight.

A flirtatious smile here-

Hands intertwined there-

Such a delicate dance.

Gatherings and laughter-

Friends reuniting-

After long moments apart.

Will these bittersweet memories-

Become a reality again?

 

Writers Block. You Sneaky Devil You.

Writers Block. You Sneaky Devil You.

You sneak around in the shadow of my thoughts-
Tip toeing ever so silently-
With those A grade military boots-
Shiny axe in hand.
Sensing a flicker of my creativity–
A devious smile upon a hollow face.
Heavy footed-
Squashing my sense of self.
No words escape.
Webs of vowels-
Attempt to save.
A heartless swing of your heavy axe
Beheading-
A–E–I–O–U….ever so effortlessly. 
You think you’re triumphant-
With those muddy boots and rusty axe in hand
Fool! I will show you triumphant.