My soul is tattered.
I long to be taken from this world
and yet I can’t let go.
My father’s closet
Third shelf on the left
Chilling metal.
I’m searching
for a place where I belong
to no avail.
The casing slips into the barrel
easier than
flipping channels
Day after day
I run tirelessly
in circles.
Down the stairs and out the door
No one can hear
my blunderings.
Is up a direction?
There is none
in this hopelessness
Click.
Ready.
Am I?
What is focus?
Shapes and forms
All is a blur
The metal is cold on my tongue.
finger on trigger.
Ready.
I am nonexistent
and the world goes on
without me.
A Lonely Soul (Part II)
I am here.
A whisper,
but existing.
Bustling crowds
are blind
to me.
Blood has been spilled,
across a splinter collection
for me and you.
A whisper
striving to be less
and let him seep through.
Backwards philosophy
permeates my thinking
I must become less.
Once bold.
Now faded.
Soon lost in
the chalk dust
I LIVE for Him.
