He asked for a simple “cracked lid” miracle.

Slightly used but bearable.

Even a “broken seal” miracle, not to get too technical.

Or maybe an “open box” blessing.

Nothing too pressing.

Just something to ease the stressing…

He wondered if he was noticeable.

Life is uncontrollable.

Even made his hopes negotiable.



was rock bottom with all its buried-diamond lighting

he stood there looking up and admiring

that silver lining.

Now from his hill top sighting

he’s suddenly realizing

that thin line shinning

 looked different during the day.

Just more grey

looked different during the day.

That thin line shining

 he’s suddenly realizing

now from his hill top sighting

that silver lining

he stood there looking down and admiring

was rock bottom with all its buried-diamond lighting.

Color Code

stuck in dull hysteria.

her life takes place in the Grey area.

50 shades of constant stress.

even her dreams stream colorless.

White lies replace Blue skies.

all events are now “Black Ties”.

dried Grey tears surround her issues.

wiped away with White tissues.

so she’s intrigued with shopping sprees. searching for shiny things… diamond rings… pearls on strings… anything…

died her hair Platinum.

those new Blue sheets are satin.

interior design.

Purple drapes in mind.

filling her glass with dark Red wine.

Pink on her lips.

keeps color right at her fingertips.

can’t bare to see the color chip.

she Invites friends on these rainbow trips.

an invite they never appose.

eyeshadow to match their clothes and goes with those heels that expose their Gold toes.

an old ritual every woman learns about.

mask that heavy Grey that piles throughout.

and should anyone ask, it’s just a

“Girls Night out”.



She spoke in rhythms and beats.

Edit and revise before she speaks.

Biting her tongue- a skilled technique.

Bold words gathered in her cheeks.

Strips and pieces of unsaid words.

Sharp and jagged edges of the unheard.

Spinning around her point steadily.

Casually clarifying its complexity.

And when that point meets her blank sheet

With rhythms sharper than what she can speak

She is grateful for all that she didn’t say.

For the ragged chips of unspoken decay

Create points that slide through locks and even cut through rock.

Her dearest remedy for writers block.

So Hushhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhould you try to Listen to her….

You might hear her pencil sharpener.


She sits in tangled



of twisted hopes and crumbled



in desperate, messy



of dark and chaotic



piles of mental



became amplified and



struggles are



herself unable to make sense of this senselessness.


blurred and scattered by her



brings her to her knees.


just barely



God can understand her tangled prayers.


She only turned her music down

To hear the rain hit the ground.

clouds covered the tiny stars

She watched them all from her backyard

No tune sounded as sweet

As rain dancing on concrete

Thunder thicker than amplified bass

Gentle drops grazed her face

Rain keeping a steady pace

Chorus sung by the wind

Lightening takes her to the bridge

Harmonies hanging heavily

melodies moving majestically

A perfect way to say goodbye

Dark clouds shout and cry

as the storm slowly begins to die

911 rushes by

Pill bottle empty, jack bottle dry

Sirens interrupting heavens sigh

Speeding through the traffic nearby

She turns her music back up high

And lies down on the ground outside

as she and the sky unify


They could breathe fire when things transpired.

Much more than drama…

They spit lava on top of the trauma.

Flames fly and blaze lies.

Smoke swells when flames die.

Slept in ashes. Rolled in dust.

Incinerated trust.

Faith obliterated from doubts reinterred. Any sudden motions triggered explosions.

But so afraid of being frozen…

Watched elders grown old in a love that grew cold.

Quivering hearts in ice covered mold.

So they Singed bridges and scorched buildings.

Dragons dragging damage down deadly ditches.

Burning blessings and mistaking stresses for life lessons.

Never weary of defeat

They fell in love with the heat

And burned in peace.


Find him under the bridge.

A late night swim.

Like last night and every night

He dives right in.

Backstrokes and


in New Lies and Old Sin.

10 Laps

and Relapse

His way back

to the Deep End.

Addicted to the Predictive.

Regardless of the Statistics

Over-flowingly Sadistic.

Reminisce and relive it.

Never forgotten or forgiven.

Not last night or any night.

He dives right in.

When asked

of his last

craving to binge.

He’d smile and say

it was water under the bridge.