Muddled.

I used to have words for
that sensation you have
when you're just waking up
from sleep.
A muddle

Last week.

It's a struggle.

I sit here you know
getting lost in a false world, with faces I'll never see
words I'll never really hear
just read in safety.
But it's a comfort.
Hooves and horns
swishing tails
alone still
un-obligated.

watch.

I watch her
as we walk.
It's raining. Her umbrella is folded
waved around as she sings
oblivious to the light rain I shelter myself
and the baby from.
She sings and chatters
hair and face
kissed by the moisture.
She chatters
why do the worms crawl?
can she wear her boots on the
way home?
When can she walk alone?
I watch her
carefree.
no worries
except maybe
the chicken for dinner.
She spins
and she twirls
waving to the cars
My Little Hands.
May you never stop.

nEW

A new friend.
oblong and rectangular
a faded orange with a notch.
It helps the sights to go away
clarity.
but cannot shake the
constant feeling
of unease
unhappiness.
Nothing I can do
alleviates the sensation
of wrongness.
Is it a joke now?
how do we fix it?
do I let it go on?

clarity.

Rare are those moments
when you're
a 3, instead of a 7
or an 8.
Always on the verge of losing it, who knows the cause
but it could happen.
A brief moment of clarity
a breath of fresh air in the stale room
of your mind.
It's rare.
because you're always on edge
ready to go
the terror of driving still haunts you
and there's no real reason for it.
You endured nothing traumatic
yet driving is an issue
you forget how you got places
you see things vividly when you drive
what if the brakes fail
or you get ran in to
what it the road collapses
you see it all.
The baby cries and you see yourself
dashing her against the wall
or kicking her
slapping the bigger kid
bellowing hurtful things.
They come without warning
with screaming and screeching
sometimes you cry
but most of the time
you might say no. You might whisper it.
other times you shout it.
You take a deep breath.
you say, "No I wont do that. I cannot."
It's usually the worst when you drive.
Even when the knives appear in your mind
the pills show up
showing you the easiest way out
you still say no.
You don't say much.
You cannot.
He does not get it.
He sees the ups and downs
but cannot help through them
or wont, sometimes it feels like both.
Work is meant to be a release but it's stopped being that.
it's expected that you go
provide and endure the long, relentless drive in the growing dark of autumn.
The terror still remains.
Last weekend you drove past a wreck.
they close down the road, diverting you and others.
you did your best to not look
the flashing lights
but still your eyes darted
the crumpled hulk of a white car
the tired emergency persons, uniformed and bulky
in their garb.
The dark of morning and night is hardest to see
you're more easily confused.
They come strongly in the dark, in the confusion.
and he wonders why you dread driving.
But sometimes a brief moment of clarity.
You can see the sky again.
Your teeth to bite the sun again.
You laugh again
and drink in the fresh air.
And hide away in your apartment
in a safe, secluded space
away from the roads.
the world, assuming
the darkness again, and holding it at bay as the
clarity fades again.

fits and starts

late
I said.
late, with no signs of coming.
With little response.
as if
no bid deal (nbd)
Concerned
I am not sure
a third we're not ready
but then
are you ever really ready
for the first?