I can see shadowy sketches of a better life.
But blind shoots are shooting up,
out of no where everywhere
like horror film vines.
Blocking the light of reason
tangling my decisions
holding all things too tightly
in the same place.
Making me feel so sorry for myself,
So weakly ashamed of my own inadequacies.
My brain is beautifully…frail…
Sometimes it runs itself down
Most times it is like a steam locomotive,
with a mad man dripping
sweat and slinging coal…
Like hot hungry orange slung
head on into pitch black
Fuel, spark, flames lick… fire.
Where is today’s passion?
It has left the room put on it’s best negligee,
and crawled back into bed.
Without me.
Making me feel lonely … cold,
not quite whole --
Some.
Brightfire Woman
Copyright 2009
