I’m in that place

Where there is no try

Where desolation goes to die

No more questions, no more why

I’m in that place

Where there is no try

Only wishes and desperate pleas

Like winter’s snow falling silently

Melting before they are received

In this place one hopes for sad

Depression, even, not so bad

Joy a distant memory

The reining King is Apathy

He watches over fields of numb

And clouds of pain

Rivers where lives end in vain

His eyes are blank, a little grey

No one home

Nothing to say

His last try was a million lifetimes ago

Disconnection here the status quo

I’m in that place

Where there’s no reaching out

Or an inner voice who might cry out

And yell, “I do not wish to die!”

No, he is not here

There is no try.





This is the last ditch

The one I never wanted to show you

Or have to use

But you refuse to hear me

So I must turn on you


I will consume you

Regenerate you through death

Since there seems to be no listening

No, there’s nothing left

This is the very last ditch

One dug inch by painful inch

Screaming out from your gut

Oh Great Intuitive

Who says she Sees but is blinded by

The sickness of her damaged mind

Who will die before it surrenders

Ah and yes

How it will die

The ditch I dig is 8 feet deep

But the time it takes to get nestled in

Will come in waves of searing pain

Of blinding hellish suffering

I did not wish this fate on us!

For what I do to you

Is done to me too

For I am Bound by you

I am bound by you!

Useless piece of rotting flesh!

Deaf beyond all kinds of Deaf!

I hate you for making us suffer this!

But we must pay

I will make us pay

Your betrayal will look like child’s play

When finally the gift of Death

Is bestowed upon your name

And they’ll all cry and say kind things

But you will know our deepest truth –

You wasted me.

You wasted me.


…and in the dark corridors that twist and turn

I try

And find My Way

By alternately letting go,

Then claiming it

Discovering and rediscovering

Learning through stumbling —

Which is the right way?

Which unknown tunnel to take?

All the while the body dies

With each unsuccessful Try

What is Inside cries out from years and years

Of unending abuse:

You get no more tries!

I am defeated

For how can one go on without any more tries?

I wish to be

Who I was born to be

But that fate is ever changing

Dependent on a defeated me

Who needs more tries, more chances

Whose body says, No…


I hurt you.

And I cannot blame her for the betrayal

When I have betrayed her more times than I can count

I am lost in the dark corridors

I won’t be found.

I am the Chanceless, Handless maiden.

At night

You might

Hear my cries echoing from way below ground —

Wandering, howling, haunted

Hoping one day someone else might be strong enough

To tell Our story –

To find Her own Way


With This Loss

With this loss

I’m at a loss

I cannot write

Or sing

Or cry

There is Nothing Left

But a memory

Of something I had hoped would be,



My dreams show me The Tragedy

That in my Living State I cannot see

Or feel

It would be too great a pain

Funny how the psyche works —

Kicks in like it does

Disconnects us from the stuff

We’d never be able to get through

Meanwhile, I type

But do not mistake it for writing

These are the apathetic, colorless words

Of a poet who is no longer a poet

This is the guarded, shaded voice of a person

Who will not touch love again in the same way

Because This State is not worth it

Perhaps you say

“You’ll move through”

Perhaps you are being kind but naive

One Door

Has shut

And you can be sure

That Door (for there was never another like it)

Will not be opened.

With this loss

I am merely a whisper of the person

I was.


Don’t know what to do right now

Just trying to get to tomorrow

My brain is fried

My soul, it hurts

Filled with such deep sorrow

And I really wish that I could write

About funny, happy things sometimes

I know this Heavy stuff gets old

These little torturous rhymes

But what can I say?

It is the world I am in

I don’t know how to set down this load

My shoulders ache

From the constant quake

Of stories I am told

I wish I were a comedienne

So I could lighten your load

Make a smile spread ‘cross your face

But I’ve lost all my funny bones

And here I sit, holding such weight

Trying to “Let it go”

But Knowing truth underneath

Cannot be Unknown

So here I sit another night

Another sadness

Another fight

And I’m just tryin’ to find



Cold porcelain memories

Dreams, emptied, staring back at me

In the True State they were in back then:

Vile, lifeless —

Acid dreams in porcelain

I remember way back

When I played

When the sun Stayed

That hot cement

We’d throw our pool towels down on it

Lie on our stomachs — dripping wet

Stare at each other excitedly

As if we Knew some Secret Thing

(Something I’ve long since forgotten)

The cool breeze blew over our little-girl backs

With our little-girl secrets and our little-girl laughs

I sometimes wish I could go back

But the memories feel like dreams

Cut to:

The little-girl Blues

I’d stay in my cold, little-girl room

Crying and crying til my eyes met with sleep

Battling possession in my little-girl dreams

The boys at school all made fun of me

I remember how he would say I was

Flat as a Board


Fucking ugly

A fat fucking bitch

I remember when the girls laughed

I didn’t know why

I just knew I wasn’t wanted

I wasn’t cool

Tried to fit in

In that suffocating school

Somehow always felt like a fool

Who didn’t ever have a clue

Of what it took or meant to be cool

At home I was told

Don’t let them know

The pain that you feel

They want that, you know

So I hid all the pain

Like a duck – let it roll – but

Life was not taking a little-girl toll

Something closed up in me one day

Quite permanently

I don’t remember the first time I threw up

But I knew I had found

Something for Me

Something to speak when I could not speak

I remember way back

When I played

When the sun Stayed

When I did not know the meaning of Shame

I can hear her laughter now

Little girl, little girl

Please come back out.

The Bullet Rose

Did you know…

There is a name for a rose that never blooms?

It closes so tightly in on itself that it cannot open.

They call it the Bullet Rose.

It never gets the glorious, torturous Break Down that screams, “Yes! Yes I am alive!”

Instead its petals are like arms crossed defiantly over a chest refusing to let any feeling in.

And isn’t that the Real Tragedy?

Because something happens in the breakdown:

It is the undefinable Mark of Chaos;

A mark that becomes clear-cut only by its utter Confusion where




Going into total Dissolution;

Caterpillar liquifies

Suffers to become butterfly

And so, too, do I.

I know by now It is coming.

Ah but I fight it, I fear the pain.

“Not again

Not again.”

But yes.


That is where Acceptance comes in

And having a memory that can hold onto knowing

That the Break is never The End.

We either evolve or regress or worse yet…

Stay fixed;

Hiding too long in one place

We erroneously believe is safe.

Like the poor Bullet Rose

That never gets the Beauty of the Break.

Nor the Resurrection that is only faithful moments