Inventory Blues

A ghost, a shell

A left over half-memory

of what –  on earth –  I might have been.

Burning bridges while I stride,

Leaving those around me,

pre-emptive strikes.

Lest they, like me, find out too soon

Once again, a wager lost.

Trust placed in me – a darkened horse.

What crazy odds..

Could’ve stayed the course?


A dismal daytime dream, a ‘sort of never really knew him.’

And stranger still,

as all the while, he knew no bounds,

Open as a riptide, welcomed all and sundry

into that madhouse glass heart of his,

Fatal shore indeed…

Yet no one seemed to truly see

the struggle at the heart of me;

To yet remain and thwart the tide

of Fate, bloody Loki,

Fortuna even.


The game seems rigged.

So many cards still stacked by hands,

I no longer trust or even know.


Am tired. Of me, of all there is tonight.

Can’t turn around, the dye seems cast –

and still I cannot breathe.

No foothold ledge, no branch to clasp.

When tomorrow’s golden dawn,

slips already from my grasp.

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