Who does one confess too?

Are my trespasses severe?

Does victim or perpetrator decide?

What if it was incidental.

Is it ever incidental?

Are thoughts hijacking actions?

Maybe I was unwittingly…

Swirling ghosts of logic rise

Passionate defences whisk them away

I’m a good person..I think

I must be afterall

Doubt wears any executioners hood

Shadows fill noisy jury boxes

Quietness poses as innocence

There’s a mistake here, I know

Calm is missing, as pulses race

Fear vacates my confession

I fall back from atonement

Question of the need

or the want to confess

<a href=””>Confess</a&gt;

Anger Mushrooms

Anger mushrooms above you

Lava could not be less endearing

Your cape of shards of glass

Dart filled glares and glances

Hostility is your breath

Isolation your destination

<a href=””>Mushroom</a&gt;

Faint Memories of Yesterday

Little whisper calls

A flash in the eyes

Nervous energy sparks

It’s the smell of hope

Taste of salt from the beach

Memories make clay of thoughts

Churning inside reaching for daylight

The touch of possible

Stirs lost sensations

Eyes delve for images

Time wisps away from now

Sepia shades of what was once

Crayons outline what could have been

If’s and Why’s dance in circles

Wants and needs choose next colors

Still the whispers persist

Distant dreams vividly wave like flags

Crying out to remind you

Here isn’t a destination but a passage

Faint memories of yesterday

Desperately trying to awaken you

From the sleep we call living

<a href=””>Faint</a&gt;

Saturday Mix – Just to be Sure

“He was such a shallow man. Always try to show he had risen above hi snake like personality. Glad to see you succumb to illness.” Tina kicks dirt into the open grave. Her pale thin face sneaks a peek at the five other mourners. “It’s go to see you in the hole but it should be much further. I’d put you below Hell. Maybe that’s deep enough.”

Tina fakes a dab at her eyes. “They came just to be sure you’re dead also!”

<a href=””>Succumb</a&gt;

Circles in the Air

Her mind weaves circles. The symbols are always there. She wipes her brow and closes her eyes.

The street is far more crowded than she thought it should be. Her fingers lightly squeeze a faded rose in her right hand. A insignificant scent drifts away. Much like Dawn as she finds a bench to hide on.

The city is a curious mystery. Nothing in Coldwater could prepare for the rush and bustle of people and more people. The masses hold a face that is there for her. It was foretold. The circle will be unbroken. Destiny and a purpose awaits her.

Her eyes strip away the faces from the crowd. His dark eyes and hair need to be here. Her soul demands it. Morning melts into afternoon but the faces never change.

She lifts up her backpack and thinks of a place to go. Still the circles are everywhere. She knows he is close.

<a href=””>Circle</a&gt;

Crumb of Dignity

“Is there not one crumb of dignity within you?” Her hectic voice screeching.

He barely lifts his head.

Which just enrages her more.

“Nothing to say, huh?” She snaps

Her left hand suddenly rummage within her purse.

Two shots ring out.

A figure covered in cloth falls

<a href="">Crumb</a>


I long for simple times

I remember when it was perfect

Being as one without boundaries

Magic lived between what was us

Just to bring that back for a moment

To grasp the raw emotions

No plague of worry or thought

When the mist clears my eyes

A lone thought cries out

How do you recreate

What never was

<a href=””>Recreate</a&gt;


<a href="">Sympathy</a>

“Sympathy? I remember sympathy. It was a two way street, once.” Her face stretched and slightly twisted. Shadows fill lines within her face.

“I… I don’t understand…” his voice breaks in disbelief and the hopelessness of being bound. The sleepiness and mix of a pharmaceutical cocktail crawl under his skin.

“I have remembered everything. Particularly, how much sympathy I have seen.” She fractures a small smile. It provides light in a darkened room between two empty souls.