Tag Archives: pain

Gratitude: Part 24

Today I am grateful for:

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Gratitude: Part 20

Today I am grateful for:
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Gratitude: Part 12

Today I am grateful for:
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Gratitude: Part 9

Right now I am grateful for:
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Every step is an agony
Every coming one a promise
Of sinew stretching despite no elasticity left,
Every hobbled movement a medley of this malady
That makes walking such a tragedy to behold.

The scolding on the methods that caused this but emboldens every aching anachronism that these arches argue against,
Alabaster espionage of a synaptic sensation,
Sciatica from one sore muscles’ inflammation.

So raise a toast of ibuprofen and tart cherry, magnesium,
Raise legs in stretches despite the abhorrent seizing from such action,
Burn sacrifices to appease whatever god has been displease’d,
Thankful in the pain of this I am still breathing.

Saturn Return

Saturn ate the songbirds that sang serenity and soothed my troubled soul,
Now their absence is a gaping hole,
That stole simplicity and made things complicated, convoluted,
diluted from their brilliance by pillaging the filament that keeps the twinkling in the firmament urgent;
entropy, which needs no help from me,
was quickened by this self-abusing wastrel,
who took a good time and turned it tepid,
who took a star-aligned intrepid enterprise and disconnected it,
who turned self to consort and took Lua’s bloodied swords and stabbed chest and throat until the lifeblood poured out,
devout in it, my sacred shrine dismantled
and set my own body as an altar and the sacrifice upon it and pulled at the handle jutting out my torso
so I could still know that I feel;
still so surreal,
it doesn’t seem a fitting ending,
to have had so much love careening, wending way that merely shuddered shut,
her soul stepped upon by worded smut that sought to barb her, as barbarians are wont to do,
my aim was true,
and ardor hardened heart and solemnly we did part.

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Knee-jerk, extracted all our wetworks,
heart hurts, reflexively assertive,
unplanned, just malaise of butt-hurt feelings,
left the both  of us reeling,
packed the good times in the ceiling attic,
turned our future plans to static,
acting erratic and shifting into manic;
I said I wanted to go but through my teeth I lied,
now I’m wishing for a psycho-cide,
die, Id, die.

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Protected: Purge

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Art bleeding out the pores,
The pains and joys that it’s expressing, flowing from out the core,
The wholly stock and store of a soul shaking itself from slumber,
Seeking in it a lesson to offer umbrage instead of lumber.

A stage set in its components, wood and screws and paint to sway perceptions of what would otherwise be malaise and restraints,
Seeking to stake a claim in saints and statesmen, a sinner or a psychopath sincerely, to make a statement:

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