Spin Do not stop Focus on your starving fingers Feel all else fade before your Selfish existence. Your eyes start to roll You are trapped

Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
Spin Do not stop Focus on your starving fingers Feel all else fade before your Selfish existence. Your eyes start to roll You are trapped
I do not forget. Parkland, February 14, 2018 the streets run red with the blood of innocents deemed acceptable collateral damage in an uncivil war where
I live in a state of brilliant madness teetering on the apex of a craggy mountain balanced atop a skateboard precarious least shift of weight
I peel paper, yellow— jaundice skin, is it mine? I sit inside myself. I am a room with a view, but I peel paper to
musical notes float through the air almost visible to sleep deprived eyes razor edged lyrics chosen for their bite sharp enough to penetrate ancient scar
my image splinters in the mirror as distance grows between surface smooth and inner truth where sharp rocks agitate in the acid bath of my
the heart of my madness beats wildly beneath polished glass its feathered limbs twisting turning frantically a living thing fighting desperately to be free it
the world was topsy turvy today reality slipped through my fingers like quicksilver I tumbled after Alice down the rabbit hole landing with a splat no
I sat in cherry upon the hand-carved throne of ivory in an empty room of chiseled stone its vaulted ceilings echoed with silence black and