did a drummer just lose control
if so, how did they come so close?
what is this state of commotion,
is it a commencement of an explosion?

impaired vision, trembling feet
and a scream that won’t release
these organs aren’t responsive to me
but to the needle pricks i do not see

can i vomit when my throat is clenched?
and can a porch ever lack oxygen?
oh i miss most the blessing of balance
on this everlasting evanescent trip
towards the world’s end.

the battle

when all is wonderful it is i can tell
as the plunge of energy cascades under my skin

and i foresee a win
it’s hurled by a storm,
where i find myself lost, and forlorn,
how does it emerge? i do not know
but the despair which invades later is far worse

sometimes they call it a truce
allow me to survive,
other times i’m a battlefield
‘til the muscles in me are no more,
and my tears give in to my plight

[on self image – being a cactus]

for years i’ve believed; every pretty petal comes with thorns of pain,
that someday all of me will be loved the same,
what if my petals prick instead of strutting silk?
what if i am but a stem in vain?
if the concept of beauty deems this thick skin of mine unworthy of affection
then why, dear God, why was i built with these imperfections?
no, these thoughts are of a man’s infection,
i deny;
for we all know they are an utterly ungrateful creation,

amidst the storm, i smile at an approacher shrieking a cry,
“ouch! stupid thing with its ugly spines”
– a stark reminder to myself, a horrendous deformation.