Midday Thoughts 12/5/2016

There’s still much light left in these eyes, and many more adventures to come. My energy may have been temporarily dispersed, but it is back now—it is more centered and burns more brilliantly than ever.

Thank you to those who read my blog. You have helped me immeasurably. Prepare yourself for a full-frontal poetic assault.




And yes, I’m an adult male who decorates the headboard of his bed with purple Christmas lights. Judge me.

Just One


It took but one small thing
to change me into this—
not a portrait of health,
by any measure.

I’m a graying
photograph from long-lost
times—one that further
dims with each

I have been compressed
by the gravity of knowledge—
the eye that
gives form to
a profound denseness
of darkest fog.
It sleeps
within the smile;
slithers between
the words.

I know who you are.
I have known for some time.
Why else
I would I waste?

I have looked upon
a terrible countenance—
I’ve stared into
the depths of many.

I believed in goodness,
and have been
brought low by the
immolation of my faith.

Yes, I had faith—
so much more than
expression can contain.
I believed in you.

I do no longer,
nor do I see purity
fill any space within you.
All is malignancy
and void.

And so, I wither.

A Selfie of the Artist as a Starved Man

I’m not generally one to talk or to write about my own life directly. However, these past months have been some of the most personally trying that I can recall.

Depression is a wasting illness, and it’s one I’ve been battling on and off for my entire adult life. This recent bout has reduced my body by about twenty pounds and my energy to nil. My creativity has suffered, and my usual passions have dulled.

I’ve been trying to write, posting on this blog and not allowing my prose to become too dark, but I find that it’s becoming incredibly difficult to maintain the façade. No one reads my blog, I am quite aware. It is what it is.

If, by some miracle, compassionate individuals do, in fact, exist and find themselves here, a single word would stretch for a mile. I’m not asking for praise or sympathy, by any means. I don’t want that. But, it would feel nice to be recognized as a human being who exists. Though many may choose not to acknowledge me, I am still living, and I still suffer. Choosing to avoid me does not make my existence or my situation any less real.

I do exist. I’m here, like everyone else.