Day Fifteen

I grow tired of my words
They fall from chapped and bleeding lips
My tongue feels stuck like cotton balls
and my heart is worst of all.

Will you meet me in this place?
The way grows rougher with each step
I do not see the way before
save the next step only now.

Carry me when I can’t walk
and lay me down when I’m to die
and tell my heart to wait in faith
as all else begins to rot.

Day Ten

I will not miss you or your fucking soup.

One day when all is gone and all has returned
I will find a way
and it will be shown to me
and the ducks will be warm in the winter.

There are a lot of things in oneself to hate,
it is hard to know where to begin.

There are a lot of memories to desire gone
soups and lies and things we don’t speak of.

I await the judgement
and something else.

Day Nine

It is a long hard road to sobriety
even though I hardly ever drink
I am awash in a drunken stupor
of other sins with other victims…

Head down.

Don’t make a target.

Keep moving.

But they’re all dead, aren’t they?
Well,
all except me.

I always wonder why the worst gets left behind
It never makes sense
unless life is a punishment
mostly to the living.

It is a long and steep path
and better men have already died upon it.

Peace goes with truth and love–
it is never a product of self-esteem
The dogs lay down to sleep in the cold
and I feel as on fire in the night.

Keep moving.