proof that some things never change

Dissecting my raging thoughts.....
Painfully separating memory from fantasy.
The line between them blurs.

Legs tangled in soggy shuffled sheets.
Delicate whispers....Nerves Quiver.
Remembering peaceful slumbers.

Yelling...Screaming...Fighting...Crying

Eyes red with my heart's despair.
Wiping away tears, cheeks and face raw.
My heart just won't beat for another.
Jaded...Vexed....A heavy slug to my jaw.

No lost love locks me away.....
Renders me helpless.

Fault is that all of my own.....
the fact that I'm alone.

keep reading?

Stuck in between the lines of my own story
A dedicated reader has lost interest in what's next.

.....Skipping ahead skimming the pages looking for better times?
Maybe the recent plot twist and shift in characters was too much for the reader.
This twist, unexpected, yet familiar. 
A new character lurks in dark corners only to be discovered when the light is just right.

Patience is a requirement now, for the light takes a while to brighten enough to see.

WANTED:  MUSE.  Must be imaginative and willing to assist in rejunvenating and saving a soul so they may rise above the emptiness and continue their story.

Can one tell a story if no one is listening? And if no one is listning is a story still a story?.......or just a sequence of lost thoughts?  

I live on writer's block and no one can concentrate here.  

Too many distractions....Loud noises and silence

anonymous

splintered and scarred
healed and rejuvenated
untouched and undiscovered
like ruins of an ocean city
anonymous to most
a single flame flickering
in the harsh wind
...just trying to stay lit

unlike them...different
not aspiring to fill status quo
outsides blend like a chameleon
insides rare and unexplored
just waiting to be lifted, woken up
to feel butterflies take flight
...like autumn birds

save me from this captive silence
release my self bound shackles
unlock the doors to my prison

porte rouge

sunday evenings spent silently
entranced in shamanistic ritual
connecting me beyond this depth
mediating deepest spirits of soul
perpetuating a small sacred space
bearing all to blank empty pages
fragmented pieces, naked thoughts
scrawled out upon enticing lines
inking emotions; 
brown sacred tablet
four apostles preaching 
inner spirits venerated 
prayer in music theory
rhythm remains my deity