Tag Archives: Peter Pan

Trimester Realities in Multiple Dimensions

A few short weeks ago,

I was a third trimester fetus,

Reincarnated,

Brought on by a first trimester reality,

Clinging to the umbilical cord of life,

While letting go of the other,

To my great dismay,

And my black dog’s laughter,

A symbiotic relationship that benefited both love, and me

Now,

As the day approaches,

When sober thoughts

And new opportunities present themselves,

It is time for me to learn anew,

Everything that once I had known,

I do not know,

I did not know,

Taking nothing for granted,

I must,

Listen to the world around me,

To the Ether,

To Ernest,

Finding the auditory cues that will again lead me to speech,

I must develop new teeth,

A painful process from which my words will gain bite,

I must learn to crawl,

Wiggling this Peter Pan body all over the place,

A man child,

Until finally,

Finding balance,

I can stand and walk for only a few steps,

Those steps the beginning of a lifetime of journeys,

Love lost,

Love found,

From walking to running,

I sprint toward myself,

Intentionally,

Relentlessly,

Beautifully,

Making mistakes all along the way,

Experience,

Releasing a pain so fresh,

That my body aches just considering it,

As too does my soul,

Now,

I must learn to speak,

First through repetition and rapport,

Until finally,

I am forming my own words,

My own sentences,

My own expression of self,

Nosce Te Ipsum,

Growing up through this world,

I will learn ever new and wonderful things,

Be awed, inspired and inspiring,

And I will become what we all know I am meant to,

What I have always known,

Ernest in my ear,

What I already am,

Though,

Like child rearing,

(and believe me I was sand am o ready)

It will take time,

To heal,

Mistakes will be made,

And I will learn from them,

Experience them,

Own them,

Yet,

Through the wonder of a child’s eyes,

While imagining my Sia,

I am now looking at this world in a fresh and amazing way,

It is as if I am seeing it all again,

I am seeing it all again,

For the first time,

A trick played on my mind,

Through my action and intent

To comfort my mind,

In this period of grief,

Profound and gut wrenching,

Yet,

Though childbirth is painful,

My childbirth is a different kind of pain,

Ripe,

Rather than worrying about ten fingers or toes,

I am concerned with taking this newly born,

Innocent and empathetic mind,

Through the stages of childhood,

To reveal a man reborn,

Not a perfect man,

A better man,

Better than I was yesterday,

I and I aware of the exquisite pain of this rebirth,

I am to become,

The man of my dreams,

And one day,

Someone will see me,

For who and what I truly am…

Loving me without hesitation,

But until then,

Childbirth can be painful!

SDM

 

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The Epic Wrath of History Repeating

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdY-rywIWNE

 

I’m deeply sorry,
Muse,
Profoundly sorry in fact,
An assault, one of the most meaningful moments in your life,
And most difficult to be sure,
Decisions had to be made,

Life altering,
Moreover, I supported them,
(As I have before, swearing never again)
Support you,
(despite supposed convictions ostensibly negotiable)
I am sorry,
So deeply sorry that it hurts me,
Reopening gashes that I’d finally come to terms with,
You must understand,
At least try to,
This is not a reflection on you,
Rather, a realization of my current plight, and me.

You see,
I have served at the feet of others,
Others desire,
Others needs,
Others want,
Others every whim,
For I believed that was the very cornerstone of love,
Unconditional and without equivocation,
Though only now learning
The difference between giving in and of
Giving of me,
Giving in to the plague of necessity.

I, as you well know,
I am,
Shackled by a burdensome depression,
(one that your presence lifts me out of)
My all too frequently visiting professor of despair,
Tenured,
(held at bay when you are near)
My Black Dog,
Mightier than Cerberus and even more terrifying,
Do you get that? Can you?
This is not hyperbole or a platitude
Instead my daily truth,
Quarreling with the hounds of my mental hell,
A mind that has split in three,
A suffering I wish not on you,
Not even my worst enemy,
Of which I have none,
But if I did,
I would not wish this torment upon them,
For a weaker mind,
Less inclined to fight,
May slip to the other side,
A fear I live with daily,
A thought I have as routinely as you brush your teeth,
Bipolar realities of imaginative suggestion,
The prison cell of both my consciousness and sub consciousness,
The defense mechanism that my internal acumen affords,
A dim but still burning candle taunting me forward,
Chosen light.

Thoughts constantly slashing,
Crashing as if the sea on erosion torn rocks,
The passage of time reflected in their scars,
But my scars you cannot see,
And this new one so raw,
Blinded by temptation,
Forbidden and yet so very right,
I long for more, for you, but
My scars are the inner cuts and bullet wounds,
Of a mind run amuck,
Of experiences I cannot erase,
Memories I cannot purge.

Despite my attempts to explain this virtual hell,
Virtual to you,
Real to me,
Of time marching on,
Thirty-eight years have passed me by,
Twenty two of which I fought with a bottle,
Just to get some sleep,
Inside of me,
A clock,
Destiny’s fingerprints,
Force me to these words,
As shelter from the tempest,
Fighting the course of nature,
Begrudgingly I accept my plight.

And I fight,
Though less for me,
More for those that do not have this gift,
More for those that cannot express this torture,
For my soul,
Twisted and tangled,
By the struggle I face,
Head on,
Though not necessarily head up,
Cross checking me into the proverbial boards,
Of universal discord,
Even now,
As I write these words,
Of these ordeals, disorders and complexes,
(forced decisions that while responsible, STING, the most)
Are uncontrollably forcing my eyes into and out of focus,
Globus Hystericus,
Choking on my own cacophony,
Repeated tragic fate.

Can you imagine,
What I face each day,
In and out of focus,
While my mind, though torn, is like a laser,
Words the beam I use to propel myself from madness,
I know my destiny,
I know what providence has in store,
And as you may or may not know,
I feel that I am worth more dead than alive,
Imagine dealing with that thought, not once a day,
But once every few minutes,
A horrible feeling,
Again,
That no human being should have to face,
(one that I need not face alone because of your grace)
I must,
Face the truths of what I have done,
For what I know is outweighed by what I do not.

Yet,
This is my battle,
This is my fight,
This is my cross,
And I will endure,
Feeling that I had left it all behind,
Until history, in it’s cruelest dimension,
Has repeated itself,
A horror show for me,
Tragedy for you
And I am sorry,
So sorry as, this festering wound is
Reawakening my dormant darkness.

I will press on,
(loving you with continual support)
As I contemplate what it means,
Failed lover,
Failed father,
Protecting mutual self interest,
In the most selfless way,
Finding,
To be this writer,
This beautiful mind,
As Warrior Poet,
Beaten by the battle,
Still waging this interminable war.

In this time,
In this place,
Forced to realize,
That every burden,
For every person everywhere,
Is as challenging as my own,
Just different,
And I know I have saddled you,
And for that burden,
As lowly servant,
I fall to my knees and beg of you,
Accept these honesties and let us together move,
Forward as intended.

Just different,
For we all are unique,
Beautiful,
Though I am restless,
To once again reclaim my rightful mind,
(with your adoring eyes as guide)
Minding the truth,
That this fight is mine alone,
Therefore, I am profoundly sorry,
As my time,
Is now,
To dismantle this mind of mine,
Putting it back together,
In my image,
Therefore, I may press on,
For others,
For you,
And I am relieved you are by my side,
As I must stand,
In this moment,
For us,
Warrior Poet,
Giant of spirit,
And delicate Peter Pan,

Love;
My personal odyssey.

SDM

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You Don’t Know About Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDqTjHXJn7w

‘You don’t know about me…’

How could you possibly?
I mean,
You walked a mile in my shoes,
Want to try on crazy and see how it makes you feel?
This side of lunacy is a sick joke played on me daily,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

A boy trapped inside a mans body,
My mind that of an ancient sage,
My temperament that of a little school child,
Wandering free and innocent,
Though the man in me is guilty,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

Conversing daily,
With Huck and Tom,
Ernest and Edgar,
Peter Pan and Mowgli,
I am the little prince,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

I played in your world,
I did what you wanted,
I tried to be everything you expected,
And I always came up short,
Maddening me,
Saddening me,
Propelling me to a pharmaceutical plain,
Just to be inside the line that you feel secure with,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

Like Tom and Huck,
I travel (proverbially of course),
The Mississippi looking to regain strength,
To regain my sense of self,
Freedom found on treacherous waters,
But none so treacherous as you,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

The third of eight children,
Always stuck in the middle,
Highly educated,
Highly underrated,
My own worst enemy,
Is something I can’t escape?
Me,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

I’ve worked high and low,
Written for the rich,
And serviced compactors for the poor,
I have arrested shoplifters,
And been chef to the stars,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

I’ve been rich and poor,
Always rich in spirit though,
I have lived in well appointed homes,
And a stairwell when it all went south for my father,
I’ve hobnobbed with the famous,
And searched for a meal with the homeless,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

I have loved three women,
Only three,
Though I assure you I love them all,
I have been close to marriage once,
Gotten down on one knee,
And given a beautiful ring to the girl of my dreams,
At least that’s what I thought,
When I discovered the nightmare of apathy,
Only to be cast aside,
A refuge in my own loving,
Let down by love,
So no…
You don’t know about me.

I am scared,
Ripped apart,
Happy,
Sad,
Bad,
Glad,
Proud,
Loyal,
Loving,
Obnoxious,
Loud,
Opinionated,
Knowledgeable,
Brash,
Confused,
Magical,
Delightful,
Caring,
Passionate,
Insightful,
Delicate,
Fragmented,
Torn and twisted,
I am all this and more,
But you…
You don’t know about me.

And I wonder if you ever will!

Though you,
You must,
If this ‘thing,’
Is to be our thing,
You must,
And I believe,
Truly,
You do;

So;

Though you may not know me,
Fully, not yet,
I certainly believe you will
And what’s more,
That you will,
You must,
Like all you see,
All of me,
For all of you!

SDM

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One Day Closer…

I struggle with worry,
A life threatening worry,
An empathic worry,
Through no fault of my own,
I did not ask for this brain that I was given,
I did not ask to be cast into the stormy waters,
Of My Black Dog’s urine pools,
Raining on my parade,
It’s foot squarely placed on my neck,
The throbbing pulse of my own discontent,
Paining me in ways I can not share,
No, I did not ask for this life,
Something out there in the ether,
Graciously allowing me a blessing and a curse,
Blessing for an intelligence that baffles even me,
Curse for the reasons same,
Yet I did and continue to do everything I can within my power,
To ensure that the natural gift,
Was accented by a voracious hunger to learn about as much as I could,
This allowed me to be lifted,
To a different plane,
Whereby the ether implores me these words,
These words are not what I do,
They are what I am,
For without them,
I would be slave to this non stop engine of a mind,
Firing on all cylinders and with overdrive,
At times menacing,
As the stern admonishments of my own lack of self worth,
Reveals to me daily that this battle is endless,
And continual,
Since the time of my birth I have been dying,
Internally waging the good fight,
With a baby like innocence that is tempered by what I see,
By what I experience,
By what I feel,
Puck I am,
Forcing recognition of a blinding weakness of a world that I seek to understand,
Finding no way save these words,
My desires like anyone else’s,
Just a silly boy looking for an elegant girl,
The frame of my existence,
For love is the only currency worth trading,
As I find myself at the foreign exchange of ascending emotions,
Though I seek not the picture perfect idyllic western love,
The one with two kids, a dog and a white picket fence,
I want something authentic,
I do not want the western love,
With possessions that own me,
No, I am, free, from that burden,
A truth that makes me smile daily,
Even if only for a minute,
A full tooth smile,
The temporary radiance from this tragic soul,
Realizing that with this mind,
I cannot have my cake and eat it too,
Knowing that these sad Irish blue eyes,
Undercut a truth that is obvious to any curious enough,
To access the recesses of me that I barely entreat to surrender,
I’ve lost patience with myself,
Understanding that I can no longer just be along for the ride,
But need to be an active participant,
In the good, the bad and the ugly in me,
Fighting for my survival,
In this test called life,
Fearing that it is passing me by,
One sentence at a time,
Or perhaps I am capturing anew,
The hands that will guide me to the inner peace I so desire,
Perhaps now,
In this way I cannot only see the door of possibility,
But may walk write through it, that’s right, I said write,
My way into the life I’ve imagined,
Since the moment of my birth,
For I am dying,
As are you,
And as the pink hues of my own admonishment,
Send me to a vivid and surreal hell,
I know that I must embrace the heaven that is this existence,
Even if sometimes it makes me feel,
As if the story is flat,
Mine celebrated in words,
Seemingly effortless words,
Those torment me,
That I cannot resist,
I did not ask for this brain,
Nor the misgivings that threaten my very life,
As poet warrior I tensely advance,
One day closer,
Non Omnis Moriar.

SDM

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An Epic – Soon?

Such wonder you inspire,
You are quite the phenomenon,
That my mind races,
Scrambled, shaken and stirred,
As I marvel at what you inspire,
That I may aspire,
To you,
For these words,
That my childlike innocence,
My internal Peter Pan,
Is transformed,
Desirous of adult only diversions,
And so it shall be,
That together we shall scribe,
Tales more sumptuous than the Marquis,
More sensual,
My quill and your body,
Combining into an epic,
That repeats with every thought,
Thoughts,
That repeats each time we kiss,
How do I yearn to tickle your lips anew,
Such that when beard fades into insignificance,
As it surely must,
You can recall,
The way it made you feel,
Physically and internally,
Each time my hand touches you,
The searing excitement of all the moments,
Between then and now,
Imagining you as I do,
I as you do,
Every inch of you a canvas,
Every inch of you a page that I shall fill,
Upon which I shall write my masterpiece,
You,
Will you be my masterpiece
For the very thought of you,
Alights in me a passion that is more powerful than a million suns,
A fervor I’ve only known,
As I write my tomes,
Mistress Fate and Lady Destiny,
How they can be both fickle and profoundly kind,
In this case,
Naturally, it is kind,
Reminding me of the lost treasure of desire,
The all compelling allure of a simple embrace,
Such that in my mind,
And one day soon I implore of you,
Our romantic interludes are interlaced,
With moments of lascivious rapture,
At moments gentle and tender,
At others,
Well you can imagine,
Where in my mind,
Each touch of your flesh,
Scorches my soul,
Burning excitement,
An erotic deity of my own enjoyment,
As directed by your pleasures,
May I be your pleasure,
The jubilant decadence in which you bathe,
These words,
Reward for the ultimate reemergence of Phoenix,
And out of these ashes,
Are born these delights,
How do I delight in the thought of you,
The mere thought of you,
Such enchantments that when in your arms,
Nothing else exists,
Nothing else matters,
Nothing but you,
As now,
In this moment,
Thoughts of you,
Bring on memories of transcendental bliss,
Those are as yet unwritten,
From something as simple as your smile,
The subtle curvature of your face,
Dalliances into your eyes,
Peering into you,
Savoring every inch,
From your little toe,
To the crease of your elbow,
That my body alive,
Dances at the convenience of your advances,
Longing,
Lusting,
Yearning,
Always left hungering for more,
And there is more,
For these advances are not the frivolous affairs,
Of children at play,
No,
Much more at work,
Behind the curtain of our own understanding,
Do we understand,
Can we know,
Are you the Wizard,
Is this Oz,
For surely I have followed the yellow brick road,
And the trials and tribulations of my life,
Have led,
In the now,
To you,
Like lovesick teenagers,
Suspended in time,
May it always seem so heavenly,
The awaiting climax of pheromones,
The untold,
The sacred,
The secret of the divine,
Revealed in each zealous suggestion realized,
Your touch,
My touch,
Our touches,
Deft and daft,
Each like a shot of ambrosia,
Straight to the neurons firing,
Our synapses alighting a magical consent,
Your voice,
Sending shivers down my spine,
As all I can think of,
Is the pivotal moment,
That together our bodies dance,
Less ballroom,
More tango,
Like celestial angels,
Found in each other,
If only for those deliciously seething moments,
In each touch,
As Whitman said;
“And your very flesh shall be a great poem.”
Shall we write together?
An epic poem?
Soon?

SDM

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Family and Friends, Lend Me Your Eyes…

Family and friends surrounding,
A disintegrating mind,
Like Humpty Dumpty,
The fragmented I and I and I,
An ageless wisdom imparted far too soon,
A boyish man longing for innocence,
It is never too late to realize your purpose,
It is always too late should you not try,
As with the eyes of a child,
This tragic wandered often proclaims,
Peter Pan, Mowgli, The Little Prince,
Yet with shades of Hunter S., Hemingway and Whitman,
Split,
Where one and one is no longer two,
Causation of wonder,
Or effect of madness,
Now a far off philosophical representation,
Somewhere between Neptune and Saturn,
The individual slices of me,
Are combatants in a struggle,
One without rules, or order,
Only chaos,
Those crushing spirit and alighting passion,
Creating wonder and destroying serenity,
A weight that is ever increasing,
With a universal half life of a billion years or more,
As we seek to remake, rebirth, renew,
This once vibrant mind,
Constantly fighting, battling, several voices in this head,
Working with vigor,
To find the answer to a syllogism,
Through which this mind may find it’s way,
Back to itself,
Back to me,
Where even a half empty cup,
Means that it is half full,
Just like my wandering through time and space,
Like Einstein, shooting on a star at the speed of light,
Though I,
And I and I,
Are shooting at the speed of thought,
Searching for the parts of me,
Those have not lain dormant,
Instead,
Have gone unanswered,
I should have listened,
I should have obeyed,
I should,
Is no place to live, nor exist,
For this rupture,
Is causing tears in the fabric of me,
Potential as curse,
That pollutes my own abilities,
Carried since youth,
A fierce belief, nay knowledge,
For I have no faith,
That I am meant, destined,
To arise as a chosen light, protector,
Bringing illumination where shadows are cast,
And darkness attempts to reign,
Depression and Black Dog as catalyst,
Demonstrating with all that I am,
(Although a permeating agony of fractured self)
The ingenious assault of love,
To impart the wisdom of my sages,
Through which,
Freedom is found,
Bringing pieces of mind renewed, restored and peace,
For this Warrior Poet,
And hopefully for you.

SDM

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Just Ask Dante (A Manifesto)

Portal Into My Brain,
Though first a warning,
Which I beseech you to heed,
Are you sure you want to see,
Are you sure you a ready,
Are you sure of anything at all;

As I can tell you,
I,
Am,
Not!

Abandon all hope ye that enter here…

As Dante warned…

“Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.”

I am a lost little boy,
Blonde hair and blue eyes,
A terrified and frightened little boy,
Looking for the light though overcome by darkness,
A descending darkness that is blacker than a moonless night,
And in here,
This wasteland,
At once beautiful and repulsive,
There are no stars to guide you,
No stars to guide I,
Only despair,
A Peter Pan looking for my Tink,
That I may once again fly,
For my wings have been clipped,
And I am blinded and choking on the acrid stench of death and lost hope,
Synapses firing,
Faulty wiring,
My depression all consuming,
All consuming,
All consuming,
I wish to no longer be consumed.

As a boy,
I was greeted by a voice,
A tyrannical voice,
That told me I was destined for greatness,
And all these years I have suffered,
Toiled and tired,
For greatness has not touched me,
To you a sign of arrogance,
To me an acknowledgment,
Greatness has passed me by,
At every attempt,
At every step,
Greatness has punched me in the face,
Kicked me while I was down,
And repeated time and again;
You’re not good enough
You’re not strong enough,
You’re a failure,
You’re nothing,
Told to me so often that I’d begun to believe it,
Nervous breakdown the result,
Am I really nothing?

Boy grew into man,
Struggling to keep my way in this world,
Though unwilling and able to ascribe to the arcane,
Those principles that demand my specialization,
Rather than generalization,
Such specialization as to belittle this talent,
You must be a Doctor, A Lawyer, A Banker,
NO,
I must be a writer,
Doing only enough to survive,
Never thrive,
So that these words manifest,
As destiny had assured me they should,
Therein lay the rub,
Should,
The scourge of the mind,
The scourge of my mind,
Deleterious,
I should have,
I could have,
I didn’t,
Thus the blame lay with me,
Right?

Inside this brain,
My brain,
This beautiful mind,
A war is being waged,
More powerful than the eternal struggle,
Of good and evil,
Darkness and light,
For inside this mind,
Bizarre creations,
Frivolous contradictions,
Leading to internal hallucinations,
Not just the voices in my head,
But the demons that persecute me,
The gargoyles who feast on hope,
Reminding me, they have concluded,
I am absurd, Greedy, Vengeful, Proud, Slovenly, Envious, Lusting and Glutinous ,
I have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting,
Yes of course I am wanting,
Who doesn’t want,
Don’t you want,
My wants not obscene,
I desire love above all else,
LOVE above all else,
For I would lay down my life,
If it meant that I could know requited agape love,
Nothing material could satiate my desire,
As could a kiss from Muse,
From Lover,
And these are not delusions of grandeur,
I am desirous of love and nothing more,
Nothing else matters,
Can’t you see,
Nothing…

Of those things in my control,
I have honoured that tyrannical voice,
To the best of my ability,
I have written millions of words,
Tens of thousands of pages,
Though this darkness,
My Black Dog,
My fault wiring,
My messed up mind,
Tossed about,
Screwed up brain,
Makes it difficult for me,
To do anything,
To do anything,
I can do nothing,
Save these words,
Those that destiny intended,
And yet I toil and tear.

Man beaten,
This brain,
The portal you are now peering through,
Three separate and distinct parts,
Freud calls the Id, the Ego and the Superego,
I call them I and I and I,
And they are waging war with my sanity ,
The war not over,
I battle,
Both through force of mind,
And pharmaceutical care,
For years self medication in bottles and lines,
Scotch, Wine and Beer,
Cocaine, MDMA and more
Keeping the demons at bay,
Until they no longer were kept at bay,
Cerberus opened the gates of hell,
Casting upon me a fate worse than death,
This struggle.

One moment on top of the world,
Truly Peter Pan,
I am Peter Pan,
I am love,
Flying about without a care,
Save these words,
The next,
Dante pushing me deeper into Hell,
Virgil laughing as my greatness unattained,
Is the cross that I must bear,
And it is too much,
It is too much,
Friends, Family and Lovers I assure you,
At times it is TOO MUCH,
This past week counted,
As one of the most difficult in all my years,
So the fragmented I’s fall deeper into madness,
Deeper into hell,
A hell that only a brain like this could create,
Replete with memories of those I have harmed,
The road to hell paved with good intention,
For by nature,
I am that Peter Pan,
I wish the world to be filled with Pixie Dust,
Rather than weapons of mass destruction,
But of course we are cowards,
Preparing for a war that will never come.

Though,
Realizing there is no Pixie Dust,
I am further cast,
Past circle three,
Closer to seven,
Where Dante’s laughter,
Is like pricks of a needle,
Not filled with Heroin,
Though certainly a smack,
Each prick,
One step closer to an assured oblivion,
An oblivion that awaits not only I,
But all those who enter,
Into the darkness.

Man refusing to break,
So the forces come harder,
Stronger and faster,
Trying to rip away from me what is left,
Of this sane mind,
This mind that has seen too much,
That it cannot reveal,
It dare not reveal,
I dare not,
For those truths threaten the very fabric,
Of the institutions that we hold dear,
Afraid as I am of Leviathan,
For I broke the social contract,
And my punishment,
Are these hallucinations,
The voices,
Of which there are several,
Those of the light,
Hemingway, Pound, Joyce, and more,
Those of the dark,
Dante, Virgil and Faustus,
Those of the light,
Begging of me my masterpiece,
Those of the dark,
Daring me to submit to their will,
Daring me,
To end it all,
A struggle for my life indeed,
As I persist,
Framed by this struggle for my mind,
I made no deal with the Devil at the crossroads for this talent,
I did not ask for the skills to which I am appraised,
For which I am applauded,
Accolades graciously provided and accepted daily,
So why the torture,
Why the suffering,
Why?.

Up,
Down
Up,
Down,
Up,
Down,
Down,
Down,
Deeper and deeper,
Further and further away from that careless boy,
The innocent little child that so longs to be me,
Careless with my sanity,
Into a darkness that prevails,
Though love is the answer,
There is only so much that I can bear,
I cannot bear to live this life,
Alone,
Abandoned as I have always been,
By love,
Family and friends,
Lovers three,
I and I and I,
Sinking,
In the quicksand of a line thin,
That I cross daily.

Manic expressions of love,
Of ignorance,
Of temperance,
Of virtue and vice,
Repeated time and again,
Sixty minutes of every hour,
Twenty-four hours of every day,
All the days of the month,
Into the oblivion of a year,
Can this really be so?

The battle,
For the now,
Seemingly won,
By demonic insurrection,
I can assure you all,
The war is far from over,
For I am Warrior Poet,
And this darkness,
This Black Dog,
These fragments of I,
Those threaten to maim and torture me,
Will be cast from me,
So long as I continue to write,
For these words,
Is my salvation…

My REVOLUTION is begun.

Just ask Dante!

For I Will…

ENDURE!

SDM

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