Titleless

Freedom comes via ink and pen
Anger boils under seared skin
Words terrorize paper with macabre sin

Writing begins to beat with a stable pulse
Agonies scrawled without legal recourse
Violent thoughts transcribed by the quill’s impulse

Memories of personal horrors no longer deferred
Hand writes on whim, thoughts brimming undeterred
Hostility erupts in stories unheard

Re-traumatized converting morbidity into words
Conscience contorted, left horridly disturbed
Cognitive distortions compounds emotional plights absurd

Despite prior dastardly hesitations
Slowly escaping the grasp of procrastination
Rage lowers to a simmer as thoughts achieve manifestation

Fireplace fuel

Notebook opens
Ink pot spills
Writings illegible
Paper mocks me with ill-will

Don’t vilify me
Your contrived thoughts will be met with resistance

Don’t try to understand me
Your simple thoughts will be twisted into complexity

Don’t deny me
Your breath reeks of duplicity

Don’t label my existence
Your thoughts are fueled by hypocrisy’s persistence

Don’t stand there looking perplexed
Your constant judging defies commonsense

Bereft of Talent

Prose composed out of disorderly thought
Nonsensical experiences ineffably taught
Words scribbled into unintelligible naught

Thoughts of fiction and truth violently collided
Aberrant ideas and torrid emotions intertwined
Pen travels warily across paper terribly misguided

Writings and stories inhale and exhale with repulse
Sweat dripping, mind racing, morals sinking
Concepts littered on tree skin manifested on impulse

Trashcans erupt with writings rejected
Creativity dissembled by negativity reflected
Self-sabotage leaves artistic endeavors dejected

Sleepless nights

I awake drenched in hot sweat. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I try to bring my racing thoughts to a pause, but my attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove futile.

I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to reconnect to reality.

After sixty seconds or so, I regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up in the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that transformed my dreams into nightmares.

Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks as the reflections are laced with reminiscences of past violence that is cruelly scarred on my face.

I quickly look away from the mirror in which the wounded child within peers out to present day struggles through the eyes of a shaken man, a haunted man, a man without resolve; the man who is me.

Shaken but not stirred, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress harrowing childhood memories far below consciousness without much success. Alas, childhood agonies remain ravenously alive inside my mind's eye.

With eyes wide open, I don’t see any restive sleep obtained this night. As usual, my day begins...

Conscience silenced

Impoverished peoples baited by illicit temptations
Pauses in moral hesitation before engaging in transgression
Perplexity abounds in life changing contemplation

Heed to virtue or delve into vice
Right or wrong is void in changing status quo
A call to conscience fails to suffice

A nine to five brings blood to a boil
Criminal history leaves future job prospects foiled
Slaving for pennies, drudgery in broil

Money, power, and respect
Craving immediate ascension in netherworld success
Easily obtained through drugs, guns, and sex

Liquor stores, Cell phone stores, Gun stores
Languishing on the maligned corners that plague the poor

Vagabonds beg for change in hoards
Prostitutes sell their product at the door
Affront of the myriad check cashing stores

The poor have few means for social success
Advantages and opportunities are nothing but less

Tumultuous conscience compartmentalized
Actions, legal or illicit, rationalized
Big profits recycled and capitalized

Loss of love, life, and liberty comes at a price
No matter the means of fortune and prominence
roll the dice, pick your vice: jail, death, or financial dominance

To be continued...

Frustrated...

Pen clutched tightly
Notebook in hand
Attempt to write knightly

Words betray my thoughts
Fingers twisted in knots
Can’t seem to write for naught

Desire verse compulsion
I’m lost in the confusion
Writings resemble vile repulsions

Hand cramps in hesitation
Ink leaks onto the pad
Paper stained with stagnation

Ideas recoil in fright
Derision from my peers in sight
Motivation runs dry and takes flight

Cap my pen
Close my note book
Tomorrow I will try to write again…