Lockjaw

The spinning compass, 

Pointing directly into the eye of the storm; 

No dancing around it only sweet submission. 

The mind churns, 

The bubbling stew, 

A rat’s maze inside a boiling potato. 

The right and wrong are found in the trivial, 

In that simple action you revealed your heart. 

Hurling words into the void, 

Your thoughts are like vomit they are better out than in. 

Those born without sight are not troubled by the dreams of the blinded. 

Constant vigilance for dark intentions spring from their own soil. 

The shallow mind breaks hard against the rocks of reality; 

Eat tragedy like one does the elephant. 

One must scrub hard to remove the stains that build up over time, 

Let only the clean be seen. 

A life spent fighting never ends it only becomes more adept at delivering cunning blows meant to break what threads of will you have remaining. 

A dozen times a day or more your ghost comes to caress or torment me. 

Given the chance I would have wished for more, 

To few words with so much more that should have been said. 

Endings always sprout beginnings, 

But the poisoned seed grows twisted and mangled, 

Mutilating its own inner truth. 

Yesterdays are always gone, 

Tomorow is never here, 

And now gets eaten by your own cowardice. 

Hope is the broken map that gives you the feeling that all is well just before you drive off the cliff. 

In the end it’s the gravestones that take the albatross’s place around the neck.