The Cavernous Place

By process of selection, the best option may be concluded as one of distinct uncertainty.  What may be the correct decision to prevent further damage? 

Walk tentatively until the natural progression of tiredness leads to a stumble?

Feign nonchalance in order to breeze along seemingly careless?

Self combust?

Scrutinise each morsel until the brink of despair?

fill each lung with enough air to do the brave thing and disregard the lump forming in the back of your throat?


Or shrug.  Shrug and continue, never quite knowing what the outcome may be.  The coping mechanisms that are put into place when dealing with the impossible are far from ideal.  The numbing qualities of alcohol can be embraced on a temporary basis, yet accompanying the mock high is the toxic reality of the headache.  The headache never goes away.  In the moment when you wake and everything is perfect, just for a second, the pain is irrelevant: then without warning the darkness descends and you are catapulted back into purgatory, unsure of identity.

So easy to become fixated on scrutinising the soul.  When things largely reflect mere coincidence it is such an atrocity to allocate blame, particularly where the target of hatred is the self.  Yet there is something so satisfying in having someone to blame and feeling the pang of disappointment when you admit that the fault lies within. 

Turning on a heel and fading into non-existence is such a fantastic fantasy.  Some souls are unable to let go for one reason or another.  Though we may recognise a constant internal conversation of reassurance, objectifying and reasoning, sometimes the demons break through in spite of oneself and we have found ourselves clinging.

In complete opposition to any typical characteristics, at times just holding tight and not letting go is an occurrence difficult to pre-empt.  Within the cocktail of hurt and instability there emerges a brand new entity, an automatic pilot who makes the decisions and runs when the consequences must be faced.  The unintentional erratic tendencies require justification far and beyond any available spoken offerings.  What is important is that the root of the issue and the source of the emotion are identified and accepted as the significant factors in a turbulent moment.  Fight or flight.  The apology is bittersweet and will never be heard; for it is meaningless when offered in peace and not honesty.  The origin of this disturbance is one of love; not malice, hatred or evil.  Out of desperation and nervous energy, the ruthless tongue tumbles into trouble with brazen stupidity.

We are most grateful for your understanding in this matter.

Woe and world

A trigger pulled Blatant disregard for consequence Stones that crumble 'Neath ragged toes Teardrops fall in the eyes of babes The bigoted man, the incredulous stature Golden crumbs to ingest by choice Hands pressing down in war torn silence Blood from eyes perpetual reminders A breast for a life Unconditional clause Sickening noise instigating closed doors Then nobody comes But the hand of dismay Where is the fuel inside this day? The smug reign almighty labels of extortion And children slum bed ridden Feed only on unshed tears Peacefully they slept Only time to truly know Headstones unkempt Bitter sweet among the snow