I was going through my notebooks last night. There are pages with print so confident, letters straight with strong strokes. Then there are pages of loose scrawlings, that require a Navy codebreaker and half the CIA to suss out any meaning at all. Then there’s a few pages like the one that had this poem on it…with distinct writing sandwiched by crap cursive letters. I struggled with this one, trying to work imagery in such a way to capture hellish regret. There are some things I very much like about it, and there are some bits that I think missed the mark. However, my blog is not supposed to be about bright and shiny perfection. Nope, this is all about the process. Today is one of those process kind of days.
Like a sea of maggots
So does this place appear
So vile on the onset
A horrifyingly ugly beginning.
Witness the early lives forming
Destined to be flies that feed on shit
Without a choice but by design
And certainly by fate.
An unfortunate time to choose
A toxic pathogen in concept
Killing slowly killing quickly
Closing its hands around my neck.
Escape is not an open door
Escape is not a step away
Escape is only a concept
Filled with static, clogged with doubt.
A futile flight from the dung heaps
Gasping for relief begging for help
Denied by the nature of things
My first mistake was my last.