This Mess

i’m a mess – a ragged ragamuffin running roughshod riding white water rapids and rolling river rocks – muddied mind malaise riddled masked in mirth exuding merriment maimed and torn miserable – pale portly panicked poor – a man alone in pain abhorred – surrounded enclosed locked away tight – retreat from the sun turn…

Deadbolt Diary 2

Music plays from the corner of the room. The window, cracked, allows the chill to seep in, crawling to me from sill to floor. It lunges, unseen, in widening bounds, descending upon me as I lie suspended in a cocoon of varied fabrics. The roar of the furnace erupts in intervals, combatting the vicious cold….

Deadbolt Diary

The yellow tint of the cool morning sun bleeds through the plated shades of my sliding glass door this December morning. A sense of nauseousness refuses to lift, blending with an anxiousness from the past five days. I apply five cups of french pressed coffee to the sick, making it worse. I want to vomit….