Absent Friends

I wonder what ideas, what books died with you when the energy ceased firing in your heart and mind. One could tell beneath your brilliance, padded by humor and likeability, that you were hurting. I hope you are at peace.

You told me that you loved my writing and that we had a similar sense of humor. I was extremely flattered, because I know my sense of humor is annoying and my writing is the unpolished musings of someone with a 96 IQ.

I envy you in so many ways. You were well- liked, knew love, was immensely talented. I sometimes even envy the fact that you actually did it. I was never brave enough and self preservation has always won out. I think I’m here on earth for the foreseeable future.


How much anger can one swallow?

Hot acid fills the hollow.

Grind your teeth and pull your hair,

It’s still there.

Burning, boiling to the brim,

Galvanizing the soul within.

That is to Say…

I have a tendency to love those who care for me the least;

that is to say, love for me is out of reach.

Those I love would rather I were dead, decaying somewhere in a ditch;

that is to say, my friendship is the stench of garbage set on the curb.