The Weight of Nothing

My body feels rugged
Beaten and bruised
Heavy and slow
I though have not fought it
Quite the opposite,
I fed the fires that burned within
Unquenchable and everlasting

As my appetite reaches the level of unsatiable
My hunger growl at me for more
It emptied me out
Makes me feel spent
Even from the moment of arising
I feel my body is resisting me, resisting life

I don’t know
What will cure me
But I am looking
And here’s hoping

I find it soon.

Breathe

I don’t know
I don’t know what I should do.
Ripped and torn from direction to direction
My life asunder
Tired each time I wake up
With no easing as the day presses on
So many things
It makes me feel as if everything needs to be done
But nothing really does
Just a swirling
A flowing of an ever growing
I know what I should do
I know what I actually do
And sometimes hope aligns them
Time escapes me
It hopes for me to duplicate
To be two or even three
Maybe then I can get things done
Maybe then I can I can finally catch up
That’s all I want
To finally get my head above water
And see the sky again
And breathe
Like I used to

Vignette, 1

the sky that lifts over the far off horizon casting a royal blue backdrop against strips of clouds.

a dusty car that travels down a dark road in smooth silence as it hugs the curves around a city that is sleeping.

a cool wind that seems to blow through though everything you are.

a concrete path baking in the sun as it stretches into the horizon, only a few know its unrelenting strength.

the stillness of a warm afternoon that requires nothing from you.

a stiffness of body that grips someone who spent a little too much time in bed.

the cloudiness the comes to us all when the night presses on a little too long but the conversation seems to keep going.

a heavy back pack that hugs your shoulders trying its hardest to pull you down to the ground.

the cripsness and friction of new paper as it touchs hands for the first time.

a small break and breath of air in the midst of a cloudy and chaotic day.

the satisfying first gulp of water after seemingly endless exersizes.

the dust as it settles on objects that remain ever viglenent for use.

a park doused in water from sprinklers in the dead of night leaving only traces of dew for those who touch the grass in the morning.

a bustling room of people that feels both warm and distant at the same time.

the way the light bounces around a room even though it only creeps in through the cracks in the curtains.

the the small unabiding smile and glint in the eye of someone who is utterly and incandecently happy.

A person sitting at a computer, reflecting on life as the thing he needs to do keep stacking up… whoops…

On The Open Shore

I had a dream recently.

I was walking shoeless on a beach.  Each step I took, I felt the cold sand envelop my toes. The sand was soft and unbroken, each time I stepped I shattered the tension of the surface, cracking the world around it. There was though a pleasant wind that blew. The wind danced around and moved through me as if it were as familiar as a memory.

I look to see where I was, but the horizon filled white with fog; I could not see far enough to know. Looking about, all there was were the valleys of displaced sand from the path I already took.  I could not go back, but I did not know where else to go.
So I trudged slowly listening to the sound of the waves and the wind.  I approached the sea, but the wind became biting and unrelenting. Pelting sand at me, with every strike feeling like leather cracking across the skin. The flurry made seeing more difficult; I covered my face for protection, how was it I was to find my way? I listened to the waves to guide me in this storm.

I kept walking, and the wind kept blowing.  Suddenly my feet felt wet, as the sand became robust and easier to traverse. The wind stops, but so do the waves. I follow the wet sand, hoping to find the sea. I listen and look, but there are no waves and no wind just wet sand beneath my feet. I keep walking until I see a shadow, and I am swallowed whole.

On The Therapist’s Couch

There is it is, the ring again, just when my dream was getting good. I have to turn over now and turn off my alarm, but my body feel heavy and lethargic. It seems early, and as if I haven’t gotten any sleep. My eyes are having trouble staying open as my arm flails about trying to find the source of noise. Five more minutes I tell myself, five more minutes and everything will feel okay, and I’ll be ready for the day.


I’m late, and now I have to rush through my morning routine.. well not morning but get myself ready for the day. Why does everything feel so slow, do I need to get out and go to the appointment? I don’t even really want to go… well I do, and I don’t. It feels kind of stupid, but even if I think it is I am still spending all this time getting ready. Do I think this will make me seem less disorganized? I don’t know, but now I have to go.


Traffic at least wasn’t bad. The building I pulled up doesn’t look all that that unique; I would have driven past it on any other day.
I make my way to the elevator. The third floor; easy enough to push the button. The ride up feels like it;s taking forever, maybe it’s because I’m running late.
I wish the walls along this hallway were more exciting, having more pictures and fewer names on them but what can I do, it’s not my building, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
327 I need to find 327. It’s an unassuming brown door with a couple of names along the side. I open the door and enter slowly.
The waiting room isn’t anything spectacular, but did I expect? An upscale, luxurious lounge?
There is a woman at a computer, probably the receptionist, she looks like she is  deep in thought, I don’t want to bother her.
She’s looking at me now, I should probably say something…
“Hi… I’m Charlie. I think I have an appointment with Dr. Wence.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Take a seat until he calls for you.”
Her voice is stern and straightforward.
I mean to say thanks but it just doesn’t really come out when she immediately goes back to what she was doing.


“Charlie,” A simple and direct voice calls out to me.
I stand up immediately, pushing off the soft couch.
“Charlie, Dr. Wence will see you now.”
I walk by the reception desk to catch the small friendly, but fake smile return to a serious and stoic look as receptionist turns back to the computer and continues typing and clicking. I reach a dark brown wooden door and turn the metal knob slowly as the door fails to creak open like I assumed it would. Now I have to knock to get Dr. Wence’s attention. I don’t want to do this; I know I can back out now.
I stand in the doorway indecisively as Dr. Wence looks up from his desk. He rises and comes over to introduce himself with his hand outreached.
“Hello, My name is Dr. Carl Wence, you must be Charlie.”
“Yes, I am.”
His hand is both gentle and stern; I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with him even though it seems those are his intentions.
“Please, take a seat on the couch, I’ll come to join you in a moment.”
The couch looks moderately new with a vivid green color and beautiful green-blue patterned pillows. I sit down; the sofa doesn’t feel worn in yet.
I sit looking around the room at the various things. The books, certificates, and nic-nacks. I wait for a couple of minutes as he puts away the stuff on his desk and retrieves a well-used notepad from one of his drawers. He comes over and sits in the considerably worn chair across from me.


“So how are you feeling today, Charlie?” He says that with a smile as he gets comfortable.

“Okay, I guess.” I don’t feel like starting into this, the whole thing about my emotions even if I am here.

“Well, from what I heard from Alex that you were having a hard time, and that’s why you wanted to schedule an appointment. Could you tell me more about that?”

“uh… um.. I.”  I can’t say it outright; the words keep getting caught before they ever reach my throat

“Don’t worry Charlie; this isn’t a test I want to take a time to get to know you a little better. So maybe we should start with an easier question. What do you do, as in for work?”

“I work forty hours a week at a store.”

‘What kind of store?”

“A clothing store.”

“Do you ever come across anything interesting while working there, I remember back when I worked in retail, there was always one or two crazy customers a week.”

“Mmm… no, it’s pretty normal, people come and go, and sometimes they buy stuff. We get a few people who regularly come in but most of the time it’s months before I see a customer again.” I didn’t want to start into all fo this; I didn’t even want to think about work, especially on my days off.

“Okay, maybe something else then.” He says with a pause. “What would you like to talk about Charlie?”


To Be Continued…

Armchair Kind Of Love

Can I just love from afar?
Never actually having to go through with it all.
Just to watch the world run on love, without having to participate.

I can tell you the in and outs of love.
The way it works.
The way it will make me feel.
I love my friends and my family, but that other kind of love is the worst.
I’ve known love already, so why does it ask me to get more familiar with it.

Is it a need, or just a want?
If I fast for long enough will the feelings just go away?
Because then I can enjoy just being on the outside of it all.

I can really do without all these feelings.
All these programmed things in my brain and body that call to me.
It screws with intentions.
It doesn’t let things just be as they are, calm and straightforward.
I just want to go on knowing what they the impulses are without them getting in the way.

Why are they having so much fun?
Those people in love over there?
Is that how its suppose to work?

Maybe I am missing something.
Maybe I have forgotten something.
Maybe I am getting something wrong about love.
Maybe I have to get out of my armchair.
To learn from love again.