Let Go

The tears she cries come from a deep sorrow that wounded her long ago.
She is in pain, but because her spirit is beautiful, sometimes it does not show.
She is an angel, who will transcend and touch the heavens, but she does not yet know.
She has held on for so long, but to heal, she will learn to let go.

Imminent Destruction

There must be no safe space for them;
they must not be allowed to strike again.
They must be burned in the fire of the pain of their victims,
and have their ashes taken away by the wind.
History must only mention them in the context of, Never Again.
They must be condemned, and the womb they were conceived in.
They must be forced from their secret places in the darkness of the early morning,
and be left as sustenance for ravens, before the appearance of the red sky of the evening.
They must experience one thousand times fold, the torment of their victims;
left to contemplate their fate, shaken, by the sounds of their own breathing.
They will not be mourned in their leaving;
no beautiful floral arrangements;
no carriages with black horses, with blinders waiting;
no tears of elderly women, with silk gloves in black veils grieving.
In their final moments, the terror of their destruction will be upon them.


The malabsorption of fear renders the intestines nauseous and liquefied with sickness. It must not be ingested and given a chance to spread and metastasize; it must be wholly spit out and rejected. If swallowed, it must be immediately purged from the stomach, heaved out with extreme prejudice and burned in blue fire. But when the table is set, will we eat of the portions of fear, lies, illusions, and fast made conclusions, or will we reject the poisonous banquet?

The sweet fruit of clarity and the now reality longs to be eaten, broken down, and used as nourishment for the system.

The caustic ulcers of contagion bleed, heal and bleed again, in the interim.

The Walk

Tortured spirits bellow. The wretched place gives up its cries. Contorted faces stare intently through the soul with wide eyes. Zombie like figures through muffled cries, point with apprehension to where the toxic billows rise. The blue skies turn grey; the smoke overtakes the sunlight and all is covered in darkness. A red ribbon is caught up in the foul wind and swallowed by it. My lamp is heavy and my kerosene is low. Shadowy figures move in and out of the smoke filled darkness to and fro. The unbearable sounds of anguish go up into the clouds and are infused with the toxic smoke. The stench of it reeks; the sounds of sadness and unfulfilled dreams cause me to weep. The darkness inhales the smoke and is euphoric in its exhale. It is intoxicated with the sounds of suffering. The earth is heavy with the saturated tears of the oppressed. The oceans roar in anger and the earth’s core erupts. Measured steps are taken, lest I fall into perpetuity. Crows fly overhead en masse. The realm is turned into black pitch. The treacherous bridge swings and sways as I attempt to walk over the abyss. Save my dimly lit lamp, I am blind in the darkness. Crippling apprehension fills the void. I am consumed in desolation. I recite the works of Dickinson and Poe. With heaviness of heart, I will write works of my own torment and sorrow. I will walk in the dark and horrid place and blend in with the shadows, in hopes that hopelessness won’t know.

Walls witness tears in dark rooms.
Debilitating illness drains strength
And leaves one listless and withered.
The venom of fear infiltrates bloodstream
And relentlessly infuses itself.
Movements are slow and measured.
Lethargy renders the once youthful
Spirit to ashes and dust;
The chaos of the mind is manifested.
War rages behind bloodshot eyes.
Days of the week are forgotten
And become useless and irrelevant.
The sun is not felt or seen for months.
Time is measured in moments of reprieve.
The toxicity of it is potent, and unforgiving.
Pain is purged through tears and loud cries.
Thoughts of existence are contemplated
And weighed in the balance.

I battle against the waves of despair
My head barely above water 
It seeks to drown me 
It seeks to take me under
My anxiety builds; it taunts me
It threatens to tear me asunder
I am afraid,
Will I remain or will I falter?
I will let out tears,
And leave my burdens at God’s alter;
I will try to patiently wait for my rescue
As I wade in the lonely, deep, and dark waters.


I lie awake at night, but sleep all day. My existence is in darkness because I can no longer see the light. I walk amongst the shadows because fear has debilitated my will. My thoughts consume me day by day. I am turned away and unloved by many who claim to understand my sorrow. Intrusive thoughts flood in, and amplify my trepidation. I am shunned by society and family. I feed on different forms of therapy to survive. I seek happiness, but to no avail. I am paralyzed as my heart rate increases and I start to sweat. I hope for release from my pain, but it seems I am destined to live in perpetual darkness. I am a vampire.


Listening to one of my favorites from Sade, I contemplated the fear, the character in the song experienced as she waited for her matador to come home, while expecting bad news.

Sade asks a very poignant question in her lyrics – “Can she tame the beast that is her fear?” I thought about this and realized how profound a question it is in our everyday lives. Fear is indeed a beast, and it is destructive and unforgiving. Can we temper our fear even in the face of adversity?


Behind The Eyes


Fear. A virulent plague penetrating bone, bore deep down into the bone marrow infecting exceedingly efficient, poisoning the blood stream. It shows no mercy to its hosts, leaving behind a shell of what was, or what could have been. Rendering its verdict with lightning speed before withdrawing to its place of darkness, where many like it exist. Day and night they feed on their hosts with unrelenting hunger. The ugliness, the unsightly ugliness of it is hard to fathom. Its trail of carnage is the making of nightmares; the stench sears one’s nostrils. Victims stumble around in the dark on cold nights searching for release and relief. The bottle becomes a close friend and narcotics a savior. Street lights tower above and witness their moments of slight reprieve. The sounds of splintered glass under shuffling feet signal their hour of desperation. Passersby look on in horror, but render no aid. Rodents display red beady eyes as they peer out of dark shadows to bear witness to the mire. Eyes, it is in those weary eyes, that you see the pain and plight of the sufferers. The eyes that look through you, the weeping, the misery. The thousand-yard stare is cast and it is frightening, almost crippling. Fear and anxiety are the masters of their torment, their faces are the faces of sorrow. Tears stream down weathered and wrinkled flesh, despondent faces indeed tell the tale of their wretched existence. Stories of a lifetime told in the blinking of an eye; the harrowing details of which can frighten the reader and instill fear in the listener. Fear, behind the eyes is where it dwells. Behind the eyes, is the place of their torment.