Never thought that
I would ever pause
or revisit this part
of my life again.

I was plasma seething
with rebellion
But the baby blue
tugged at me

needing the hand
to grasp
needing the voice
to see
Because the eyes
can’t.

There was no mix,
no descent into ambiguity
Never froze in place
as my conscience churned
The pen aims for his neck
my hands go for words
to cushion the blow
Draw the sword – then wonder
“Do I have the right?”

Now I am
disillusioned
callous
and tired.

Where am I now?

I stand among the ghosts
the hormonal zombies
and I want no more.
The work flies in a viable breeze
and I can’t take heart
and shield myself.

Can you see
the writhing bodies
in the ashes of the bomb
the viscera of the sin?

Can you see the bottle take its toll?
Can you see the fire burn away?
Beautiful minds – where are you now?

Can you see the viscera killing your soul?
I did. Let it end.