figure of thought

face the wall under low light

and the shadow cast on the page

of my own hand moving one side

to the other as if it operates

on it’s own without direction

thoughts fill the mind

no talent here just words

to describe thoughts

because I can’t paint pictures

don’t ever ask what I am thinking

read it here and know

it’s always been you I think of

when you fill my heart

as it pounds faster when you

hold me close and close isn’t

close enough for me

insatiable in that way

a fatal flaw never want

to be the pillow that keeps

the breath away just

a figure of thought

face the wall and understand

it’s always going to be

where I want to be…

sixth on the right

disaster strikes

and snow will

be dumped down

on top or so they say

don’t blink

be happy and ignore

the ugly facts

and lack of friends

don’t need them never did

just wanted to feel loved

and I do so I will stop

complaining

and wait for disaster to strike

once or twice

like a man without a country

done in a day

right before or during disaster

should be more secure

know the self and what I am doing

pen in hand the eleventh finger

sixth on the right

like a plastic bag over the face

told I am my own disaster and I found

all I want right here got worries still

it makes me human

or so I thought just don’t like

disastrous surprises that will do more

damage than the impending snow to come

sudden chill up one arm

and down the other

inside at last with pen and no smoke

listening to the sounds all around

used to be music I chose

now I listen as a teenager talks

to his video game has no idea

the disaster that may loom ahead

not so far off the point always

that there is no point to anything

and no matter how good

is done the worst I have been

is what is remembered

pen still in hand it won’t fall

even when I do…