welcome back

pieces of yesterday's shrapnel are stuck to my spine creating a mosaic of colorful feelings of much more vibrant times...

And in those pieces of pieces of pieces I see merely a reflection of my old rhymes with no rhythm

Riddle me this...

Ask me a yes or no question about the way I hold my head in my hands

Tell me why I have grown dumb against the beating waves of conformity and comfort

I am no longer comfortable in my own skin...skin...

Skin is translucent sent to self-destruction under construction an abduction of clarity leaving dumb thoughts and actions restless tireless like my car in the middle of fourth street no it's a dead end. It's the end. The end?

I promised myself I would write again

When things weren't so bad and I had more friends to fall back on and on my thoughts are still spinning

I feel alive again

I am alive again

Again

I am not a writer

But I can sure as hell write