I like to walk backwards through a life less told,

Through rooms that have cobwebs from being so old.

I look over shoulders at days left forgot,

I shake my head slowly at memories for not.

I say good-bye to people easier than most,

Remembering them as you would a ghost.

Some say I have demons that hide in the dark,

I think I show them with an impersonal mark.

I have never been true to people or me,

I prefer to never let anyone see.

The masks I wear I hang in my mind,

Always at hand and easy to find.

For a time I was free and able to share,

Like a child acting out on a dare.

But as dares go they tend to hurt,

And leave you face down in the dirt.

So I walk backwards locking some doors,

Left to die on forgotten shores.



Patience (flash fiction)

Patience, it was really what was lacking. Many would agree with him, if they actually stopped to think about it.

Patience in the line waiting to be served. Patience at the cross-walk as the cars sped by. Patience in your car when traffic annoyed. Patience, a virtue that if practised by all, would create a harmony in most people’s lives.

He himself practised it daily. Even now he crouched behind the dumpster, as he had done for the last two weeks, waiting for her to pass. His patience gave him hope that just once she would turn and see him and when he knew she saw he would…

Patience, he needed to practise patience…


She screamed so loud, but no head turned, no eyes looked concerned. She screamed again, wanting a kind word, a worried look. Yet again, nothing. She felt her heavy breath , her quickening heart in her chest. She listened to her own unfiltered noise, that’s when she laughed, and heads turned and eyes reached her…funny no one heard her scream, guess no one was a mind reader after all.

Held, pressed, and strained.

There was something that held his heart,

not always gently, often too tight.

He felt the strain and the pressure

that some days seemed to envelope his entire chest.

It was uncomfortable at times,

yet he couldn’t imagine it gone.

There was a comfort in the pain,

even when he was on his knees.

Perhaps the pain meant he was still alive.

Perhaps it was better than feeling nothing

…some days he wondered

…some days it left.

Those were the hardest days.

When there was nothing

to make him know he could feel

…sadly alive.


Just her…nevermore.

It slipped away, almost suddenly. This is how it works for me. Once something special, now something just there. It was like this before and will be again. i close myself up and you lose that part of me.

It isn’t your fault. It is like a bird perched on a finger. It sits and sings for you, but one wrong movement and it flies away. I am that bird and though you never heard me sing, I sang nonetheless. Perhaps you will finally know loss, when you stop and hear silence.

I have turned, I have seen through the veils and the mirrors of me. Now you are just a person living her life and I do not care as much as I did. It is not your fault, you were never more or less you. It is I that has turned and seen there is something ugly. I aspire to reality and you aspire for the  same. Once here I can shrug as you have so many times.

I am as a shadow. Still though, I am a friend. If you can accept that I do not see you as I did, we will be fine. After all is said and done, you are not what I believed you to be and I am not what you thought I was. I am a man, that sees you as just a woman, no different from any other.

Can you live with that? I can and everyday I remind myself that what you were…well that was a fairytale of an old man. I sit with Poe and say…

Quoth the raven…nevermore.

Giving up to be…

When is it just enough

To be,

To not care about

The would,

Not think about

The could,

Not shake your head at

What should,

And be.

Perhaps it means

Not caring,

Not worrying

About friends,

Not loving

Those around,

Or holding out

A hand.

Allowing things

To ride,

Along an

Unmapped road,

Say goodbye

To things,

Never in your own