I slip into a dream to escape

They find me.

My worries hound my thoughts all day and at night,

When that sweet embrace of unconsciousness cradles me in her arms,

The hounds of worry leap and snarl and I am lost.

I awake to worry. It is everywhere. I am not enough.

Awaiting the ideas of selfishness to come forward and show me the way. The way beyond the idle thoughts that drift in and out of my mind like most and fog. A fog of war that is fought by myself against foes unknown from all but me. I strive to fit into the fold of societal norms that ask the selfish roaring needs of the soul. Solace and salaciousness overwhelm me and all that remains is the shell of a man.

Constant whining emits

Tangled thoughts enlighten and enraptured

And cry loudly into the night

Asking questions left unsaid and unrepentant

Receiving more. Wanting less.

Wistful thoughts

Mal-aligned malignancies

Give thoughts and prayers to those who do not

Begetting beliefs begotten bygones

Wondering which way is up

Begging for naught

Nothings and nothingness

Erase hours of servitude and surliness

Awaiting the turn of the clock

And hours upon thoughts and deeds

And dreams caught anon.

Angered darkness wraps around

Lunging thoughts profusely propagating time immemorial

Wanderings of list field nights gone but not sedated

It comes, like an old friend, patiently waiting for another chance. Chances to ride the wave of unease and unconditional concern, of questions best left unanswered, unasked.

I wait for things to pass, but they don’t. I wait for things to get better, but they don’t. I waive the rights of second glance, second chances, second hopes.

My old friend lies. My old friend steals the moments of a day and gives me seconds of solitude lost in thought and nothingness. My old friend is no friend.

Waiting to take myself back, I rest, I watch, I hope.

Why am I so tired? Everyday I work and watch and parent and clean and cook and entertain and…I am so tired.

My muscles ache and my back pain rises. I wonder why I am so tired.

Each day I strive to meet the needs of those who depend on me. I wonder if I am doing enough. Am I doing enough? Should I do more? Can I do more?

I am so tired.

Broken strands attract carrion eaters these predators of personal anguish seeking shadenfreude or abuse, easy pickings.

Every day you fight against the people, trusted scavengers of hope, a need that this one is different until hope is gone and you, a shattered carapace of humanity, stop seeking change and accept the acceptance of the downtrodden soul.

Some find the answer. The answer in others, in themselves. Sometimes the answer is gone; maybe never there.

But for those who continue against the odds of tomorrow against the random number generator of lives against the fortunes of outrage existence of the unknown, the acceptance of the Damaged.

I wander the fields of thought of morning mists and milkweed of a thousand smiles and tears. of longing, and wanting, and lusting, and losing.

I wander the meadows of the mind caressing shards of truth and hope of rays of sunshine of anxiety-Induced outliers of dinged darkness shrouded by light.

I wander the forest of the soul cursing the infertilities of reflection of crushed mint underfoot of cascading hope and coursing acceptance of too many years lost.

I wander. Sometimes alone. Sometimes not. I wander