EmpathyFlux

Slide through forked rake fingers       Ink it down the pages of time like a smeared carbon copy       Of something you never really were                                      contraband tears                   can be sealed up forever in little plastic sacs       clear baggies cut off the feelings from the blood stream forever                                                               bag the memories and stash 'em away you can't stop me from living alive they can't stop me from living a life i can't stop me from turning around looking back a tower of salt--                                never lost but never found    

Flushed, she runs She had faith in them Trust echoes through her Etched in the blueprints of her soul Knotted welded, chained to her. She brakes free Her soul shattered She now becomes a jigsaw Repairable, with time With care. Exhausted she stops And rests upon a tattered lawn chair. Translucent rivers release. Her caged soul ripping in half. A soul without a body Or a body without a soul. She's empty Without thought, without care. She drags her small swollen feet, Back to her temporary home.

When I was young, I came across a stream in the forest. I could see the pebbles below, a few fish in the lazy swim against the current, and the sun dazzling off the shallow, dancing waters. It was not so deep I could not cross, but my shoes were new. My mother would have a fit if I got them wet. On the other shore was a boy. My own age, but far taller, a fey sort. I wanted to meet him, but I could not cross. We wandered the beach till we saw some logs that had fallen in the last storm. We worked together, from both sides, to build a bridge, and I ran across it to meet him. When I say some people shine brightly, I do not mean they have spots

Enough. You can hang me out to dry In this Litmus paper cage Dye it Blue if I am angry And red if I’m enraged You can rope me with your necktie Like a bucking bronco leashed Leave it Loose if I’m a good girl Pull tight if I’m impeached You can drown me with your sarcasm And pride throughout the day Scream it If you want to It doesn’t matter what you say— No words change my conviction I will not give in I’ve had Enough.

You know, sometimes it’s uncanny about how quickly something or someONE in your daily life can become a full-fledged obsession.  And sometimes, it’s frightening too.  I mean, I can see how a completely average person could progress from being a devoted admirer to a fanatical stalker.  Of course, logically, that’s only a hypothetical statement on my part.  I am not stalking a mysteriously attractive woman by the name of Mildred “Crescent” Menders. Ah, Crescent. If I were William Shakespeare and this was the sixteenth century; I would enthusiastically write romantic sonnets in honor of her eccentric beauty.  But sadly,

                Every time I think of it now, I shudder. I can't pick up the phone without knowing who it is on the other line. But most of all, I can't bear to hear his voice anymore—even after all the times when I loved to listen to him speak . . . Back then, he was wonderful. I used to watch him standing at the podium with the light of the spotlight shining off his hair and the way he spoke—God, it was like a dream! He looked like Martin Luther King up there on that altar telling us about the things that he knew. You see, when Steven was in front of people, he was most alive. When the spotlight was glowing down on his hair and making t