Too cozy am I with that backspace;
Too quickly do I hit “delete!”
Too long do I stare at a blank page,
And lose ’til there’s nothing to beat.

Too often I long for perfection;
Too often it never is found.
Too cozy am I with that button;
But somehow, I’ll still come around.

Another Lost Soul

I don’t want to be the angry one;
I don’t want to be another lost soul:
But it’s burned there all along,
Been there like a siren song,
And I don’t know how to vanquish
What I barely can control.

I’ve been really behind on comments and posts the last few days (Week? Two?). I’ll probably remain behind for a little while more. Sorry (again). I mentioned at some point previously that I’d probably be a little distant… Still, you all deserve a lot more attention than you’re getting right now. Well, whether I’m on or not, I haven’t forgotten about you; and hopefully, I’ll be able to find a proper balance of things.

Dish; Or, Marital Bliss

She was preparing dinner in the kitchen, humming some tune he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of when they first met: He’d thought he had stumbled upon a Disney princess. And a princess she still was, in so many ways. Just give it a few moments.

“Hey, hon. I’m back.” He said, setting groceries on the counter.

“Oh, hey. Did you get the milk?”

Silence. He took a breath. He had realized once he was halfway home. Maybe he should have turned back. Well, it was too late now.

“No,” he answered.

She stopped what she was doing. He probably should have waited until she wasn’t chopping vegetables. She tossed the knife back down to the counter with a clatter, and this time it was she who took a breath.

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips, exhaling exasperation up towards the ceiling. “One thing. Just one little thing, Daniel: go to the store, get the things on the list, and come back. Is that so much to ask? Is milk really that hard of a thing to remember?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just milk. I don’t see why you have to make a big deal out of every little–”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You know what? I was actually having a really good day. But you just don’t care, do you? You can’t put an effort into anything — certainly not for your wife. The sink is still dripping, by the way. You can’t even be bothered to fix that.”

“I’ll get around to it. Why does it have to be fixed right now? You only asked me like a day or two ago!”

“I asked you two weeks ago! And no, you won’t ‘get around to it’, because you never do anything I ask you to!”

“Oh, really? And what exactly did I just do? You think I want to drop everything just to run your stupid errands? Grow up!”

She barked a laugh. “Me? Now that’s rich. You’re telling me to grow up? Look in the mirror, husband. Those ‘stupid errands’ happen to be your home, your well-being, and your dinner. And without milk, tonight I guess I’ll just have to figure out something else to make, instead of your favorite.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, there’s no reason for us to fight about this. I can just go back, pick some up.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and went towards the door. “Bitch,” he muttered, as he unlocked it again.

The plate whizzed by his head, and broke against the wall. Another long night.

Upside Down and Right Side Up


It’s as if the world is upside down;
But I already was.
I suppose that makes me right side up,
Now that everybody’s all abuzz.

Before, I was the outcast;
Now, everyone’s in exile.
Yet somehow I feel I’m less alone
Than I’ve been in quite a while.

Before, I was the coward;
Now everybody’s full of fear.
But I find I can be hopeful,
When people need a little cheer.

Second Draft

You’re trying to find perfection;
But life gets no second draft.
Still, you go on thinking
You’re a failure to your craft:

You should have got it right by now,
You should know what to do;
But trying to rewrite it
Won’t make that first draft untrue.

It will be what it will be,
And still there’ll be no second draft;
So why not take a breath and read
The story as it’s meant to be, at last?

A Curse of Tears

He sat down beside her, and he told her this tale:

There was once an old man who lived a comfortable life with his family; But he was sad, and often cried. When he thought he was alone, sometimes his family would overhear him say he was cursed.

The family was very worried, and tried very hard to cheer him up. They would say and do all kinds of ridiculous things to try and elicit a smile from him. But still the old man was sad.

Then one day, the old man died. At the funeral, a stranger approached the casket, and began to laugh. The family was angry, and demanded to know why he was laughing. “Because,” he said, “if you had only asked him why he had been crying, then he would have been freed from my curse.”

So, tell me,” he said quietly. “Why do you cry?” 


Once, I was your echo:
Always different — yet still near.
But years have changed the question’s tones,
And the answer is less clear.
These days, we wander, through dark and bones,
Accompanied by fear;
These days, it is my voice that echoes,
And I don’t like what I hear.