A Personal Glimpse

Often I don’t post personal writings on here. However, tonight I decided could be an exception because I’ve come across two poems (I had previous lost) that I scribbled down maddeningly one over two separate depressive episodes about a year ago. I cannot say that they are not amateur. I cannot say that I’ve tuned my non-existent poetry skills as often as I have my fiction skills. I also cannot guarantee that they make any sense at all. Bare with me here. All I can say is that they are written in a form that kind of seems like poetry, so I tentatively consider them so.



I feel I’ve been fighting a million years

Under the ruse of a pacifist.


Suffering is tolerated for the sake of living;

Living is tolerated for the sake of others

In the world in which I live.

Any truths behind the smile,

The reflex,

The Façade,

Is shrouded.

Only a downy pillow brings cotton comfort

Until the light brings forth another day.


I feel I’ve been fighting a million years

Under the ruse of a pacifist.






There is no between

Under the influence of two extremes.

What’s real is the present,

What was, only falsity;

The future: a gross inaccuracy.

What words go where,

What feelings should be felt,

What thoughts embraced

When their meanings change with the tide?



I feel I’ve been fighting a million years

Under the ruse of a pacifist.


He descends,

My most worthy opponent,

Arms extended,

And I cower

As any rational being would.

Light cannot pass through the absence of itself;

I cannot soothe the shell of myself.

Relinquish control, I do;

Resume authority, he does;

And we dance the devil’s dance with experienced precision.

We are one and I am none;

He is I

And I am a memory.


I know I’ve been fighting a million years

Under the ruse of a pacifist

Because my smile manipulates the world’s beliefs.

She’s laughing: she’s fine;

She’s joking: she’s fine.

I will joke no longer,

Laugh no longer,

Because he hates the sound of joy

And I hate the burden of deceit.


Reality cannot be grasped

By the slippery hands

Of a ghost.


I’ve fought for a million years

With the shadows in my head;

They have no use for a pacifist.

Neither do I.


Who watches me while I drive down the street

Or walk on campus,

Or lay down to sleep?

Troubled spirits perhaps

Who carry the same burden as I:



Waiting to die;

Whatever that means.


Twirling through limbo is an awful chore

With no one to love and nothing to adore.

In reality,

Nothing exists

There is no difference between life and death

When the space in your head knows only dread, dread, dread.

Constant hounding,

Constant crying,

Constant lying,

Constant pounding,

But in an abyss with no one,

Nothing for miles.

A lonely life.


Day after day, night after night: failure, failure, failure.

One step forward

Five steps back.

So I wonder in this bed:

Will I remember the beauty of life with a gun to my head?


Aren’t I just a Positive Patty?