A Writer’s Lament

I only want to write
And get paid for my words

My words all strung together
In unique, inimitable style

With their own quirky bent
And their peculiar rush to mind

Of memories old
Possibilities new
And another distinct life

Apart from what you know
Separate from your beliefs
Foreign to your system
Alien to your code

Yet resonant
Charming
Intriguing
Entrancing
Enthralling
Engaging
Piercing
Provocative
Profound

And just
Downright

Well-written

Yass, I want to get paid
For this life inside of me
For this life that is what I have to give
For what I do best
For what I know
For what I understand

For the chance to make you
Smile
Cringe
Cry
Laugh
Scream
Plead
Celebrate
Grieve

Then when all is said and done

Pass it on

Passage

Psyche swoops
Low to the ground
Cloaked in anonymity
In the pitch black of night

Quiet, barely breathing
Hanging
In the balance

Nothing to give
Nothing to take

Passing through dark alleys
And stench-ridden stairwells
Littered with days-old detritus
And the glow of eyes

Half alive

Half tethered to
Another world

Where laughter, mad and demonic
Is the only kind you hear

Searching for hope
Escape from chains
And finding nothing
But past-due depravity

The most insidious kind

And rock bottom sadness
Lurking below
Borne of the notion
Pervasive potential

That every step means
Nothing more
Than passage into the

Abyss