Poetry 53 - Resolve

And so the pain dissipated.
That deafening shriek
shrunk to an echo.

Poetry 52 - The First Night

The first night without you,
I woke up twice.
"Nightmares...
these are new."

I had no clue what terrible things my mind could draw

if it only had a muse.

Poetry 51 - Smoking in Your Home

There is no more spark
in our voices, our hearts when we talk.
And the future is an individual dream -
In it, us, we will never see.

I know that you did the best you could,
and I know that I derailed the last train
that may have brought you home.

It's been six days since the incident,
but it had long been an antiquated fire
by the time our home fell to dust.

You doused it.
You bought gallons upon gallons of gasoline,
left it there and abandoned its predisposed destructiveness-

yet I would not stop smoking in the house.

Project #1 - Education Blog

My latest project is a blog that follows changes and proposed changes to public education over the first 100 days of this new administration. Despite its title, the focus of this blog is has an infinitely finer focus on Congress.

trump100.blogspot.com

Poetry 50 - The Fits

Here's a poem I'll hate in two days:

The seas seizing epileptic passengers,
drowning the disabled rebellion,
Octaves of time deafen the ever-afters,
casting graves from former medallion.

Tape rolls in pieces.
Fuzzy screens convey nothing,
but abandoned dreams.

Life, a caliper on an empty cup,
serving only to measure the emptiness.

The Second Reflects #2 - Return of the Jedi

I am getting better, and if anyone, that makes me happy. The waters of futurama (the concept) feel cleansing. There's no particular catharsis, as washing a wound does not heal it, but I have been easily moving forward. After meetings with my guidance counselor and attendance that is close to restored, I believe that things are getting better.

No, I didn't finish the fucking novel, but I did give it a shot, and I don't foresee my writing to cease as it is now December 1st.

There are good things ahead, even for the optimistic depressive.
Consistency is key.
So it goes.

The Second Reflects #1 - Numb and Dumb

I don't smoke pot or drink.
Every couple of weeks, I'll smoke one cigarette if I'm in the mood.
I'm not a druggie, and I've never been on a long-term medication.

Despite this, I feel like a junkie that's falling apart. I wrote more poems last month than I did the entirety of the 2015-2016 year. These poems have mostly been marked with the time and date they were whipped up.

My writing is deteriorating at an alarming rate. My WPM is down to roughly 25-30. It's like my fingers just don't flow the same. They were these liquid wands that were randomly dammed. I have not attended school in roughly one month. Things just aren't what they used to be. My brain is the Detroit Auto Industry. In an effort to combat this, I have decided to take a serious jab at NaNoWriMo for the first time in three years. The title of my novella is "Confessions of a Tranny Slut." I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere. I will keep you (all two of you) posted.

Friday is the day that I will seek help.
Until then, Godspeed.