The one thing that kept me.

The one thing that let me let go.

The one thing that saved me.

The one thing I'll never know.

Remember the sting.

The heavy weight of that hand.

The everlasting burn.

How you'll never understand.

The smile has died.

Replaced by regret.

Remember what's important.

The rest you must forget.

Say goodbye.

Say goodbye.

He sits in a prison of his making, buried under the weight of unseen shadows, and dogged by mistakes of a past his present self will not acknowledge. A man in fear for his life, in fear of his wife, a man about to take his life, or just a man and nothing but.  He is me, and I am him. A person apart from him, a sole piece of him, and just like him, I am a coward. I fear many things but suffer from an even greater fear: the fear of one’s self. I hide behind a vacuous smile and hollow eyes in fear that expressing my opinions might inflict pain on another. I avoid my feelings as in my emotions is a dangerous place to be. I am afraid that in my constant neglect of honesty and openness I have rendered myself incapable of articulation. I fear that I will never be able to direct my life’s story and not be threatened or guilted into it as I have been all my life. I lack the courage to stand up to the wielders of my freedom, to stand up to the jailers in my mind, and my imaginary oppressors. I believe I am capable of doing so but doubt the righteousness of the act, plagued by a faulty moral compass that presents itself whenever it chooses. I fear the freedom I hope to own as my heart is now fettered to fear.

Shadows slumber

As the sun goes down

I shamble quiet streets

In my nightmare town

A familiar haunt

Of my childhood dreams

Quiet pastel houses

Clock my trek

In the gloaming

Ever West

In search of sun

And home and rest

I call out,

But no one's there

Save empty homes

That sit and stare

I think I am

The last alive

Such life a lie that was contrived

To lure me to this neighborhood

Foreboding future failures

My "coulda, woulda, shoulds"

I stumble on in search of truth

My wanderings but bear no fruit

And though

Despair may scheme

My spirit take

I walk in hope

For when I wake

I'll cast this darkness

Far from me

To stride tall

In the sun...one free

-DeRicki

One speaks with stoic structure,

the other paints a picture.

While one is lecturing and defining,

The other is designing, refining.

The fluid tap, tap, tap of methodical quotes,

Pales in comparison to the rhythmic shuffle of surreal notes.

As one stands in monotonous black and white,

The other is bright in colors of delight.

While one twirls and swirls beautifully,

Its opposite details and scribbles dutifully.

Both, entirely dignified, and bona fide,

But only one gets amplified while the other is modified.

I used to pretend

But it f*cks up my Zen

Surrounded by all

Of these Barbies and Kens

With Photoshopped lives

All shiny and thin

Importance defined

By what they

Keep their

Things

In

A reckoning's coming

I just don't know when-

I'll reassess my selfies

And Instagram "friends"

Do I flush out my life

With a spiritual cleanse?

Or...

Ride to faux sunset

In an Insta-fake Benz?

Surgeon General's Warning:

Synthetic society's

Material-driven variety

Builds widening disparities

'Tween wants and eternal verities...

Which may cause-

Blindness

Numbness

Redress

Bad breath

And soul death...lol?

A poetic alchemist

Turns words

Into worlds-

Making spells

Coil & curl

As stories unfurl

His wand is a pen

& some slight-of-hand

With which to cast

Fey mystical lands

If you are a writer

Then you understand-

As only another

Spell-caster

Can...