Writing fiction and poetry from the edge of sanity...

I walk up high
above the crowd
my feet stinging from the height
sheer
madness
up on this wire
stretched as tight as the skin
on my hot face

I walk it slow
in a dream
my hands screaming to touch something
solid
insanity
over to the other end
soaked in sweat as my eyes
burn in their sockets

it's a thin line
between what used to make me happy
and what now makes me sad

a specific sound
that was joyful
hopeful
now is filled with
dread

a certain glance
that made my heart
skip
now can make it
stop

frozen on this wire

but if I don't keep going
walking
sliding
inch by inch
millimeter by millimeter
closer closer to the end
I have no other choice
but to die

stinging
burning
scared
alone
hot

as I fall to the floor
I welcome the cool concrete
grateful for no net to
catch me

Sharp teeth
scissors
shiny scalpel

Barbed wire
knives
broken glass

this is what they would find
upon cutting me open

all that shit
would all come spilling out
crashing to the floor
they would flinch
curse
jump
jerk
to avoid injury to their feet and legs
clothed in bloody scrubs
smelling like medicine
and I would breathe
one last sigh
of relief

It's not real
it wasn't
it couldn't be

foggy
distant
elusive
warm
steamy

what we had
it wasn't
it couldn't be

not in this lifetime, anyway
not in my dreams
wildest

my perception was just wrong
my sight was damaged
my words fell flat
on the wet pavement

as you faded away
I wave at a shape
in the mist

Sometimes I miss the old days
filled with things like:

going fast-fast on my bicycle
wearing my favorite Levi's
buying candy from the Jiffy store
watching re-runs of Gilligan's Island
gazing at my Farrah Fawcett poster
pushing my brother on our tire swing
drinking plastic-laden water from the garden hose
digging with a shovel
marveling at the mystery of the woods
singing along with the Beach Boys on 8-track
wailing out Baker Street, LOUD, on my saxophone
playing board games on bedroom floors
eating at my mom's dining room table
listening to my dad's gruff voice
running in the rain
dodging lightning
carving wood
building tree forts
catching snakes
reading The Swiss Family Robinson and Huckleberry Finn
coloring with crayons
telling ghost stories in the dark of my room, to myself
falling in love with Barry Manilow and Olivia Newton-John
sitting in silence, watching the lights of the Christmas tree

I guess I could still do most of those things
if I really wanted to

the Levi's and the tire swing thing are out
my mom's table, along with my Dad, is gone
both turned to ashes


I miss them because they were uncomplicated
I miss them because they were home

I have to find my way home.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.

fine sand
clear water
shells crunch under my feet

hungry birds
children's screams
lost in the warm wind

I think back to the summer
picking our spot near the sandbar

ice in the cooler bag
smuggled alcohol in unmarked containers

the water jug for rinsing off our feet
while we danced on the hot pavement

thunderous waves pulling us down
us laughing too hard to fight them

sunburns like hot, red trophies
dipping in the pool afterward

your beautiful face
turned toward the sun
eyes closed, legs stretched out
simply enjoying your day


your beach chair still hangs on my patio
I'll take it with me when I move